Page 83 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“Not only will he never leave a dog in a hot car,” Kal’s mom continued. “But he can open a pickle jar without breaking a sweat. Imagine, ladies! A man who’s both nurturing and capable!”

“Truly, a modern miracle,” Jo said out of the corner of her mouth.

“He can fold a fitted sheet. A skill so rare, it should be taxed.”

By the end, Sutton was laughing so hard she had to clutch her stomach, beer bottles threatening to tip over. It was sweet, absurd, and perfectly ridiculous all at once—the kind of pitch only a mother could deliver without shame.

Sutton leaned back in her chair, still giggling, stealing glances at Jo and Vivi, who were practically vibrating with glee.

“I swear,” Jo said between laughs. “This is why small-town pastimes are my favorite way to spend time. It’s my version of trash television.”

Vivi smirked. “And why we’ll never run out of material for these nights.”

Jo raised her bottle. “To men with multi-faceted hammers and the ability to fold fitted sheets. May they survive the night and someone claim them responsibly.”

Sutton laughed again, shaking her head. “Amen to that.”

The laughter and applause from Kal’s pitch hadn’t quite died down when the next person was ushered onto the stage. Sutton leaned forward, curious. But the moment she saw who it was, she nearly choked on her drink.

“Lady Rea?” Vivi said. “What on god’s green earth is she up to?”

The woman—radiant, glossy, and annoyingly composed—took a seat on the stage as if she owned it, flipping her silvered hair back with a casual flick. Sutton froze. Jo, on the other hand, went rigid, eyes wide, hands flying toward her mouth.

“Fuck me,” Jo whispered frantically. “That’s going to be about Eli!”

Sutton tilted her head, confused. “Why are you freaking out?”

Something horrified moved over Vivi’s face. "Old history and deep roots."

“Why is she on the stage?” Jo was whisper-shouting now, her hands waving like she was trying to summon a divine intervention. “Why is she here? I cannot. This is going to end badly. I can feel it in my soul. Peace out.”

Jo stood to leave and Vivi grabbed her arm. “Don’t let him scare you off. No man should have that power.”

Sutton couldn’t help laughing under her breath. “Jo, calm down, Rea isn’t even here for Eli. She’s in the hot seat, which means she’s the contestant.”

“The woman treats every seat like a throne. Do you really think she’d stand while auctioning off one of her grandsons? This is fucking karma,” Jo snapped. “That’s what this is.”

Vivi gave her a gentle squeeze. “You survived Vegas, Jo. You survived the Coast Guard silence, the black ops, the absence of any kind of social media. You’ll survive this too.”

But Sutton had to admit, watching Jo’s dramatic, flailing panic, combined with Rea’s serene confidence on the stage, made the whole bar feel like a powder keg. One wrong spark, and someone—probably Jo—was going to blow up spectacularly.

Jo gave her a shaky nod, lips pressed tight, fingers curling into fists. “Easy for you to say,” she muttered, voice tight. “You’re not the one who nearly lost your heart at twenty and had it vanish into thin air for ten years.”

“Exactly why you can handle this,” Sutton said firmly. “You’re brave, Jo. That’s your MO. Just keep your cool and let the rest play out. No screaming, no fainting, no dramatic exits. Just watch and assess.”

Sutton’s confidence gave Jo a flicker of courage—a small, shaky spark. She was breathing a little steadier, shoulders slightly less tense. That’s when the door swung open—and Sutton’s heart almost gave out, because instead of Eli, it was Colter striding in, looking impossibly calm and entirely too put-together for a Saturday night at the Tipsy Cow.

The Tipsy Cow was the kind of place every small town had—part bar, part second living room. Warm wood, mismatched stools, and a bartender who knew your order before you sat down. It was where secrets were shared, bad decisions were made, and everyone pretended they weren’t people-watching while absolutely people-watching.

And Sutton was people-watching the last person she expected to see tonight mosey his fine-ass backside toward the front of the bar.

Sutton’s chest hitched, and she realized she’d completely forgotten to breathe.

Jo leaned over, voice low but deadly serious. “Remember what you said about being brave. You just said it, Sutton, you need to model that.”

Sutton shoved her panic down and forced herself to sit upright, taking a slow, shallow breath. The napkin in her fist didn't stand a chance.

Across the room, Colter scanned the crowded bar with that calm, calculated expression that made Sutton’s chest ache in entirely the wrong way. He weaved through the clusters of women, finally settling in a seat in the audience, clearly thinking he’d just stumbled into a mildly ridiculous event.