Page 18 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“That might have done in your twenties, darling,” his grandma said, her voice as elegant as the Queen’s, which made sense because before she moved to tumbleweed country, she was the Duchess of Cansburgu. That was until she came to Montana for a visit, met Marvin Callahan, and never left. “Women these days won’t wait around for a lad who treats dating like an amusement park ride. Your ticket is set to expire soon.”

Like the British blue-blood that she was, Lady Rea wore a cream pantsuit that probably cost more than his truck and somehow still managed to make everyone else in the room look like they'd gotten dressed in the dark. Her silver hair twisted up into something so engineered it had to have taken at least an hour and a small army to pull off.

“Thirty-three is the new twenty-nine,” Colter said, but even to his own ears a string of one-night stands didn’t sound as exciting as it had last year. They also sounded exhausting.

“I’ve let you two dictate my dating life for long enough. I’ve dated half the town, even went on follow-up dates. They all wanted more than I can give right now. So, while I appreciate your help, I’m over it.”

“But it’s only been a few months,” Vivi said. “Your perfect match is right around the corner.”

“It’s been a year and there is no such thing as perfect.”

Only, a picture of a redheaded, blue-eyed vet tech flashed through his head. He pushed it down as fast as it popped up. Because while he’d love to blow off some steam, she was the kind of woman his two matchmakers were talking about. Wifey material—not a wham-bam.

“What happened to Sarah? She is so sweet, not to mention smart as a Mensa member. You guys have so many hobbies in common. Animals, kayaking, running.”

Sarah was great. She was the exact kind of woman he’d marry—if he were looking to settle down. But relationships took work, and he had enough work on his plate.

Colter leaned back, letting a slow grin spread across his face. “Weekend hobby? Right. Because that’s what I want on my dating profile. ‘Man treats romance like a hobby.’ Sounds charming.”

Vivi scribbled furiously in her notebook. “It’s honest! You’d be surprised how many women respond to honesty.”

“I’m being honest now,” he said. “And what I’m saying is that maybe I don’t want to be pinned down. Maybe I like a little crazy and unpredictability.” A little sleep. Preferably eight consecutive hours of it, and possibly a therapist, but mostly sleep.

Rea tutted, wagging a finger. “Crazy? Darling, at your age, crazy will get you a stiff drink, not a girlfriend. And believe me, I know the difference.”

“Then maybe that’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

Vivi gasped like he’d just declared war. “You can’t look for that in a woman! That’s reckless.”

“Reckless?” Colter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Viv, when it comes to my dating life, I prefer selective chaos and controlled disaster. The kind that keeps life interesting without killing anyone.”

His days were spent triaging mayhem—panicked owners, unpredictable animals, split-second decisions—so the adrenaline rush was a real thing.

And addictive as hell.

“Selective mayhem? Oh, you poor boy. That’s exactly the kind of nonsense that will get you a headline in the local paper.”

Colter smirked, tipping an imaginary hat. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not looking for a woman who has a minivan and matching Christmas pajamas in their DNA.”

“Or anyone who respects basic social contracts,” Vivi muttered under her breath.

Colter let the corner of his mouth twitch. He did love a good derailment. “Good, then we agree.”

Rea gasped. “Colter Wyatt Callahan, you cannot be serious.”

“I am,” he said casually. “I’m serious about having fun and enjoying life. Not domesticating it or marrying a woman because she has the right skill set.”

"And kids?" Rea asked lightly, in this careful tone she used when she already knew the answer and was giving him rope.

"Not for me," he said simply. "I wouldn't even know where to start. I'm better with animals than anything that can talk back."

Vivi opened her mouth in a gasp and Colter put a hand on her arm. “It was a joke,” he said gently. “You just have to understand I’m commitment-phobic in ways.”

Vivi’s pen hovered over her notebook, her expression a mix of horror and determination. “Okay, no kids and you want a fling.”

Colter smirked, leaning toward her like he was imparting state secrets. “Not that I’d phrase it that way, but let’s just say the woman I’m describing probably doesn’t exist in any of your spreadsheets or Pinterest boards.”

“Flings can turn into more,” Vivi said with enthusiasm and Colter groaned. “Just one more month? Please?”