Page 4 of Curvy Girl and the Grumpy Cowboy

As we lift together, moving in that synchronized way that somehow hasn't been forgotten in seven years, I realize something that terrifies me: Sarah Matthews is back in Cedar Falls, and despite everything—despite the pain and the years and the regrets—a part of me never left that living room where she asked me to follow her.

A part of me has been waiting for a second chance I never thought would come.

The trough settles into place with a heavy thud, and Sarah steps back, wiping her brow with her forearm.

"Thanks," she says, her voice soft but steady. "I've got it from here."

I nod, knowing when I'm being dismissed. "Midnight's waiting on her medicine."

"Of course. Give her my best."

Walking back to my truck, I feel something shift inside me—like a key turning in a rusted lock. She's back. Not just visiting, but putting down roots again. Building something permanent.

The Sarah I knew seven years ago wouldn't have asked for my help if there'd been no hope at all. She was always too proud for that, too determined to stand on her own.

Maybe, just maybe, I haven't lost her completely. Maybe there's still a chance to show her that while I couldn't leave then, I'm ready to meet her halfway now.

It's a fragile hope, as delicate as a new seedling. But as I reach my truck with the taste of second chances on my tongue, I can't help but think it might be enough to start with.

Chapter 2 - Sarah

I can't believe I just did that.

Jackson Covington stands frozen with his hand on his truck door, his broad shoulders tensed as if he's been caught in headlights. I hardly recognize my own voice as it hangs in the air between us.

"Jackson? Would you like to have lunch? I know it's only noon and you usually eat later, but I'm tired, and I could use the company."

The invitation surprises me as much as it clearly surprises him. I hadn't planned it—just like I hadn't planned on asking him to help with the water trough. But seeing him turn to leave, watching those familiar bowlegged steps taking him away from me again, something inside me couldn't let him go. Not yet.

Seven years. Seven years of building a life without him, of waking up in Seattle's endless rain and telling myself I'd made the right choice. Of dating men who were perfectly nice, perfectly suitable, who never made me feel even half of what I felt when Jackson simply walked into a room.

And now here he is, right in front of me, looking even better than I remembered. The years have been kind to him—more silver in his dark hair, more lines around his eyes, but his body seems even more solid, more grounded. The kind of man who knows exactly who he is and where he belongs.

The kind of man who let me leave.

"Lunch?" he echoes, blinking like he's not sure he heard me correctly.

I fold my arms across my chest, suddenly conscious of how I must look—dirt-streaked overalls, hair a mess, probably smudges on my face.

"Nothing fancy. I've got sandwiches in the cooler. But if you need to get back to Midnight—"

"No," he says quickly. Too quickly. "I mean, yes. Lunch would be good. She'll be fine for another hour."

I nod, trying to keep my expression neutral even as my heart races faster. "Great. We can sit on the porch. It's actually clean, unlike everything else around here."

As I lead him toward the old farmhouse, I'm aware of his towering presence behind me. I straighten my shoulders, lifting my chin slightly. I'm not the same woman who left Cedar Falls with a broken heart and stars in her eyes. I've built something of myself—a respected program, a reputation in a field I love. I came back on my terms, not his.

The front porch of Miller Place has always been its best feature—wide planks of weathered wood stretch across the entire front of the house, with a view of rolling pastureland that seems to go on forever. I cleaned it first thing after closing on the property, needing somewhere peaceful to drink my coffee in the mornings.

"Have a seat," I tell him, gesturing to one of the wooden chairs I'd splurged on. "I'll get the food."

Inside, I grab the cooler from the kitchen counter, my hands shaking slightly. What am I doing? Jackson Covington is the last person I should be having lunch with. The man who chose his ranch over our future. The reason I've spent seven years comparing every date to an impossible standard.

But I can't deny the little spark of satisfaction I felt seeing his reaction to my place. To the life I'm building without him. Maybethat's why I asked him to stay—to show him exactly what he missed out on.

Or maybe, a small voice whispers, you just wanted a few more minutes with him.

I shake the thought away and head back outside.

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