Page 70 of Wild Then Wed
He feels…solid. And if anyone deserves to get to be a dad, it’s someone like that.
I pull into the ranch just as the sun slips above the ridge. It casts everything in that soft, low light that makes even the frost look warm. The kitchen windows glow faintly from the inside, and I can already picture the scene before I walk in—Mom in her usual corner of the kitchen, Ridge being loud and entirely too proud of himself about something.
Sure enough, when I push the door open, Ridge doesn’t even look up from his coffee before saying, “You look like hell.”
“Dickhead,” I mutter, flipping him off as I walk past.
Mom shoots him a look from where she’s organizing leftovers at the stove. “Ridge. Really?”
He raises his eyebrows like he’s innocent. “What? I said it with love.”
I open the fridge, grab my dairy-free yogurt, and pull a bowl from the cabinet. My hands move on autopilot—cutting up strawberries, slicing a banana, scattering some blueberries in.
Mom leans one hip against the counter, watching me carefully. “How was it over at the Hart’s?”
“Fine.” I shrug, digging the spoon into the yogurt. “Could’ve been a little better. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“We can tell,” Ridge says, which earns him a blueberry to the forehead. It bounces off and lands in his mug. I don’t apologize.
Mom, without missing a beat, glares at him. “That must’ve been hard,” she says, her voice softening. “You doing okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. It was still fine.”
And that’s when my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen, half-expecting something about the horses.
Sawyer:What kind of ring does my soon-to-be fiancée want?
I stare at it.
Then read it again. Mid-chew, I freeze, the spoon hovering in the air.
He’s not being serious. There’s no way he’s being serious. We talked about this. We weren’t doing the whole big show. I figured we’d hit up one of those cheap jewelry counters where everything costs twelve bucks and comes in bubble wrap.
I wipe my fingers on the towel hanging off the oven door and text him back.
Me:You’re not getting me a real ring.
The response comes instantly.
Sawyer:Of course I am. What kind of man lets his wife walk around town with a fake one? You want people thinking I’m cheap?
I try not to laugh. Mom and Ridge are still in the room, and the last thing I need is either of them asking questions I can’t answer.
Me:I’m perfectly fine with fake. And cheap.
Sawyer:If you don’t pick something, I’ll pick it for you. And I have terrible taste.
I roll my eyes.
Me:Fine. Just stick to something simple. If it’s heart-shaped or pink, we’re getting divorced.
Sawyer:Deal.
He follows it with a smiley face emoji that makes me irrationally annoyed and vaguely amused at the same time.
I lock the screen and toss my phone back onto the counter, trying to ignore the way my pulse picked up. Not because of the ring. Not because of an emoji.
Just…because.
