“I have a hat,” he called after me.
“Not the right kind of hat. Come on.”
I heard the door close, then open a few moments later. I made it to the elevator and pressed the button down to the lobby, seeing Wyatt jog down the hall from the corner of my eye. He had grabbed his baseball cap and put his boots on in a hurry, his jeans tucked and sticking out in all the wrong places. He situatedhimself once the elevator was closed and didn’t question me as we walked to the truck and climbed in. But once the doors were closed, he shifted in his seat.
“We’re going to get me a cowboy hat? I have plenty of those at home.” He protested.
“At home, not here. You’re going to rodeos, Wyatt. You gotta look the part. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb wearing that old thing.” I tapped the bill of his hat, forcing it down. “I don’t care that you’re not announcing. You need a damn hat.”
Wyatt took off his hat, ran his fingers through his damp hair, and placed the cap on backwards. “I can have Rhett overnight me one—”
“Nah. I’d rather get you a new one for this adventure.”
He chuckled, shaking his head as I left the hotel parking lot, going to the closest store I could find already programmed on my phone’s GPS.
“And here I was hoping for lunch, I get a new hat instead.”
“We can get lunch after,” I assured him. “Hat now, then food. We don’t have time for a custom hat, so I hope a Boot Barn will suffice.”
Wyatt let out a long, exasperated, over-exaggerated sigh. “If you really think I need a hat—”
“You’re wearing a hat that looks like you got it when you were five. Boot Barn will be like a crown after wearing that.”
“Don’t. Diss. My. Hat.” Wyatt snapped each word, the sarcastic tone floating through the air.
I couldn’t help my smile from slipping out, but didn’t remark. The comfortable silence went on until I pulled into the parking lot of Boot Barn. The country music blared through the speakers, but Wyatt went directly to the back wall, where the hats lined the shelves. I jogged in front of him, my ponytail bouncing behind me as I made it to the hats first. I had to stop him from pickinga plain brown one with no flair or attitude. Wyatt needed a hat that fit him.
“What’s your hat size?” I asked, grabbing a black hat with a silver bull skull on the band. “Seven?” I flipped the hat upside down before twisting to Wyatt. Catching his gaze, I plopped it on his head.
He looked handsome, I would admit that, but black didn’t fit him. He wasn’t broody enough. No one would look at him and say, ‘Youmustbe the grumpy cowboy that all the girls pine after.’ That wasn’t him. I plucked it from his head and put it back on the shelf.
“What was wrong with that one?” he asked, watching my every move. “It was nice, and it fit.”
“You’re not a black cowboy hat kind of guy. White?” I picked up another hat, white with a black rim, and Wyatt just stood still as I again plopped the hat on his head.
Finding a mirror, he caught a glance of himself, raising an eyebrow. “Cash would choose this hat.” He traced the rim with his thumb and forefinger.
Rolling my eyes, I caught sight of a hat I knew would fit him, even if it were an eyesore. Black alligator leather with a turquoise pattern on the brim. Completely hideous, yet…perfect. I turned, facing Wyatt with enthusiasm, just in time to see him place the white one back on the shelf.
His jaw dropped as soon as he saw the hat I was holding. “Oh, fuck no,” he grumbled.
“Just try it on.”
“No.” He bit, his eyes wide as he took the hat from me, waving me off. “Go over there. I can pick my own damn hat.”
I raised my hands in surrender. “Fine, fine.” I backed away from him, using my thumb to point behind my shoulder. “I’ll go over there,” I mimicked him.
I began to wander through the women’s clothing section, getting completely distracted by the earrings, all the while trying to keep my eye on Wyatt. He tried on a few more black ones, some deep brown with jewels around the headband, another white one—but each one he picked up, he studied and put back down. None seemed to capture his vibe. Either that, or he was being honest when he said he didn’t care for cowboy hats. It wasn’t until he picked up a light brown Stetson with a turquoise emblem on the headband that he stopped and looked at himself from all angles in the mirror.
I could feel my lips twisting into a smirk as I watched him trace the brim, adjust it on his head, and raise and drop his chin, taking himself in. Eventually, he hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets, cocked his hips, and posed. Not wanting to miss this, I raised my phone and snapped a picture of him. I could see his face in the mirror, the smirk he was giving himself, his blue eyes shining through. It washishat. If I could see it in a photo, he could see it in the mirror.
“What do you think?”
The sound of his voice made me flinch. Quickly locking my phone, I looked up at him. He was still wearing the hat, and up close it was even more perfect.
“That’s it.” I smiled up at him. “You found your hat.”
His smirk grew, his eyes shining even brighter now that he was in front of me. He removed it and replaced it with his baseball cap. “You almost had it with the alligator one.”
