I swallow down the disappointment. Not because he’s turning me down. But for a moment, I had a glimpse of that playful, laid-back Wilder my brother claimed he once was.
And I liked it. A lot.
“Get some rest, Rose.”
I take a step back toward the house, watching him as he climbs his horse. “Sure thing, boss.”
11.45 p.m.
Rose:I’ve got a crush on my boss.
Willow:The cowboy?
Rose:Wesley’s friend.
Willow:But he wears a sexy hat and rides a horse? What’s the problem?
Rose:He’s my brother’s best friend. But it doesn’t matter. He just shot me down.
Willow:Bummer. Come home.
Rose:I can’t. I’m riding this gig out.
Willow:What are you going to do about your crush?
Rose:Ignore it.
Willow:No one does that better than you.
Ouch.
I don’t answer her right away. Not because I’m offended. Willow has always been the type to call it how she sees it. But because it’s nearly two in the morning in New York. And while I love her always being available for me, she shouldn’t have to lose sleep because I do.
I finish setting up my art corner, a perfect space I found by the window in the living room, and try to find some inspiration. I look around the space again.
I was wary coming in here at first. But after making dinner for myself in the clean, fully stocked kitchen, unpacking and taking a hot shower, the place doesn’t feel like it belongs to someone’s lost love.
It feels like mine. Even for a short while.
I imagine Willow fell asleep since that last text.
I flip through the pamphlets that Ginger gave me, wondering what touristy town things I could do to fill my time this weekend and help me forget I just got shot down.
My eyes widen when I find something happening Saturdaynight right here in Blue River.
Age group: Twenty to thirty.
Admission: Fifty dollars, drinks included.
Time: Ten to midnight.
End goal:Forgetgrumpycowboy.
I snap a photo and send it to Willow, figuring she’ll get it in the morning.
Rose:What should I wear?
To my surprise, she texts me back.
