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Another pause, but then he extends a hand, and we shake.

“All good here.”

He follows me outside and makes me pose for a photo with his sign, which I’m sure will turn up on social media later. As I walk back to my truck, I pass two guys walking into Seb’s, and I hear one of them say, “Hey, Noble.” It’s so simple, but it feels like a big deal. Like maybe I’m starting to fit here.

I tip my hat and get in my truck. That was humbling, and expensive, and it didn’t feel great. But now?

Now it feels like I can walk into Walt’s store without being judged. Or avoided. Setting things right has a way of lifting the weight.

I head back to the ranch, and when I park and head into the lodge, I find Hattie exactly where I left her, standing in the kitchen looking a little lost.

She looks up. “It’s been an hour.”

“You’re going to need a sweatshirt,” I say with a quick look at her jeans and T-shirt. There’s been a crispness in the air in the evenings that could ruin this if she’s cold.

She stares at me. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” I walk out into the dining hall. “I’ll wait for you here.”

“I don’t like surprises,” she says.

“Never would’ve guessed,” I say, tone wry.

“Can you just tell me?” she asks.

I shake my head. “I forgot how impatient you are.” I also forgot that I love that about her, but I don’t say so.

“I do better with a plan,” she says.

“Just trust me,” I say, trying not to put more weight on the words than necessary. “Grab a sweatshirt and meet me outside.”

Her sigh is so heavy it makes me laugh, but she complies, disappearing up the stairs. She comes back a few minutes later, holding a blue sweatshirt, a belt bag around her waist. “Happy?”

I quirk a brow. “You know this is supposed to be fun, right?”

She shoots me a look. “You ride bulls. I plan weddings. You and I have a different idea of fun.”

“One could argue that they’re both kind of the same thing.”

She gives me a confused look.

“You know, lots of people watching, the guy’s holding on for dear life, one wrong move the whole thing could be over in under eight seconds.”

She cracks a smile. “Funny.”

“Also, I remember a time you thought rodeo was fun.”

Her smile fades, and a tight line appears across her forehead. “Well, that was a long time ago.”

I instantly regret bringing it up.

But then she says, “I think it could be fun again. Just maybe as a spectator.”

I quirk a brow. It feels like an open door, but I’m hesitant to walk through. Hattie’s a little like a bull—nudge her the way you want her to go and she starts bucking.

If she’s going to talk about anything personal, it’s going to be on her terms.

Still, I take a step closer. “Can I ask you something?”