Expand her search radius. Which meant potentially moving away, leaving the house, ending their arrangement before it had really started. The thought made his stomach twist.
"What would you do if money wasn't an issue?"
She considered the question, her green eyes focused on something beyond the kitchen window. "I used to think I knew. Corporate ladder, corner office, maybe my own consulting firm someday. But lately..." She shrugged. "Lately I'm not sure any of that matters as much as I thought it did."
"What matters?"
"I don't know. That's the problem." She turned to look at him, and there was a vulnerability in her expression that made him want to close the distance between them and kiss her until neither of them could remember why they were supposed to bekeeping things professional. "What about you? Is rodeo what you always wanted to do?"
The question hit closer to home than he'd expected. "It's what I'm good at. Sometimes that's enough."
"But is it what you want?"
Want. Such a simple word for the tangle in his head. What he wanted was to feel like he belonged somewhere, to have something that was his that bad luck or worse timing couldn't take away. What he wanted was to look at a woman like Vanessa and not automatically calculate how long it would take her to realize that loving a cowboy meant spending most of your time alone.
What he wanted was standing three feet away from him in yoga pants and a tank top, asking questions that didn't have easy answers.
What he wanted was already his, for however long this fragile thing between them lasted.
"I want to not worry about money," he said finally. "I want to wake up somewhere that feels like home instead of just another stop on the road. I want..." He stirred the chili harder than necessary. "I want things that don't make sense for someone who lives the way I do."
The kitchen fell silent except for the sound of dinner cooking and the air conditioning kicking on. Vanessa was studying him with an intensity that made him feel exposed, like she could see past the easy charm to the parts of himself he kept locked away.
"How much longer do you think you'll keep competing?"
"Until my body tells me I can't. Or until I get smart enough to quit before it has to tell me."
"And then what?"
The question that kept him awake at night, staring at motel room ceilings and trying to imagine a future that didn't involveeight-second rides and entry fees and the constant risk of career-ending injury.
Except now when he pictured the future, it looked like this. Like morning coffee with Vanessa. Like cooking dinner in a kitchen that smelled like her perfume. Like building a life that lasted longer than eight seconds and mattered more than prize money.
"I've got some ideas. Nothing concrete yet."
She nodded like she understood the feeling of having your future be more question mark than plan. "Well, for what it's worth, this chili smells better than anything I've ever made in this kitchen."
"High praise from someone who heats things up professionally."
That earned him another laugh, and he decided he was definitely addicted to the sound. To the way her whole face changed when she smiled, how it made her look less like a corporate perfectionist and more like a woman who might be willing to take a few risks if the right person convinced her it was worth it.
If he convinced her, it was worth it.
The chili was ready, filling her kitchen with the kind of smells that turned a house into more than just walls and furniture. He served it in bowls he'd found in her cabinet, noting how organized everything was, how she had exactly the right dishes for exactly the right occasions.
"This is incredible," she said after the first bite. "Seriously, where has this been all my life?"
Good question. Where had a woman like her been all his life, and why was he meeting her now, when he was broken down and temporarily sidelined and completely wrong for someone who deserved stability and security and all the things he'd never been able to offer anyone?
Except maybe he could offer her this. Dinner at her kitchen table, someone who gave a damn whether she found a job or not, someone who wanted to take care of her even in small ways like cooking chili on a Wednesday night.
Maybe that was enough. Maybe that was everything.
"Family recipe. Grandmother swore it could cure everything from heartbreak to hangovers."
"What else did she teach you?"
Everything that mattered, he wanted to say. How to work with your hands, how to treat people with respect, how to take care of the things that were important to you. How to recognize when a thing was worth fighting for, even if you weren't sure you deserved it.
