When he finishes his pie, he sips his coffee. He nods to me once with a smile that’s tight, not revealing his perfect teeth. Hiseyes slip over me in a way that I’ve started to memorize. I hate how good his presence feels. I hate how much I want it even though another part of me wants him to go away.
I make it through another day, but the next morning Maya’s already moving around the bakery like a storm contained in an apron. She scrubs and wipes with a kind of restless energy, glancing at the door every few minutes like she’s waiting for something… or someone. By lunch, when the shop is quiet and the lull settles in, she suddenly pulls me aside. Apparently, this is her moment to pounce. “I adore you. You’re sweet, professional, reliable, a really amazing friend,” Maya says.
“That’s how I feel about you,” I promise. “Did someone say differently? I’ve never said a bad word against you. I’ll defend you openly and-”
“So as a friend, I’m going to ask you what’s going on? I have cameras outside the shop. I saw you and Ryder leave after spending a long time in the shop. I saw how he looked at you, saw how close you were. I know your dress was all skewed and his shirt wasn’t on right.”
My whole body freezes. I’m not ready for this talk.
“You were with him, he’s here every day, he’s still showing up just to see you. That and what Oliver said when I talked to him proves all the rumors wrong. He’s not always a one and done. He’s usuallynot. He gets offers, but goes to his hotel room alone. He’s not celibate or anything, but he doesn’t bounce from woman to woman,” Maya says, her voice gentle and calm, but obviously with an intense purpose.
“What are you saying?” I ask. “What do you think-”
“Based on your blush and the fact he’s still here, sitting there, watching you with hope, says that you guys kissed at minimum, probably more, and now you’re pulling away. I really do love you, Paige, but that man is hurting, waiting, hoping and you’re not putting him out of his misery by doing nothing,” Mayasays. She rubs my arm. “I’m not telling you how to handle it. I wouldn’t. I’m just asking you to make a choice in the next week and stop this nonsense, one way or the other, for both your sakes. Just think about it, okay?”
Later that afternoon, Ryder shows up again, and this time Ireallylook at him. Not just the quick, shy glances I usually steal. He’s gorgeous. Painfully, unfairly gorgeous. The kind of man who pulls eyes to him without even trying. And they do follow him. Every woman in the room seems to notice.
But when he sits down with that same slice of pie, something shifts. I stop noticing everyone else and start noticinghim.The way his silence fills the space. The weight of his gaze that brushes against my skin like a touch I can almost feel.
It’s pouring outside, but he’s steady, unbothered. Rain clings to his shirt, darkening the fabric, but he doesn’t flinch or fidget. He just sits there, solid, hat set aside with a small, quiet respect that hints at something softer beneath the cocky, alpha exterior. The same man I’ve heard stories about. The same man Igoogledlike a fool. The same man who’s managed to get under my skin.
And yet… we don’t really know each other. A few conversations over pie, one night that burned through every defense I’ve ever built, and now this strange, illogical pull inside me whenever I catch the faint crease between his brows.
Logically, statistically, based on everything I know, there’s no way this should work. Not long term. Not with him and me living in two very different worlds. Even if the sex was unforgettable. Even if he made me feel like I’d been sleepwalking through life until the moment he touched me.
He’shim. Traveling rodeo royalty. A man who’s lived on the road, thrived on it. And I’m… me. I like quiet mornings and slow days. I like Aspenbrook—the cozy streets, the familiar faces, the feeling of belonging. I like curling up indoors with a book,watching the world move at a pace I can actually keep up with. I like staying. He doesn’t.
He’s restless, coiled energy in human form. Chomping at the bit after a week of silence following what should’ve been nothing more than a one-night stand. He’s intense. Wild. A man standing on the edge of a life I’ve never even brushed against. And I can’t shake the fear that I’m not enough for someone like him.
Because feelings can’t hold a life together. Not forever. Affection, infatuation, lust, even love—they all sound beautiful, but I’ve watched relationships built on those things alone collapse. They don’t just break; they burn, and the fallout leaves scars.
I can’t do that to myself. I can’t just open my heart, drop my guard, and trust him. I don’t… I don’t know how to do that.
One long look at him—really looking—makes my chest ache. He sits there quietly, nodding at whatever small talk floats around him. He doesn’t try to charm anyone. Doesn’t demand attention. His hand is wrapped around his fork like it’s the one solid thing holding him steady, and I suddenly realize he’s not waiting for me to offer him more sex.
He wantsmore.
The thought makes something inside me twist. It’s terrifying, the kind of fear that sinks into your ribs and doesn’t let go. Because if he meant everything he said that night… then this isn’t just some passing, lust-fueled distraction for him.
So… is it possible? Is it possible that he meant it all? That the way he looks at me isn’t temporary, isn’t built on heat and a moment of weakness?
My heart wants to believe it. My head is screaming not to. And caught between the two, I just sit there, staring at him, feeling like if I move even an inch toward him, I might lose everything I’ve built to keep myself safe.
And yet… not moving at all feels just as dangerous.
Chapter 8 - Ryder
My leg won’t stop bouncing today. I’m fraying at the edges, and every bit of silence between us rubs me raw. The restraint I’ve been forcing on myself is wearing thin, thread by thread. The questions that sit heavy in my chest never get answers, and Maya’s sympathetic looks—along with those subtle crossed fingers when she thinks I’m not paying attention—tell me there’s more going on than she’ll say out loud.
I feel worn down, like I’ve been sanded into a duller version of myself. But even like this, even frayed and restless, Iseeher.
More importantly, I’ve caught her watching me when she thinks I’m not looking. Those stolen glances keep me tethered when everything in me wants to break. It’s eating at me. My restraint is stretched too tight, one pull away from snapping.
I’ve sworn I won’t chase her. I won’t beg. I’m not that man. I won’t push myself into her world if she doesn’t want me there. But god, it’s hard not to reach out and take what I already feel belongs to me.
And of course, that means I can’t take my eyes off her. I need to know everything. Every flicker of emotion on her face. Every heartbeat she tries to hide from me.
When men flirt with her—and of course they do, because she’s fucking gorgeous, a sip of sunshine in fall—she tucks those softwisps of hair behind her ear and looks away. But then her eyes flick to me. Always to me.
