Page 9 of All for You

She turns and saunters away, and I watch the twitch of her ass every step as she works her section refilling coffee cups, taking orders, and cleaning a few tables. The whole time she’saway, I find myself missing her. I watch her easy conversations with other customers and whispered exchanges with Sheila. I know they’re talking about me because Sheila’s eyes are pinned on me the entire time. It doesn’t bother me, though, because I know she’s just watching out for Rachel, and I respect that.

When my new girlfriend returns with two cups of fresh coffee and a slice of pie before sliding into the booth opposite me again, she wastes no time.

“So, Travis, tell me about yourself. What deep, dark secrets are you hiding?”

My laughter sounds rusty and rough. “Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Besides, I’m almost positive she’s already heard them all.

“If we’re going to pull this off, we need to know each other, inside and out.”

The double entendre isn’t lost on me, although I know she didn’t intend it that way. “Fair enough. What do you want to know?”

Rachel purses her lips, considering. “Let’s start with the basics. Family? Hopes and dreams?”

I take a swig of my coffee, buying time. “My mother is still around, like I said earlier, but we don’t always see eye to eye. My father passed a few years back.”

The bitterness of the coffee matches the taste in my mouth. Memories of recent arguments with Mom and the ache of Dad’s absence threaten to surface, but I push them down. This isn’t the time or place to unpack that baggage.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel says softly, her earlier playfulness fading.

I shrug. “As for exes... well, there’s only one—Amelia. We were married for two years before she had enough of ranch life.” That was partially true. She hated living on the ranch—considered it too dusty and dirty even after she got the house ofher dreams. She despised the early mornings and late nights and that the ranch took most of my time and energy.

Then I caught her in bed with my ranch foreman.

Even now, years later, the betrayal stings. I’d given Amelia everything—my trust, love, and name. I’d given Hank a job, my friendship, and my confidence. Both threw it away for a ride in the hay. To be honest, I’m not sure whose betrayal hurts worse.

Rachel winces. “Ouch. That’s rough.”

“Yeah, well, lesson learned. Trust isn’t something I easily give these days.”

And isn’t that the truth. I’ve kept everyone at arm’s length, convinced it’s safer that way. But sitting across from Rachel, watching her eyes fill with empathy, I feel a dangerous urge to let my guard down.

This is all for show. I need to remember that.

She nods, understanding in her eyes. “I get that. My ex wasn’t exactly Prince Charming either.”

“What happened?”

Her fingers tighten around her pen. “He was controlling. Manipulative. By the time I realized how toxic the situation was, I’d already lost touch with most of my friends and family and hated my job.”

Anger flares in my chest. What the fuck? Why do I even care? But still, a surge of protectiveness washes over me, surprising in its intensity. I barely know this woman, yet the thought of someone hurting her makes my blood boil. I clench my jaw, forcing myself to remain outwardly calm. “Sounds like a real piece of work.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” she mutters and forces a smile. “Anyway, that’s all in the past. I’m here for a fresh start.”

Leaning toward her, I lower my tone. “And how’s that working out for you?”

She glances around the café, taking in the worn linoleum floors and faded curtains. “It’s different. Obviously. Slower. Sometimes I miss the energy of the city, you know? But there’s something nice about knowing your neighbors, feeling like part of a community.”

I’ve spent so much time isolating myself, convinced it’s the only way to avoid getting hurt again. But watching Rachel, seeing the hope in her eyes as she talks about community, there’s a pang of longing in my chest.

“Even if that community is full of nosy busybodies?”

Rachel laughs, the sound genuine this time. “Even then. At least my mother doesn’t live here because I can do without her constant nagging about finding a suitable husband.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you said I qualify as suitable?”

“Oh, you’re plenty suitable on paper. That’s why I asked you to be my fake boyfriend,” Rachel’s gaze trails appreciatively over my shoulders. “Rich, handsome, a rancher. You’re like catnip for small-town gossip. But my mother doesn’t know the real you.”

Shit. I’d agreed to this charade, thinking it would be simple and straightforward. But how Rachel looks at me, like she can see past all my defenses, makes me wonder if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

---