“Barely,” I grumble. “Did you know Grant paid for three nights at this motel?”
“He mentioned something about giving you time to sort things out.” There's a smile in Brè's voice that I don't appreciate. “Generous of him, don't you think?”
“I don't need his charity.”
“It's not charity, Mia. It's kindness. Something you could use a lot more of in your life.”
I flop back on the bed with a sigh. “I don't even know him, Brè. And suddenly he's swooping in to rescue the damsel in distress? It's weird.”
“Or romantic.”
“Or he's a serial killer grooming his next victim.”
Brè laughs. “Always the optimist. Look, not every guy has an agenda. Maybe he's just nice.”
“Men like that aren't 'just nice' to women they've just met.” I stare at the ceiling, thinking of Grant's smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. “There's always an angle.”
“Maybe his angle is that he likes you.”
I snort. “He doesn't know me.”
“But he wants to. That's how it starts, you know.”
“How what starts?”
“Romance. Love. Those things you keep swimming away from.”
I roll my eyes even though she can't see me. “I'm not swimming away from anything. I'm just... selective.”
“You're avoidant is what you are. When was the last time you went on a real date? Not a hookup, not a 'convenient' relationship with someone you knew wouldn't last. A real date.”
I'm saved from answering by my phone beeping its final battery warning. “My phone's about to die. I'll call you tomorrow once I figure out my next steps.”
“Convenient timing,” Brè remarks dryly. “Just promise me one thing: don't automatically push away the cowboy just because he makes you feel something.”
“I don't feel—”
“Mia.” Her tone stops me short. “I've known you for a decade. I can hear it in your voice. He got to you, and it's freaking you out.”
My phone gives one final beep and dies before I can respond, which is probably for the best since I'm not sure what I would have said anyway.
I plug my phone in to charge and move to the window, pulling back the curtain to look out at the small town of Portree.
Maybe I am running.
But tonight, I’m letting myself pretend that I’m not. That this little town, this cozy room, this soft light—they’re mine for a while.
Tomorrow, I’ll go back to being the version of myself everyone expects.
My reflection stares back at me from the window—hair still damp from the shower, face bare of makeup, eyes tired but alert. I hardly recognize myself. In just 24 hours, Texas has stripped away my carefully constructed facade, leaving me vulnerable in a way I haven't been in years.
And maybe that's what's really bothering me about Grant Taylor. Not his charm or his inexplicable helpfulness, but the way he sees through me so easily. The way our brief encounters have left me feeling exposed, as if he can read every defense mechanism I've built since my mother's death.
I turn away from the window and climb into bed, determined to get some sleep and tackle tomorrow with a clear head. I'll file a police report about my missing wallet, check on my luggage status, and figure out how to get my life back on track. All practical, actionable steps that don't involve thinking about a certain cowboy.
Chapter 6
Grant
