The tension might hang in the air like steam from the pancakes, but they don’t let it boil over. Instead, the cowboys do what cowboys do best and move through discomfort like it doesn’t exist.
“Grace,” Cody calls with his mouth half full, “if this is your subtle way of auditioning for kitchen duty, I gotta say, you’re killin’ it.”
“Pretty sure I saw Dylan smile,” Corbin adds. “And that’s rarer than a wet August.”
“I didn’t smile,” Dylan mutters, but there’s a twitch in the corner of his mouth that betrays him.
Hannah raises her fork like a tiny judge. “Miss Grace wins breakfast.”
McCartney taps his glass with a spoon. “Long may she reign.”
“Fine by me,” Corbin holds up his mug of coffee in a salute. “I’ve been looking for a way to retire my services without everyone starving to death.”
“We all cook,” Jaxon grumbles.
“Food is heated, yes. Assembled on a plate, possibly. But whether it’s edible or not is another matter.”
I laugh, roll my eyes, and pour more syrup for the twins while trying to avoid glancing at Levi again. He’s laughing at something Cody says, but there’s a self-consciousness about it. Or maybe I’m seeing it now because I’ve seen him at his most honest and vulnerable and watched him withdraw into himself.
The conversation turns toward chores, tractor parts, and whether Nash’s latest batch of goat’s milk soap smells like rosemary or cheese. The awkwardness doesn’t vanish. It settles beneath the noise.
When breakfast wraps up, the men start clearing their plates and heading back out into the rising heat.
Except Cody.
He lingers by the sink, soaping plates I’d planned to wash myself. His easy smile is still in place, but it’s softer now and warmer.
“You okay?” he asks casually.
“Yeah. All good.”
He passes me a tray of silverware and leans a hip against the counter. “Levi, though. He isn’t a bad person.”
I don’t respond, but I stop drying.
Cody sighs through his nose, then glances out the window like he’s checking that the others are out of earshot.
“He was young when we lost our parents. Like the rest of us, but… he didn’t have Dylan’s instincts or Conway’s direction. He had a smile that could cover his pain, and too much freedom once he was old enough to start making bad choices.”
I watch him quietly, waiting.
“He started sleeping with older women early. Way too early,” Cody continues. “We didn’t know the full story until after. He got attention, and it worked like anesthesia. It numbed him to the pain in his heart, but it also… twisted something. Now, I think sex is the only way he knows how to connect. Which is fine if that’s all he’s looking for, and the women are on board. But when there’s someone like you in the picture…”
I glance down. My hands are still. “Someone like me?”
“Yeah”. He doesn’t elaborate.
“You’re worried he’s hurt me.”
“Yeah… or that you’ll see it as who he is deep down… who we are, and you’ll think whatever happened between you last night is how we do things here.”
I twist my fingers together. “I don’t.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek. A part of me wants to tell him that I recognize more of myself in Levi than I’d ever want to admit. The way he uses charm to deflect. How connection feels easier when it’s physical and fleeting. How maybe neither of us knows what it looks like to bechosenfor more than what we look like and what we can give. How touch comes easily but trust never does.
I feel... sad for him in a way that isn’t laced with pity orjudgment but a low, quiet, throat-burning ache, because I know what it’s like to lead with your body when you’re sure your heart isn’t worth keeping. I know what it’s like to be wanted in pieces, and to start to believe that those pieces are all anyone’s ever going to want.
