“Shylo.” Her name came out more gently that time.
She drew in a slow breath, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. “Dinner,” she repeated.
“Dinner. Not at the ranch—out somewhere, just the two of us.”
Her thoughts stalled for a second, then rushed back in all at once. This was a bad idea. She knew it. Nothing about this was going to stay simple, not with him, not after that night.
She should say no.
Walk away, keep her distance, and stick to the plan she’d come here with.
But one dinner didn’t have to change anything—it didn’t mean she had to lose sight of why she was there.
That was the excuse she clung to.
“Fine.” The word came out softer than she intended.
Something in his expression shifted—subtle, but there. The tension he’d been holding eased enough to show, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a small, almost relieved smile before disappearing again.
“When’s your next night off?” he asked.
“Wednesday.”
“Then Wednesday it is—six o’clock?”
She nodded, a flicker of nerves blooming low in her stomach at how easily he’d locked that in. “Okay.”
He held her gaze for a second longer, then slid off the stool and stepped back. “Have a good night.”
She watched him turn and walk out. The night air drifted in for a second before the door swung shut behind him. For a moment, she stood there as the bar slipped back into its usual rhythm around her, as if nothing had changed.
“Uh-huh,” Giselle said from behind her.
Grabbing the rag she’d used earlier, Shylo turned to clear another table. A couple of regulars that’d been sitting there had left a few minutes earlier. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m definitely starting.” Giselle grinned as she leaned on the bar. “So... you and Seth?”
She said nothing, focusing on wiping down a spot that didn’t need it—her movements were slower now, since it was less about cleaning and more about avoiding. Because the truth was, she hadn't said yes because he'd been persistent. She'd said yes because she wanted to.
And that was the problem.
Chapter 17
Shylo gave up on sleep somewhere between three and four. It hadn’t been one of those jolting wake-up moments, no nightmare dragging her out of it, just a slow unraveling. With the sheets twisted around her legs, she flipped from side to side twice, then again. No matter how many times she rolled over, she couldn't get comfortable enough to fall back asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, Seth’s voice slipped back in, carrying that brief hesitation before he’d pushed through and asked her out.
She scrubbed both hands over her face and stared at the faint crack running across the ceiling. She’d told herself to keep it simple. No expectations. Nothing that could turn into a problem. Except she’d gone and said yes to Seth, and that didn’t feel uncomplicated at all.
By the time gray morning light pushed through the thin curtains, she was done trying to sleep. The AC droned steadily, cool air washing over skin that still felt too warm. She shoved the covers back and sat up, dragging a hand over her face before pushing to her feet. The carpet muted her steps as she crossed to the bathroom, then flipped on the light and braced her hands on the edge of the sink.
Cold water helped, at least a little, as she rinsed her face and brushed her teeth, forcing the redundant thoughts from her brain. She twisted her hair into a loose knot and put on some deodorant, then headed back into the room and got dressed. She needed caffeine, food, and a change of scenery. Anything but lying there replaying last night.
The Front Porch Café smelled of fresh coffee, butter, and something sweet just pulled from the oven. It was already half-full—farmers in worn caps, some older men at the counter, a few women and couples at the tables, and a low hum of conversation that felt comfortable instead of loud. Shylo slid into a booth near the window, and before she even reached for the menu, the waitress appeared with a coffeepot and a small pitcher of milk.
“Morning, hon,” she said with a quick smile, tipping the pot to fill the mug already waiting on the table.
“Thanks, Darlene.” Shylo waited until the woman moved on, then reached for the sugar caddy, adding two packets before pouring in a splash of milk. She stirred it slowly, then lifted the mug and took a sip.
Outside, Hazard Falls looked quiet and harmless—the kind of place people raised families and didn’t lock their doors.
