And just like that, in the booth where it all started, our marriage became real.
Camila
The sun dips low,painting the horizon in golds and pinks, and the air smells like warm dust and wild grass. Here on the ranch, I feel centered, like we’re a million miles away from the stresses of the city. I used to think I’d hate this kind of slow-paced life, but it suits me more than I ever expected.
So does my husband.
It’s only been one week since the divorce freak-out, but it’s been the best week of my life. Like a late honeymoon we finally got to take, only spending it at home with each other. Simple and romantic.
Hess comes striding out of the corral as if he walked straight off the cover of some cowboy magazine—boots scuffed just right, belt buckle gleaming, jeans hugging his hips, that hat tilted low enough to cast shadows across those blue eyes, and my favorite part: his light hair curling over his ears.
He gives me that grin that always threatens to undo me as he leads Daisy Duke by the reins, her pawing the ground, ready to go. “Your girl’s itching to stretch her legs.”
But instead of reaching for the reins, I glance past Daisy Duke to where Cactus Jack waits. “Actually, I was hoping we could ride together.”
Hess pauses mid-step, eyebrows kicking up beneath the brim of his hat. “Together? I thought you said you’d never ride in the same saddle as me.”
I let my lips curve slowly, the way I know makes him pay attention. “I was lying.”
For a second, he just stares at me, and then that smile of his tilts, carrying that edge of heat he saves just for me. He steps closer, lowering his voice as his hands grab my waist. “This might just be the best day of my life.”
I laugh, climbing up onto the fence rail so I’m nearly eye-level with him. “Not the day you married me? Not last week, when I came to the Waffle House and told you not to sign the divorce papers?”
He tips his hat back, eyes sparking as he leans in close, close enough for his breath to brush my cheek. “Those were miracles. This? This is pure fantasy.”
My head falls back with laughter, giving him the opportunity to kiss the soft spot under my jaw.
I swat his shoulder. “Hey, if you keep that up, the sun will go down before we ever get our ride in.”
“Okay, okay.” Hess releases me and swings up into Cactus Jack’s saddle like it’s second nature—because for him, it is. Every movement is smooth, controlled, and deliciously attractive.
Then he turns those steady hands toward me. “Your turn.”
Before I can protest, he hooks his arm around my waist and lifts me like I weigh nothing at all. A little squeal slips out beforeI’m set firmly in front of him, nestled against the solid wall of his chest. His thighs bracket me, strong and steady, and his arms curve around to gather the reins, trapping me in a circle of warmth.
“See?” he murmurs, his lips so close to my ear that his breath tickles across my neck. “Riding double is where it’s at.”
I nestle back into him. “Yes, I see the benefits.”
My heart skips as the horse shifts beneath us, but Hess’s body presses closer against my back, anchoring me. I feel the hard lines of muscle through his shirt, every exhale brushing over me.
He chuckles low, the sound vibrating through my spine. “So what’s next?”
I tilt my head back just enough to catch his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Every movie ends with a ride off into the sunset.”
“Not us.” I lean into him as his arms tighten around me. “This is where our life starts.”
The kitchen smellslike roasted peppers and onions, with the scent of cumin and garlic sizzling in hot oil. Selena’s got her hair tied up in a messy bun, her apron already streaked with sauce, while Mamá hums along to the music blasting from the little speaker on the counter. An old '90s mix she always plays.
I’m wearing an apron too, though it looks ridiculous on me, and I’ve got no idea what I’m doing. My spoon clanks against the pan too hard, and the beans nearly slosh over the side. I step back like the food might bite me. “Okay, but no one warned me cooking was dangerous work.”
Selena twirls past me, bumping my hip with hers. “It’s black beans, Camila. Not dynamite.”
Our mom leans over my shoulder, her hand gently covering mine to guide the spoon. “Keep stirring. You don’t want to scald the bottom.”
I follow her motion, and the beans settle into a slow simmer instead of threatening to escape. “See?” she says softly. “Perfect.”
