Page 52 of Live, Ranch, Love

“What?”

She tucks some hair behind her ear. “I mean, your place is great and all, but there’s more space here for everyone to sit and eat. You can take advantage of the bigger kitchen too.”

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You wouldn’t be. I want you here—um, your family here. It would be nice to make use of all this space for once. It feels a bit empty and lonely when it’s just me.” Aurora worries her lip while her honeyed eyes glisten up at me.

The thought of her being lonely up here makes my chest twinge. I want her to know that I’m here. That she’s always got my shoulder to fall asleep on if she needs it.

That she always got… well, me.

But I’m not sure how to put that into words without completely crossing the healthy boundaries we’ve set any more than I already have tonight.

The boundaries that keep this ranch, and my job, intact.

“Please.” Aurora widens her eyes even further. I feel like I could fall straight into them. I can’t stand the idea of her being upset now.

“Fine, yes.”

Squealing with delight, Aurora shakes her hips in a little dance towards the back door. My eyes are glued to her ass the whole time. She spins around too quickly, catching me.

With a smirk, she waves and says, “Goodnight, Wyatt.”

twenty-one

Aurora

Afternoons in Sitting Pretty, my great aunt’s favourite café, were always saved for sipping sugary drinks and discussing dreams like they were inevitable.

What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail? Auntie Grace would ask me, admiring the buttery sunlight glazing over the mountainous backdrop to Willow Ridge. I wonder if she posed the same question to herself when she was burnt out in her corporate job. If it was the catalyst to her starting Sunset Ranch.

Throughout my teenage years, there were plenty of dreams that now I wouldn’t be interested in, but I’ll always remember the time I admitted that I wanted to write a book one day.

Marvellous, and so you shall, she said, clinking her glass of sweet tea against mine. Like it was as easy as that—declare what you wished for, knock some drinks together, and it would happen. It’s not too dissimilar to the manifestation techniques I like to follow, I suppose, but even I know dreams need action as well as desire to come true.

Still, she wasn’t wrong. I wrote that book. It became a bestseller in the self-help sphere, and now everyone is expecting me to write a second. Especially my agent, whose video chat should be popping up on my laptop screen imminently. I might have managed to delay meeting with her since Jake cheated on me, but there was only so many excuses I could make up. That’s one of the downsides too when it comes to influencing—everyone knows what you’re up to, including your agent.

I’ve already devoured two berry smoothies, hoping the sugar will give me a rush of energy. Yesterday was supposed to end with a chilled, early night that consisted of purely a bubble bath, a quick FaceTime with my best friend, and reading a motivational book. Yet, instead, I found myself dancing on the deck, wrapped in the thick arms of Wyatt Hensley, who once again ruined me with the sight of him in grey sweatpants.

I struggled to sleep all night because every inch of my body was overheating with lust for Wyatt and the memory of him digging his fingers into my hips pooling too much need between my legs. The desperate glisten to his dark eyes when he frantically knocked at my door to discuss the revelation of Pinky was etched in my mind, making me wonder how I could make him look at me like that again.

But then, every time I let myself get too carried away with those thoughts, that stab of rejection would come through, reminding me how he pushed me away when we were dancing.

Again.

And there wasn’t even an ex-girlfriend to worry about this time.

Even if Wyatt does find me attractive, it doesn’t necessarily mean he wants anything more from me. I remember what Sawyer and Wolfman said about his rule, how he always makes it clear to girls about what he wants. I can’t help but feel like if he really did want me in that way, he would’ve told me. Right?

Either way, I shouldn’t let myself worry over a guy right now when there are so many more important things happening. Like the retreat. Like my blogging, where my followers are drinking up the new perspective shift I’ve been taking. Like my writing for the magazine, which seems to be flowing with inspiration, unlike my book—

“Rory!” My agent’s face pops onto the screen, her white-blonde bob razor sharp, alongside a bright, welcoming smile that instantly coerces out mine. “You are glowing. How is Colorado?”

“Hey Krissy, thanks so much! Yeah, Colorado is great. Super peaceful. It’s been good to come back after all these years.” I quickly glance around the café, taking in the mint-green, tiled walls lined with black and white photographs of Willow Ridge and its residents. Warmth climbs into my chest at how it still looks exactly the same as when I used to visit with Auntie Grace.

“I bet!” Krissy beams again. “It sounds like you’ve really needed it with everything that’s been going on. But I have to say, I absolutely love the slight shift you’ve taken with your socials and articles. It feels so much more raw. Like you’re giving people the real Rory, and that’s great.”

Krissy has always been so supportive of my work—she was the one who sought me out after following me for years and proposed the idea of writing a book, unaware that I’d already started planning one. She gave me the opportunity to combine all of my learning into one beautifully bound hardback and championed me the whole way. Just like she’s still doing now, which I’m so grateful for.

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