Page 50 of Swift and Saddled

Ada looked down at the golden pastry and then back up at me. “Seriously?” she asked with the biggest smile I’d seenher sport since the bar. Her smile took all the words out of my head, so I just nodded. She looked back at the dish. “Did you do this for me?” Her voice was quieter now.

“Yeah,” I said.

She bit the inside of her lip. “Why?”

That felt like a loaded question. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about her, because I wanted her to be happy at Rebel Blue, because I wanted her to think about me the way I thought about her. “Because you told me it was your favorite food” is the answer I settled on, which was also true.

“Can I try it?” She sounded kind of excited.

“Hell yeah,” I said, pulling a knife out of one of the drawers and bringing it over to her, along with a plate and two forks. “Do the honors?”

“My mom would kill me for not letting it sit for a minute, but…” She sliced a square and put it on the plate between us. The filling was steaming. Ada picked up a fork and motioned for me to do the same.

Both of us picked up a bite and blew on it to cool it down. I waited for her to taste hers. I wanted to see her reaction. She smiled as she chewed. She brought her hand over her mouth as she said, “It’s good,” with a nod.

I took my bite, and I wasn’t expecting to like it, but I did. It was warm, and salty, and flaky, and…good.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, actually,” I said with a chuckle, “I do.”

“I think even my mom would say this is passable,” she said, shaking her head in what looked like disbelief.

“Passable! What a compliment,” I said with an exaggerated eye roll.

“I promise you, coming from Thalia Hart, passable is equivalent to a Nobel Peace Prize.”

“Will you tell me about her?” I asked, not sure where that had come from. Ada paused midbite. She looked down at the spanakopita for a minute.

“My mom is…fierce and forthright,” she said quietly. “She’s a good mom—in her own way. She isn’t affectionate like your family, but she’s always there—even if she doesn’t want to be.

“Her expectations for me have always been high,” Ada continued, “and most of the time, I feel like I let her down.” Hearing her say that sent a knife to my heart. Ada was magnificent, and I wanted everyone to see it—to see her. “She left her whole life behind when she came to the U.S. Everything she has, she built herself. She had dreams for me growing up—dreams that I would never have to work for as hard as she did. I think that I’ll always feel a little bit guilty for following my own dreams instead of hers.”

“What did she say about coming to Wyoming?” I asked.

“Waste of time. She has been keeping up on my social media pages, though—sending a few messages when she likes something and a lot more when she doesn’t.”

She sighed and was earnest when she said, “But she’s a good mom. And my dad is a good dad.”

“Tell me about him?” I asked.

Ada seemed to think on that for a moment. “He’s quiet, doesn’t really love people, but he’s a dedicated provider. He worked a lot while I was growing up, so he wasn’t a hands-on parent, but I know he would do anything for my mom.”

I nodded and reached across the table to grab her hand. Iliked that she’d told me all of that. I loved feeling like I knew her.

She didn’t pull away. Instead, she said, “Now I get to ask you a question.”

“Shoot,” I said.

A smile stretched her lips. “Why do you have flour all over your face?”

Chapter 19

Ada

Things were changing between Wes and me. When we were at the job site, there were these little touches—our arms brushing when we passed each other, a hand on my elbow or my lower back to steer me out of someone else’s path—stuff like that.

When we were at the Big House, we normally ate dinner together. Earlier this week, we watched a movie on the couch, and he put his arm around me.

---