Page 92 of One Wild Chance

I don’t regret any of it. Not the kissing and the touching, not even dancing with her in front of half the town. In thirty-two years, I’ve never had a kiss go from arguing about the dishes to something that kept me awake half the night.

We drive almost a mile in awkward silence before she finally turns toward me. “You know, I’ve been thinking about last night…”

“So have I,” I say with relief. “Thought about it most of the night.”

Her brows lift. “Really?”

“Yeah.” I glance at her. “Didn’t you?”

She hesitates, which is almost worse than a flat no. “Jaxon⁠—”

“I think I know what you’re going to say.” I grip the steering wheel. “And I don’t agree.”

“But you know I’m right,” she says adamantly.

“No.” I shake my head and pull to the side of the road, because I’m not dropping her at the market with this business unfinished. “We’re the only ones who get to decide what’s right for us.”

She exhales and sets the mug in her lap. “You’re my business partner, and technically my employer at the farm. It would be better if we kept things professional and didn’t cross that line again.”

I scoff. “That line between us is long gone, Wildflower.”

“I had a moment of weakness.”

“Twenty minutes, but sure—” I nod slowly. “A moment.”

“It wasn’t twenty minutes,” she argues.

“Well, it sure wasn’t a moment either,” I fire back.

She bites her lip and looks down at her cup. “If something goes wrong between us, it doesn’t just hurt us—it takes down everything else too. I don’t even own the barn, Jaxon. If you leave, Wildflower Weddings goes with you.”

“Wildflower Weddings is going nowhere,” I say, firmly.

“You don’t know that,” she argues. “We’ve barely gotten it off the ground. If this goes sideways, I lose everything I have.”

“Based on one date,” I say. “You’ve already decided it goes sideways.”

“Based on one kiss,” she corrects. “Which is not exactly the foundation for a solid relationship.”

I drag a hand through my hair. “It’s not like we’re strangers, Summer. We already know each other.”

“That’s exactly what worries me,” she says almost to herself.

“But what about your mom’s challenge to take risks—you don’t think that applies here?”

She blinks away. “This is different. My mom built her whole life around my dad. Every decision she made relied on him being there. She’d given him so much that when he left, everything fell apart. I promised I’d never let myself become so dependent on someone that losing them means losing everything.”

I stare at her, realizing it’s not really about the barn or our boundaries. It’s about something that happened to her long ago, the day her dad walked out and never returned.

“So you’re saying you can’t date me,” I say flatly.

“I’m saying we should just be friends.”

“Ugh,” I moan, closing my eyes and leaning my head against the seat. “The let’s be friends conversation. How did I not see this coming?”

“It’s our safest option,” she says.

“I hate safe,” I complain. “And I think you should give us another chance.”