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“Shirts are not optional,” she says without looking at me. She pulls a canister of coffee out of the cupboard and pulls the lid off. “No shirt, no shoes, no service.”

My gaze trails down her legs and lands on her bare feet. I start to point at them about the time she realizes the contradiction. “Stop it. You know what I mean.”

“Oh, come on,” I say, walking over to where she’s standing and lean against the counter. “Does it bother you to see what a fine specimen I’ve become?” It’s risky to push her buttons, and a part of me knows it, especially since I really am hoping to win her over. But a louder part of me just wants her feisty side to come out.

“Seriously?” she says, curtly. “I’m not one of your Sugar Kanes. And I don’t want you prancing around here in nothing but sweatpants.”

Not every risk pays off. Besides, she’s right. She’s not. I stand there, dumbly, like I don’t know what to do next.

She gets the coffee going, then walks over to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of creamer. My eyes fix on a strand of hair that’s escaped from her bun. It lays loose right where her shoulders meet her neck, and my fingers twitch with a strong desire to touch her there.

It’s such a surprising reaction, especially after all those years of not thinking about Hattie that way, that it catches me off-guard.

Still, I find myself wondering what the statute of limitations is on that childhood pact . . .

“Earth to Noble?” I can tell by her tone it’s not the first time she tried to get my attention. When I meet her eyes, her brow quirks up, ever so slightly.

“Sorry, what?”

“How do you take your coffee?” she asks.

“Just black. A little sugar if you’ve got it.”

She walks over to another cupboard, and pulls out a small glass jar of sugar and makes a show of setting it down in front of me, along with a mug. Her actions tell me she has no intention of making it for me, not that I expect her to.

Right now, I’m lucky if she stays in the same room.

Convincing her not to hate me is the only goal here, and I’ve got my work cut out for me.

“So, kayaking,” I say, looking for some connection. “That’s new.”

“It’s not,” she says, coolly. “I’ve been doing it for years.”

“Well, it wasn’t when I⁠—”

“Was here? Before you left?” She cuts me off. Then she stops and corrects herself. “I’m sorry. That’s not . . . I’ve just got⁠—”

“—a lot on your mind. I know. I’m really not here to dredge up the past.”

Although maybe I should. Maybe addressing it straight on is the only way to move forward.

I try again. “The Hattie I knew didn’t have time for kayaks. She spent all her time riding horses—barrel racing, bronc riding. Heck, she probably could’ve handled bulls if she hadn’t quit,” I say.

Feels like a lifetime ago.

I remember how small Hattie made her world after Hunter’s accident. All that fire that kept her going just disappeared. She’s obviously come a long way, but it’s a reminder that I’ve got a lot to learn about the grown-up version of my old friend.

“Yeah, well, things change, Noble.”

Like me, I think, but don’t say.

“Kayaking is, I don’t know, easier, maybe.”

I smile. “Yeah, I’d say it’s a bit easier than trying to ride a two-ton animal, for sure.”

She hesitates a beat, then smiles. A breakthrough, even if it’s a small one. “I try to go every morning when it’s warm enough,” she says. “It’s peaceful out there.”

“Maybe I could go with you,” I say, hoping it’s not an overreach. “For old times’ sake.”