Every morning at Rebel Blue was beautiful, but when I woke up on Sunday morning, I knew those mornings were going to become my favorites.
I wasn’t an early riser. Or a night owl. Really, I would just rather be sleeping. But there was something about waking up in a log cabin surrounded by evergreens and cool mountain air that made waking up early a hell of a lot easier.
I tried to remember whether I’d snoozed my alarm at any point in the last week and realized I hadn’t. That was rare for me. I didn’t set an alarm on Sundays, but that didn’t matter at Rebel Blue because I rose with the sun.
I rolled out of bed and took my time washing my face and going through my morning skin care routine. I didn’t have any big plans today—I tried not to work on Sundays. I didn’t always succeed, but at least I tried. I pulled my new black Carhartt hoodie over my head, slid on a pair of leggings, and topped them with a thick pair of wool socks that someone had left outside my door a few days ago.
There was a note attached to them that had “For the cold floors” scribbled on it.
When I put them on the first time, I knew I never wanted to let these socks go.
I padded across the house to the kitchen, planning to just grab a yogurt from the fridge, and was immediately hit with the smell of butter and bacon. It wasn’t often that I could actually feel myself start to salivate, but the smells coming from the Big House kitchen were delectable.
Amos was standing in front of the stove, wearing a worn-out pair of jeans and a plaid button-down. His salt-and-pepper hair was damp.
He gave me a warm smile when he saw me. Even though Wes looked more like his mom, at least from the pictures I’d seen scattered around the Big House, I thought he looked like Amos too.
“Good morning,” he said. “Sleep okay?”
I nodded. “There hasn’t been a night yet when I haven’t slept like a rock.” Again, rare for me. “Thank you for letting me stay here. It’s been amazing being so close to the job site.”
“We’re happy to have you. Have you been able to settle in?” I thought about how my clothes were no longer in my suitcase but in the once-empty dresser of my guest room, how I had my own four-wheeler that I liked to ride to the job site, and how at the end of the day, coming back to the Big House felt like coming home.
“Yes, I have. I like it here,” I said truthfully.
“Good. We like having you here—Weston especially.” My heart jumped. Oh god. I hoped Amos didn’t know anything. “He’s impressed by your work. He tells me every day that we made the right decision bringing you on.”
He talks about…my work? To his dad? And he’s impressed?
Well, that’s…nice, which is how I responded to Amos. “Where is he?” I asked. Not that I was wondering.
“Weston wakes up earlier than any of us. Probably out on a trail somewhere with Waylon.” Of course, wherever Weston went, that dog followed. “Could be cliff jumping into an ice-cold lake—you never know.” Amos chuckled. The way he talked about his kids made me wonder how my parents talked about me.
After a few beats, Amos spoke again. “He’s been waiting for this a long time. He loves that old house,” he said with a small smile as he moved an obscene amount of scrambled eggs around in his frying pan.
“It’s a beautiful house,” I said. “Is that where you grew up?”
“It is.”
“But you chose to build something new for your family?” I asked, curious about the history of Rebel Blue. I took a seat on one of the stools at the counter, settling in for a conversation with Amos.
“I did,” Amos said. “My father and I had a”—he paused, and a deep line worried his forehead—“complicated relationship.” I nodded. That was something I understood. “I wanted my marriage, my family, to be different. And I guess that started with a new house for me. We moved in here a few weeks before August was born.” I thought about something Wes told me during my first day at Rebel Blue—how his dad used his and his siblings’ full names. I assumed August was Gus.
I had more questions, but I didn’t think it was polite to ask, so I changed the subject. “That’s a lot of food,” I said dumbly.
Amos’s smile was big this time. “Breakfast is a family affair today.” I could practically feel the pride rolling off him at the mention of his family. “Obviously, we’d love for you to join us. But I also know it’s your day off, so I can make you a plate to enjoy somewhere that won’t be as loud as this place is about to be.”
I tend not to do very well in group settings. My resting bitch face and general energy don’t usually lend well to these types of situations.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I can just grab something out of the fridge.”
“You’re not joining us?” Weston’s voice came from behind me, and Waylon’s head somehow ended up under the hand that was dangling at my side. I turned in my stool to face Wes, unable to help myself, and nothing could’ve prepared me for what I saw on this fine Sunday morning.
He had obviously been running, because his chest was still heaving slightly. His long-sleeved white T-shirt was wet with sweat in all the right places and clung to his body in a way that wouldn’t be out of place in one of those hot-man calendars.
I made a mental note to google “cowboy calendars” later, and tried to convince myself that Rebel Blue Ranch had awakened in me a thing for cowboys in general, not just one specific cowboy.
My eyes tracked back up Weston’s frame, and I was met with a smirk. I’d just been caught, and as if getting caught openly ogling my boss wasn’t enough, he chose that moment to wink at me.
A really good wink. One of those winks that makes your jaw drop and sends a heat wave down your spine.
