Page 77 of Wild As Her

We stood there, toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye, and probably one cinnamon roll away from setting the whole place on fire with tension.

Beau clears his throat behind us. “Uh… should I give you two some space?”

“No,” we snap in unison.

I stalk out of the kitchen, feeling murderous.

Ollie sits in the living room, coffee in hand, watching the whole disaster unfold like it’s realityTV.

“I take it Beau showed up for baking duty?” he asks, grinning.

“Beau’s making cinnamon rolls.” I say dryly.

“And that’s a problem because…?” Ollie shakes his head, confused.

“Because he has a smug little grin like he invented frosting. And shelaughed,Ollie. She laughed like she likes him.”

Ollie sips his coffee. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m just right.”

He smirks. “So, what’s your next move, loverboy? You gonna bake her a pie and share your feelings?”

I exhale, dragging a hand down my face. “I hate him.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I hate that she’s smiling at him like that.”

“You love her,” Ollie says bluntly.

“I’mnottalking about that right now.”

“Right. Because feelings are scary, and cinnamon rolls are the enemy.”

I point at him. “Exactly.”

Ollie grins like he’s been waiting all morning for this exact breakdown. “C’mon. Let’s go tear something up. Burn some energy before you explode with your emotions.”

I sigh. “What’re we tearing up?”

“Don’t care. Fence post, old shed, rusty tractor, hell, I’ll let you punch the hay bales if it keeps you from beating up innocent Beau.” Ollie laughs.

It’s the way she laughed with him. The way she looked up at him like he belonged there, elbow-deep in flour like he was some missing piece she hadn’t realized she wanted until he showed up with a damn spatula and a smile.

And maybe I’m losing my mind. Hell, maybe I already have.

Because every time she smiles at someone else, it feels like getting kicked in the chest. And that scares the crap out of me.

I’ve spent years keeping my head down. Running from my problems, hiding from this ranch. And now I'm back, facing everything head-on, and it's a lot. And now she's here, loud, infuriating, messy-as-hell Cami, and she’s set up camp in the middle of my life like it’s hers to claim. The worst part? It is.

I’m on a barstool after a twelve-hour day of wrangling cows, fixing a busted gate, and pretending I don’t care that the woman I’m not supposed to be in love with spent the afternoon baking with another man.

Then add in filming a staged date at a lake for that damn reality show with one contestant who referred to hay bales as “crunchy couches,” and yeah, I earned this beer.

Ollie slid a fresh bottle in front of me with a knowing look. “You look like a man who got trampled by his big feelings today.”

“It was a shit day,” I mutter, peeling at the wrapper on my beer.

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