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Something I knew but never really faced.

The next morning, I wake up early because “If the sun’s up, you slept too late” was another Holbrook family rule. Probably still is.

I’ve always been unable to sleep past six thanks to my time on this ranch. Routine has a way of sticking.

I grab a shirt and make my way downstairs for a cup of coffee. After poking through a few cupboards and not finding anything, I turn to the massive arched window on the back wall of the kitchen and take in the view of the lake.

It’s there I find another reason to rise with the sun.

Hattie is outside in a black bikini top and board shorts, walking out of the lake onto the shore, carrying a kayak up over her head like it doesn’t weigh a thing.

I move closer to the window.

Classic Hattie, carrying her own weight.

That’s been true since the first day I met her.

I watch her, putting everything back in order, and I let myself imagine—just for a second—that this could be us.

Here.

Together.

I imagine myself making her a cup of coffee and meeting her out by the lake, sitting on the dock, talking about plans and dreams and a whole lot of nothing that adds up to everything and⁠—

“Noble?”

The deep voice comes from behind me, and I turn to find Quent standing there, watching me. He’s holding his cowboy hat (Rule: no hats allowed in the house) and wearing a pair of jeans, a gray T-shirt, and cowboy boots.

I’m wearing gray sweatpants and nothing else, and I have no idea how long he’s been there.

I feel like I just got caught.

Quent frowns. “What exactly are you doing?”

Yep. Caught.

“Uh, just . . . looking for coffee.” I face him, eyes trailing a circle around the space.

“Pretty sure you’re not going to find it in the lake.” Quent waves at the window behind me, and I turn around and see Hattie standing on the other side, holding up a hand, confusion on her face.

A few seconds later, she’s standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Mercifully, she’s wearing a sweatshirt now, and her wavy, brown hair is piled in a bun on top of her head. She’s not wearing a stitch of makeup, and she might just be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Which is crazy because it’s Hattie, my old friend. My friends’ little sister. Only she’s not so little anymore.

My gaze trails to the floor because avoiding her eyes and Quent’s eyes at the same time doesn’t leave me with many options for places to look.

“Noble was just looking for coffee,” Quent says.

I look up and find Hattie’s eyes glued to my chest. After a beat, they dart to mine.

I quirk a brow, but immediately start to fumble with my shirt as Hattie brushes past me toward the cupboards.

“I’m implementing a ‘No walking around the lodge without a shirt on’ rule,” she says, flatly.

“Since I’m obviously early for the meeting, I’m gonna go down to the stables,” Quent says. “Gotta check on Maybelle, but I’ll be back in twenty.” He looks at me, raises his eyebrows as if to silently tell me to check myself, then back at Hattie, then walks out.

When I hear the front door close, I angle toward her. “Sorry. I just came down for coffee, I didn’t know⁠—.”