I hold my glass, cold and sweating. “Someone who reads the room.”
He laughs, but I notice he stands a little differently. His hands are strong and sun-browned, and he has a quiet confidence. He moves like someone who’s used to fixing fences, never in a hurry. In the silence, I find myself looking for signs, not sure if I want him to come closer. I catch a hint of citrus from his aftershave, which brings me back to the moment.
“Would you dance with me?” he says, quietly.
“If I must,” I say, slipping my hand into his. The song is slow, and he’s careful with the first steps, as if he knows I’m not used to being led. I take a breath and let myself fall into the gentle rhythm.
We don’t talk. The night is warm, and I rest my cheek against his shirt. He smells of hay and citrus, and there’s no space left for nerves. He holds me just tight enough that it doesn’t feel ordinary.
Halfway through the song, he says, “If you ever want a reason to stay, I know a few people who’d like to hire you.”
“You mean Sagebrush County is desperate for romance?” I tease.
He grins. “Desperate for someone to tell us it’s worth the trouble.”
The last chords play, and I step back. Near the door, Sela is watching, but she gives me a thumbs-up instead of a smirk.
As the dance winds down, I walk with Rhett to the edge of the barn, where the noise softens to a hush. Out under the stars, the air is colder, sharp with the scent of sagebrush and wind. He doesn’t say anything. If he’s nervous, he doesn’t show it.
A hush falls between us, more comfortable than before.
At the far end of the property, the sky is endless and black, dusted with stars. He stops, turns to face me.
“Can I ask you something professional?” he says.
I laugh a little. “At a wedding? At night?”
“Best time.” He looks out at the dark. “I’ve got friends who could use what you do. Half the county, maybe. You’ve seen the ratio in there.” He nods back toward the barn. “More hats than heads.”
I smile at my own line coming back to me. “Are you asking me to take on clients?”
“I’m asking you to meet me tomorrow at Sagebrush Coffee House. We can talk it over and see if it’s worth your time.” He says it plainly, with no hidden motive that I can see.
I look out at the dark spread of land, the lights from the barn throwing gold down the hill. I think about Denver, my apartment, my calendar. Then I think about Willa’s question: *You’ll come back for holidays, right?*
“What time?” I ask.
“Ten,” he says. “I’ll buy the coffee.”
We walk back, his boots and my heels grinding the gravel in time. At the barn, Willa meets me at the door and pulls me into a hug, her face bright with that new, settled kind of happiness.
“Thanks for coming out,” she says.
I steal a look back at Rhett, already disappearing into the crowd. Part-time, I think. It could work part-time. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
THREE
RHETT
There’s a line at Sagebrush Coffee House, three people deep, but it moves briskly enough that I don’t mind. The place smells of cinnamon and burnt espresso, with an earthy undertone from the houseplants Cotton’s mom crowds onto every flat surface. I stand at the window, watching Highway 14 stretch into the distance and waiting for Hannah. The morning is so clear and dry that the sunlight looks peeled, sharp as fresh paint.
She walks in at 9:58, arms full—portfolio, phone, tablet, and a pen she grips loosely for emphasis. Her hair remains in yesterday’s tight bun, but a few wisps have slipped free at her neck. Dressed in a crisp blue blouse and black pants, she scans the room with sharp eyes before she even fully steps inside.
We wave. No hugs, no cheek-kisses—that’s a Denver thing, and neither of us goes there, though I’d bet she knows how.
Spotting Ruby, Cotton’s younger sister, busy at the espresso machine, I make my way to the counter and order two coffees—mine black, hers with milk. Meanwhile, Hannah selects a table by the window and methodically arranges her portfolio, phone,pen, and tablet into a careful grid. When I sit down, the yellow vinyl seat squeaks under me.
She glances up, ready to work already. “You’re early.”