Damn him.
He was still waiting for my answer to his question.
“Not today” was what I settled on.
“And you’re not joining us either unless you shower,” Amos chimed in. Wes rolled his eyes. He looked at me again as he grabbed the hem of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. This man knew exactly what he was doing, and I had to consciously try not to keep staring. “You stink.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Weston responded to his dad. He turned to walk out of the kitchen and called back, “But convince Ada to stay for breakfast.”
I faced Amos again. He looked amused, but all he said was “I’ll make you a plate.” I responded with a look that I hoped he interpreted as grateful.
At that moment, I heard the front door open, and two voices carried through to the kitchen.
“I told you”—it was a man’s voice, and it sounded weirdly familiar—“I would rather buy you a new truck than try to fix that ugly blue monster.”
“Me and the truck are a package deal.” A woman’s voice now. “If she goes, I go.” Two people appeared in the kitchen. The man I immediately recognized as the bartender—Brooks—which meant the brunette next to him was Weston’s sister, Emmy.
Emmy was tall—probably a couple of inches taller than me. Her long brown hair was wild and windswept, like she’d ridden a horse here and let her hair fly behind her. Everything about her just looked so…free.
I’d felt locked in a cage of my own making my entire life. One look at this woman and the first thing I felt was envy.
“Hey, Spud,” Amos called. “Luke, good morning.” Emmy blew her dad a kiss and Brooks gave him a nod before turning back to Emmy.
“Fine,” Brooks said. His eyes were on Emmy in a way that made me feel like I was intruding on something, even though they were the newcomers in the kitchen. “But you owe me, sugar.”
Emmy’s face lit up even more, and Brooks slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her toward him so he could give her a quick kiss on the temple. As he did it, Emmy’s eyes scanned the kitchen and landed on me.
She shirked out of Brooks’s hold—he looked thoroughly disappointed at the loss—and stuck her hand out to me. “Hi,” she said. “You must be Ada. I’m Emmy.”
Brooks looked at me then, and his mouth stretched into a knowing smile. “Well, well, well,” he said. “If it isn’t the girl who ran out on her tab.”
Emmy looked back at Brooks, confused, and then back at me. She studied me for a second, and I saw a light flash behind her eyes. “Wait, you’re the girl who was making out with my brother at the bar?”
I’d never wished I was a hermit crab before, but there’s a first time for everything. In that moment, I would have given anything to have a shell to retreat into.
Amos coughed behind me, and lighting myself on fire would probably have been more enjoyable than this moment.
“Sorry,” Emmy said quickly. “I didn’t know the mystery girl in the bar and the interior designer were the same person.” The words were falling out of her mouth now.
“Me either,” Brooks said, smirking.
“Shut up, Luke.” Emmy shushed him. “I’m really sorry,” she said, turning back to me. “Sometimes my brain doesn’t move as fast as my mouth.”
“It’s okay,” I said, even though all I wanted was to get out of there. Brooks was still smirking. “I’ll pay the tab,” I said to him, annoyed.
“No need.” Brooks shook his head. “Wes covered it after you broke the world speed record for running out of the Devil’s Boot.”
Of course he had. Wes was Wyoming’s Dudley Do-Right.
Emmy elbowed Brooks in the ribs, but he was unfazed. He just pulled her back to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. She resisted for half a second before melting back into him—as though in his arms was the only place she wanted to be.
Brooks kissed Emmy’s head again.
I thought about what Wes had said—that when I met them, I’d get it.
I got it.
I’ve never felt like a very likable person. My ex confirmed that suspicion, especially at the end. For the most part, it didn’t bother me. But looking at Brooks and Emmy, I felt a pang in my chest, and for the first time in a long time, I wondered what it might be like to be not just liked but loved.
I shook my head. That was too much for me to think about at seven-thirty on a Sunday morning.
The sound of a plate being pushed across the counter caught my attention—I turned back to Amos, who was giving me an apologetic but also vaguely knowing look. It was the same look he’d given me after Weston returned my tote bag on my first day at Rebel Blue.
The plate he’d built for me was more of a platter—stacked high with bacon, eggs, broiled tomatoes, two kinds of toast, hash browns, and what I assumed was a banana nut muffin. I’d eaten a few of these muffins since I’d been here—they were always in the pantry.
“Wait, are you not eating with us?” Emmy said. She sounded genuinely disappointed.
“It’s her day off, Spud,” Amos jumped in. “Let her have it.”
Emmy’s shoulders fell, but she nodded. “We should get coffee sometime,” she said. The second woman in the Ryder family to invite me to do so. For someone who wasn’t used to invitations, friendship or otherwise, it felt…good. “I know Teddy is dying to see you.” Teddy had texted me a few times since I’d arrived. Her dad wasn’t feeling well, and she was watching him closely, so she hadn’t been able to come see me yet. “Maybe this Friday we can do something?”
