Page 24 of Live, Ranch, Love

He halts, turning slowly, failing to suppress his scowl.

Really not a morning person, evidently.

“Thank you, for last night,” I say, and he nods, lips curving ever so slightly, then he heads off.

I needed last night far more than he probably realises. I know he invited me out of pity, but it was better than wallowing by myself all night. Being surrounded by people who welcomed me in so easily made me forget about everything.

Plus, I needed that talk with him, or at least someone.

And since Jake and I shared some friends, the only people I feel like I can talk to right now are my mum, half-sister, and Sofia. But the time difference makes it difficult when you’re upset at seven in the evening in Colorado, and they’re asleep because it’s two in the morning over in England. Sofia might have said she didn’t mind a midnight chat if I needed her, but I also know she starts work so early, and needs all the sleep to deal with the hellraising teenagers she teaches.

I always feel better after talking things through with people, and since I’ve been at Sunset Ranch, I haven’t been able to do that. Which is why all the feelings hit me yesterday—I was just overcome with loneliness.

There was a strange comfort to knowing Wyatt understood some of my feelings, too. Even if I thought he had zero capacity for emotions before that, except for grumpiness.

He was right as well. Annoying as it is to admit. Life isn’t perfect, and I need to accept that. Maybe my followers will appreciate seeing that I have lows amongst the highs too. Maybe we can all be on this journey of healing together, I’m sure I can’t be the only one recovering from a little crisis.

And screw thinking that I have to have everything figured out to be happy. I can still be happy even if I don’t know what the future holds, even if I don’t have the perfect relationship.

I grab my phone from my pocket and angle the camera at the beautiful scenery ahead of me—the mountain peaks, the sun rising up over them, cascading buttery sunlight across the rich green fields. I don’t even consider sitting for half an hour to edit the photo, to try and make it look better, because it already looks amazing. The beauty of this place is so natural and unparalleled. So raw and unfiltered. It’s everything I didn’t realise I needed.

It's time for me to be the same.

Raw. Unfiltered. Honest.

I upload the photo to my Instagram, with the caption:

Who decided that running away to a ranch in Colorado to escape my boyfriend’s infidelity and find some inspiration again meant I was unsuccessful? Whoever they are, I’m ready to prove them wrong. Better days are coming, my loves! Rory xo.

***

I honestly cannot contain my excitement as I skip up the steps to Wyatt’s house. It’s almost enough to drown out the dull ache in my lower back I get when I’m on my period. Loudly, I knock on the door, eager to explain what I’ve been working on for the past few days. I only managed to get one swim in at the lake over the entire weekend, too engrossed in all my planning.

When he doesn’t answer, I knock again and call his name.

“Jesus Christ, I’m coming,” he yells.

“Actually, it’s just me, Rory.”

A few seconds later Wyatt opens the door, sighing. “What do you want?”

He’s dripping wet, a towel wrapped around his lower half, whilst the rest of his body is on full display, glistening in the sunlight. The sight of him makes me gulp.

His muscled body is thick and softly sculpted, built from hard, heavy work, as opposed to the slimmer, more sharply chiselled gym influencers I’m used to, like Jake. The way his hips taper in that same V shape I saw the other morning has my heart stammering. Muscles ripple through his legs too, and I can see a scar on his knee from the injury he mentioned.

I’d seen the mountain range tattoo around his forearm before, but he’s also got a beautifully illustrated tattoo of an eagle mid-flight that spreads from one shoulder across most of his chest. When I’d walked past him chopping wood shirtless the other day, I’d been too riled up to pay him or his tattooed body enough attention. But now I’m seeing this up close, it’s actually breathtaking—the detail that must have gone into it. God knows how long that took.

His dark chest hair is neatly trimmed, but still long enough for me to run my fingers through it.

Not that I want to do that.

Wyatt clears his throat. “Aurora? You good?”

I flick my eyes back up to his, and his face looks strained. Shit. I’m not sure there’s any way I can pretend I wasn’t just ogling Wyatt, so I just say, “Yeah, you’ve got a bit of water on you—just there,” and point at his shoulder where the eagle starts, despite the fact that his whole body is soaking wet.

Just like how between my thighs will be in a second if he doesn’t put some bloody clothes on.

Jesus, what is wrong with me?

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