Page 26 of Still A Cowboy
Once upon a time, they had said those words to each other. High school, back when everything had felt like it would last forever.
But that had been two decades ago.
And right now, sitting across from her, it didn’t feel like those words belonged to them anymore.
Eden swirled her drink, her eyes flicking toward Willa briefly, then back to Cal with a smirk. “Willa’s probably putting another curse on me right now,” she said, her voice light but edged. “You know about the curse, right?”
Cal didn’t get a chance to answer. Eden barreled on like she’d been waiting to get this part out. “They say Willa’s grandmother cursed me. Said that my true love would fall for Willa instead. Ridiculous, right?” She laughed, sharp and dismissive, as if the idea was too absurd to even consider. “Like that’s something I ever needed to worry about.”
Cal stared at her, his chest tightening.
Eden’s smile faltered. She reached across the table and slid her hand over his, her nails cool against his skin.
“Maybe that’s what Willa’s doing now,” Eden said, her voice softer but lined with something sharper. “Maybe she’s leading you on. Maybe she’s trying to fulfill the curse. Think about it, Cal. What better revenge than to make you fall for her andthen dump you? All to get back at me.”
She squeezed his hand like she had just shared a terrible secret, her gaze steady and waiting.
Cal pulled his hand back, slow and careful. “Willa wouldn’t do that,” he said, his voice steady.
Eden huffed, leaning back in her seat. “You don’t know her like I do.”
Her smile thinned as she drummed her nails on the table. “After the whole mess with Brent, she made sure people took sides. She stirred things up, Cal. Got folks to believe Brent was the villain. It hurt his business. Hurt mine too. She couldn’t just accept that maybe Brent didn’t love her enough to stay faithful.”
Cal’s jaw tensed, anger flashing hot in his chest. Eden must have caught the shift in his eyes because she quickly waved it off like she had gone too far.
“Forget it,” she said, reaching for her drink again. “Enough of that. This is our catch-up time, right?” She smiled like nothing had happened, like the weight of what she had just said could be brushed aside. “I want to hear about you. Everything.”
Before Cal could respond, Eden pressed on, her tone quick and bright like she was moving them right past the tension.
“We should catch up properly,” she said. “Not here. Not in the middle of this crowd.” She glanced around the noisy saloon like the place didn’tquite measure up for the kind of conversation she wanted. “How about dinner tomorrow? Just the two of us.”
Cal hesitated, but she didn’t wait for him to answer.
“Copper Lane Bistro,” she added, already planning it out. “It’s quiet, and they still make the best crab cakes in town. Does seven work for you?”
She tilted her head, waiting for him to agree like it was already settled.
Once again, Cal didn’t get the chance to answer. Eden’s phone chimed with a sharppop—the distinct sound of a champagne cork. It cut clean through the hum of the saloon, playful and impossible to miss.
Her smile brightened the second she read the screen. “I’m so sorry,” Eden said quickly, already rising from the booth. “I’ve got to go. It’s a work thing. Can’t miss it.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond. She leaned in, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world, and breezed out of the saloon, her heels clicking against the worn wood floor as she hurried away.
Cal let out a slow breath and glanced around. He’d had more comfortable encounters with Edgar, the divebombing seagull. But he soon noticed the bar hadn’t gone back to normal. A lot of people were staring at him. Some just curious. Most of them glaring.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out who theywere siding with.
His gaze drifted automatically toward the bar, but Willa was gone.
Nowhere behind the taps. Nowhere near the tables.
Just gone.
And the weight in his chest settled a little heavier.
Chapter Eight
The Seaglass Saloon was quiet, the kind of rare silence that Willa knew only happened in those early hours before opening. The chairs were still flipped on the tables, the scent of last night’s beer clinging faintly to the air, and Willa was balancing on a stool, hanging a crooked string of cardboard turkeys above the bar.