“Yeah,” I said noncommittally. “Let me see how this week goes.” Emmy looked at me like she knew what that meant: Probably not. I knew that face. My whole life, I’ve been described as icy, bitchy, and rude. I know I’m not super warm or overly kind, but the truth is, I’m just shy. I don’t think I’m a people person, certainly not in the way this entire family seems to be. They make being nice look so damn easy. Whereas I don’t seem to know how to talk to people in a way that makes them like me or keep coming back for more. I seem to always turn out to be a disappointment, so why bother?
Before Emmy could push more, I turned back to Amos. “Thank you so much for breakfast.” And then back to Emmy and Brooks. “It was really nice to meet you, Emmy. And, Brooks, it was mildly okay to see you.” Both Emmy and Amos laughed at that—thank god.
I pushed off my stool with my breakfast platter and headed back to my room. “I hope we’ll see each other again soon!” Emmy called after me.
I walked past the upstairs hall bathroom that Wes was using for his shower. The running water brought all sorts of images to my brain that I would really rather not dwell on.
I sat down at the desk in my room to eat and scroll through my phone. Some of my best ideas have come from mindlessly spinning through Pinterest on my days off. But when I reached for my sweatshirt pocket, it wasn’t there. Fuck. I must’ve left it on the kitchen counter.
Was going to get it worth it? I had all the confidence in the world in Emmy, Amos, and Weston’s ability to get me to stay and eat breakfast with them, which might not be so bad after all. I liked the Ryders—one of them a little too much. Weighing my options, I decided that it was better to try to get my phone now than wait until later—who knew how long breakfast lasted for a family that actually liked one another?
Just as I passed the hall bathroom, the door opened with a billow of steam. I didn’t have time to stop myself before I ran smack into Weston’s broad chest.
“Whoa there,” he said. Originally, I’d put my hands out as an involuntary reaction—my body’s way of protecting me from collision. But now my hands were limp on his chest, and I stared at them—what they looked like while they were touching him. “Going somewhere?”
My mouth couldn’t form words—I was too focused on what it was like to be touching him and for him to be touching me. Tiny lightning bolts shot up and down my arms from where his hands were on my elbows. “S-sorry,” I stammered.
I dragged my eyes up and down his form—taking him in the same way I had in the kitchen. I’d seen the way his shirts clung to his body, and I’d seen glimpses of his stomach at the job site, but now he was in front of me in nothing but a towel.
It didn’t take long for me to conclude that he actually should not be allowed to wear shirts. He should just always walk around like this—shirtless and glistening.
In that moment, I felt like a teenager with a crush. An intense and inescapable crush.
Except crushes aren’t quite as fun if they’re on your boss.
If anyone else had been standing in front of me, the fact that every logical thought basically ran out of my head wouldn’t have been a big deal.
I wouldn’t even have thought twice about wanting to touch him—everywhere.
“I’m not,” he said. One of his hands moved to my waist, pulling me out of my cloudy head and back into the moment. My breath caught in my throat. I needed to get out of his grip, but I couldn’t think straight when his hands were on me. All I could think was more. Almost involuntarily, I rubbed my hands up his chest to his shoulders, and his lips parted slightly. I still wasn’t breathing. “Do that again,” he whispered.
So I did, even though I knew I shouldn’t, but I didn’t stop there. I traced my palms back down the panes of his stomach and up again.
I finally let out a shaky breath. What was happening to me?
“Is this what you were thinking about? When you couldn’t take your eyes off me in the kitchen, were you thinking about touching me?”
I swallowed and nodded, unsure when I decided to admit that to him—or to myself.
“I see you, Ada. I always see you, even when you won’t look at me.”
Everything felt so…charged when I was around him, I didn’t know how to make it stop, but I didn’t even know if I wanted it to.
Especially right now.
“I’m looking at you now,” I said. It was like I was having an out-of-body experience, like my palms pressing against him had tilted the world on its axis. I moved closer to him, and the water that was dripping down his skin soaked through my hoodie.
“Why now?” he asked. Because you’re standing in front of me like some Wild West god in nothing but a towel, I thought.
This feeling, this pull, was unheard of for me. I hadn’t even known it existed until the night I met Weston in the bar. There was a part of me that wished I could go back to the version of me that didn’t know what this felt like, but a much larger part of me felt like it could breathe for the first time.
Weston’s hand trailed up and down my back, leaving sparks in its wake. “Why now, Ada?” he asked again, more forcefully this time.
“I—I don’t know” is what I settled on.
He pressed his forehead to mine, and I could feel his breath on my face. The hand that was stroking my back slipped under my hoodie, tugging me to him. I could feel him getting hard against my stomach.
That was a lot to take in.
My breath was shaky, and I waited for him to go on. Instead, he said, “Let me know when you figure it out,” and walked back to his room, his door shutting me out with a firm click.
