Chris hums. He’s known me since my Uncle Albert first brought me here as a fresh-faced twenty-year-old obsessed with fishing. He knows me as well as anyone can. “Are you coping okay?”
“Mostly,” I sigh as I turn toward the display with the metallic threads. “I thought about asking him to hang out tonight, but he’s…he’s from the city, and he moves around a lot.”
“I can see why that would make you nervous. Are you still painting?”
“Yeah! I tried a new shimmery paint the other day. I’ll have to show you.”
“I hope you do. You should try painting a fish someday.”
I laugh with a shake of my head. “I’m strictly a mountains, trees, and sunrise guy. My skill stops with landscape.”
Chris smiles warmly. “I bet there’s still a lot you can do if you try, Colt.” His kind eyes stay on me, and I jerk my head in a quick nod.
“Thanks.” He’s probably right.
My gaze lands on the fishing vests hanging on a rack, andmaybe it’s time to try a little harder. I quickly scan through the choices and hold one up. “Can I exchange this one if it doesn’t fit?”
Chris only motions for me to come to the counter, and I place the vest in front of him. He removes the tags and bags it before holding it out to me.
“I’m proud of you. This one is on me.” The bag crinkles in my hand, but I like how it feels. “You can just be friends, remember? It doesn’t need to be more than that.”
“Right. I know.” Glancing at his unfinished fly, I add, “I’ll be back about the flies for the guides. I need to keep sending you all the big spenders.”
He laughs as I turn toward the door.
“I know, Colt. I have faith in you.”
As I walk toward my truck before heading home, I think it’s time I have faith in myself, too.
Chapter 6
Ethan
The ceiling in my bedroom has four paint cracks.
There’s also a smudge of paint from the wall color onto the ceiling that will drive me crazy if I keep staring at it any longer. Since returning from my very first horseback ride with Colt, I’ve noticed two things. Well, three if you include that paint smudge.
Colt Beckworth went home before our ride, specifically to get his phone to ask me to help him with it. The second thing is, he wasn’t kidding when he said my legs and ass would hurt after the ride. I have muscles I didn’t know were there protesting over their sudden call to the front line. How do people get used to this? It’s worse than a day of power walking after brunch.
That’s why I’ve been lying here on my bed, noticing things like stray paint gobs and ceiling cracks. I’m sore, and I’m obsessed with the thought of Colt and his damn phone. Don’t even get me started on his tall, silent demeanor and that dependable aura he has radiating like a damn glow stick. Nor should I focus on his smiles, or the way his hair blows in the breeze.
Finally staggering off the bed, I grab my laptop and open it, hoping to write content for more posts. Instead, I stare at the blinking cursor and only see the tall man with broad shoulders and the shyest smile I’ve ever seen as he asks if I could show him how to use a cell phone camera.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter with a sigh. “I can’t have a crush on this guy.”
Yes, I’ve flirted a little, and yes, I’ve hoped he might want to hook up, but after today…I’m almost certain Colt isn’t like that. Which isn’t a bad thing, really. I often jump without wearing a parachute, and maybe it’s time for me to make an overdue phone call. Maybe this is a sign for me to change my track and catch the right train for once in my life.
And why am I thinking in travel terms?
After struggling through writing a post and saving it, I close the laptop. My phone barely has a signal, and I can’t risk a dropped call for this conversation. Hobbling across the kitchen—fuck me, my thighs are on fire—and silently appreciating the level of fitness men on horseback have, I skip the cowboy boots and slide on my runners instead.
My laptop bag gets tossed on the passenger seat next to me, and I head down the driveway, taking a left on Stonewall Road before meeting the highway into Chance. The moment I turn into the town, my phone lights up with a text message from my mom. Must be parental intuition.
I quickly turn at the library and into the Chance City Park parking lot. Once parked, I pick up the phone and hit call.
“Ethan.” Mom’s voice sounds over the line, and I feel more settled.
“Hi, Mom. I was literally on my way to call you when your text popped up.”
