She nods toward the door, a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture. “Because Seth just walked in here. And he looks like he’s coming our way.”
I look up, my heart giving a nervous little flutter. He’s standing just inside the diner, his eyes scanning the room. When they land on our booth, he starts moving, his strides long and purposeful.
He looks… harried. There are new frown lines etched around his mouth, and his hair is more disheveled than usual.
He stops at our table, his scent—wild clover and fresh-cut wheat, with an undercurrent of something sharp and metallic, like sweat—washing over me.
“Ladies,” he says, his voice a little breathless. “Glad I caught you.”
“We were just heading home,” I say, the words coming out too fast, a clear attempt at dismissal. “Did you need something?”
He lets out a deep, shuddering breath, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Can I sit?” he asks, his eyes pleading. “Just for a minute.”
I can’t say no. Not with that look on his face.
“Yes,” I murmur, moving over to make room in the booth. He slides in beside me, his presence a warm, solid weight that makes my skin tingle.
Clara, ever the perceptive one, jumps right in. “You look like you’re running a marathon. Is everything okay with the cattle?”
Seth shakes his head, a faint, tired smile on his face. “No, nothing like that. The cattle are fine. Just… a long day.”
Daisy Mae appears, placing a mug of black coffee in front of him without even asking. “Here you go, Seth. You look like you need it.”
“Thanks, Daisy,” he says, his gratitude genuine. He takes a sip, his eyes scanning the table. “What are you having?”
“This is the famous huckleberry pie,” Clara says, her tone bright and cheerful, a deliberate attempt to ease the tension. “It’s life-changing. You should get a slice.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, his gaze flicking back to me. There’s an intensity in his eyes that makes my breath catch.
Clara clears her throat, sliding out of the booth. “You know what? I’m going to use the washroom. I’ll be right back.”
The moment she’s gone, the air between me and Seth changes. It becomes charged, heavy with all the things we’re not saying.
I turn to him, really looking at him now. Up close, I can see the dark circles under his eyes, the tense set of his jaw.
He smells of sweat and hard work under his usual clean scent, a primal, masculine smell that makes my skin prickle with an awareness I don’t want to feel.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask, my voice soft.
He swallows, the motion of his throat visible. He takes a long swig of his coffee, his hand trembling slightly around the mug.
“I’m fine,” he says, but the word is unconvincing.
“Are you sure?” I press, my concern overriding my desire to keep my distance.
He sets the mug down with a soft clink. He looks at me, his brown eyes, usually so warm and steady, now filled with a raw, vulnerable panic.
“Well,” he says, his voice barely a whisper, “I thought you had left town.”
I pick up my tea cup, the ceramic warm against my fingertips.
The delicate clink as it touches the saucer is the only sound I can focus on for a second. I take a sip, the chamomile doing little to soothe the frantic hummingbird beating against my ribs.
I set the cup down and look at him—the desperate, wild look in his eyes, the slight tremor in his hand as he reaches for his coffee mug.
“So you ran here?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. No explanation, no excuse. Just a raw, honest admission.
