Page 47 of Live, Ranch, Love

I perk a brow at his sarcasm. “What would you rather I called you, then?”

Wyatt’s gaze narrows on me, smirk spreading higher, letting his dimples deepen. He wets his lips as he leans in ever so slightly closer, and his leather and pinewood scent compels me to inch forward too.

Opening his mouth to speak, he then tugs his bottom lip with his teeth, his hesitation evident in the way he wipes his playful expression away. Cold indifference is barely nudged by the quick smile he offers. “Just business partner will do.”

Loud and clear, Mr Hensley. I’ll try my best to ignore the stab of rejection wedged in my stomach.

“What about you? Any cute and wholesome plans for tonight?”

Maybe a night in with my vibrator because clearly I’ve got some pent up tension that needs releasing... But I don’t say that, obviously. And I’m just about to describe another boring night alone with a self-help book when an idea pings into my mind, bright and enticing.

“Actually, I was thinking maybe we put that bonfire to an even better use. How do you fancy helping each other move on from our exes?”

“With… fire? As much as I enjoyed pissing off Holly the other night, I’m not down with arson.” Wyatt’s forehead creases. He stares at me like he’s slightly concerned for my mental state. But my mind is laser-focused on how he said he enjoyed pissing off Holly, which was achieved by kissing me…

I shake my head, waves bouncing and a little matted from sweating with today’s work. “Neither am I. I’m talking about something else that won’t get us tossed in jail, don’t worry. I’ll explain properly later.” I round the counter, readying to leave. “But for now, just get together anything of Holly’s you have still and have the bonfire ready.”

“I don’t have anything of Holly’s.” Wyatt is quick to respond, the words barely finished leaving my lips.

“Sure,” I elongate the word with clear incredulity. “Then just find something that reminds you of her still. It can be anything.”

When I open the door, I notice Wyatt is still cross-armed, sloping against the counter, features strained.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I hurriedly add, realising that he hasn’t actually agreed to hang out yet, and maybe the way he insisted he didn’t have anything of Holly’s was him trying to find a way out of my suggestion. It’s just me, embarrassingly lunging at any opportunity to be around him.

But then everything in his face flashes, and he jolts towards me, as if he’s worried I’ll run away. “No—I mean, yes, I want to spend the night together.” He wipes a hand over his face. “As in, the evening part of the night. Not the whole night. I’m going to shut up now. Just tell me what time to have the fire ready.”

Wyatt winces whilst I smother my laugh, pretending to chew on my thumbnail. Redness creeps across his cheeks, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say that I make Wyatt Hensley a little flustered. And I didn’t have to even kiss him this time.

***

The pep talk I gave myself before I left the house about being a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need attention from a guy goes to absolute shit when I reach Wyatt’s place.

The dancing amber firelight casts streaks of glowing orange across his angled face, which is all brooding and strained with concentration as he reads his history book. His light-brown skin is almost golden under the last remnants of the sunset too. But the worst part is, he’s swapped his usual dark jeans and T-shirt for a thin navy fleece with Michigan Ann Arbor embroidered in yellow thread, paired with my ultimate weakness—grey sweatpants. I have to hold in a whimper as my whole body twinges at the sight of him lounging.

There’s a beer in the arm of Wyatt’s camp chair and a soothing man’s voice sings a chilled country song from a speaker, just loud enough over the rhythmic crackle of the flames. Cool grey and pale brown smoke cascades towards the emerging starry sky. I’m disappointed I don’t have any marshmallows because that would be the cherry on top.

“Is that Hunter singing?” I ask, pulling my cardigan a little tighter around my body.

Wyatt immediately slams his book shut and shoots to his feet like a soldier standing to attention. He doesn’t even try to fight his smile, dimples blazing. Coupled with the grey sweatpants, I’m in trouble. My heart has never raced so fast.

“Oh, no.” He gestures to the camp chair next to his and waits for me to settle into it before sitting back down himself. “It’s Zach Bryan. He’s, uh, my favourite singer.”

“Nice, I didn’t think it was Hunter, anyway. Not quite as upbeat as his usual stuff.”

Wyatt throws his head back and groans. “Please tell me you’re not a fan of his music now?”

“One hundred percent.” I grin, biting down on my bottom lip as Wyatt peeks out of one eye at me, disdain written across his face. “His voice is so sexy. In fact, you don’t happen to have any of his old underwear around do you?”

“I hate you,” he deadpans.

“No, you don’t, you love me,” I tease, gulping when Wyatt’s face doesn’t move, save for a small twitch of his jaw, proving me very wrong. Abruptly, I snag Wyatt’s beer from his chair and try a sip, grimacing as I hand it back to him. “Yep, still hate beer. God, why do you drink this?”

Shrugging, Wyatt jibes, “It helps me get through having to deal with you every day.”

“Always a charmer.”

I throw Wyatt a sneer, then smack my hands down on the notebook sat on my lap. The one that’s full to the brim with paragraphs of emotional word vomit about Jake’s infidelity. If my agent wanted a book about how awful it feels to be cheated on, our upcoming meeting would be a lot easier.

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