"That's illegal."

Felix is sitting at the kitchen island of the Hawkins cabin. He's got a pie box in front of him. One that looks suspiciously like the kind Rhett gets from his mom. Baked goods that, according to him, Della, and Shep, I technically haven't earned yet. Because, and I quote, You haven't stuck around long enough to earn the town's blessing. At this point, I'm ninety percent sure they're messing with me.

We watch as Felix chews his bite. He's changed since we were here an hour ago—sweats, a T-shirt, and barefoot. All the tattoos on his arms, normally hidden beneath collared dress shirts and suits, are visible now, curling from his biceps in trinkets of black ink: a dagger, flower, the boxer, a half-naked woman just beneath the hem of his sleeve. The same tattoos he still hides from Mom and Dad. He swallows.

"Under Section three hundred one of the Clean Water Act, any direct introduction of a pollutant into jurisdictional surface waters without an active NPDES permit on file—which, from the type of person you've described, they most likely wouldn't have—would trigger an automatic noncompliance." He tips his chin toward the creek out the window. "Runoff like that is supposed to be regulated under a nutrient management plan, especially when it contains high-biological-load effluent. And yeah—that's a state-classified waterway, so it's not exactly flying under the radar."

I blink at him, and Rhett leans in to whisper, "What did he say?"

"Felix." I level my brother a look. "English. Please."

He sighs, drops his fork, and brushes his hands together. "You can't dump anything into a creek. Period. If they did, they're looking at fines from twenty-five hundred to twenty-five grand per day, and even jail time. Maybe up to a year."

Rhett's brow lifts. "How does he know all that?"

Felix shrugs and reaches for his fork. "Just passed the bar with a three sixty. Highest score in the state."

"Yes, we're all very proud of you, Felix," I say, nudging us back to the point. "But seriously—they could go to jail?"

"If it's deliberate, sure." Felix forks another bite of pie and shovels it in, talking around the mouthful. "And if you can prove it, the court could order restitution—for cleanup, livestock loss, anything that traces back to the contamination."

"They'd have to pay us?" Rhett asks, and there's a hint of caution in his voice—like he's afraid to hope, afraid to want too much. But I smile anyway, because this is exactly what Diamond Creek needs. One win. One piece of solid ground to stand on while we figure out the rest.

"Just have to prove it." Felix nods around his fork. "Lucky for you, I aced my environmental law elective."

"God, I love that big lawyer brain of yours." I loop my arms around his head, squeezing tight. He groans and pushes me off, but not before I plant a loud, obnoxious kiss on the top of his head. "Dad's going to be so annoying about how proud he is."

"How do you prove something like that?" Rhett asks, arms crossed now, attention fixed.

Felix leans back in the barstool, ticking things off on his fingers. "Surveillance footage. Water testing. Maybe a witness. You build a case. Like stacking bricks. One after another, until there's no way to knock it down."

He keeps going, laying it all out—everything we'd need to build a real case—a real defense. I'm half listening, nodding along, as my mind drifts, almost instinctively, to the other idea I've been circling since Rhett first told me everything. Something that could be a right-now solution. Maybe a long shot, but anything's better than waiting around watching things fall apart in front of us. And when they fall deeper into conversation, I find myself quietly slipping out of the kitchen.

I pull my phone from my pocket and drift toward the back porch, nudging open the cabin's back door with my shoulder. Cool air rushes over me, and I wrap my arms around myself, thumbing through my phone until I find what I'm looking for—the one thing that could change everything for Diamond Creek.

The missed call from Courtney Childs.

I stare at her name for a long second, my thumb hovering over the screen, heart thundering in my chest. Because this isn't just a call—it's a decision I've been circling since the beginning. Saying yes would mean more than just agreeing to a campaign. It'd mean putting myself back out there. Posting. Sharing. Stepping into a version of myself I wasn't sure still existed.

But after talking to Rhett, I think I'm ready.

And if I can convince them to do the one thing I know they'll need for the campaign—to do a shoot here at Diamond Creek—it could blow the doors wide open. Feature not just me, but the ranch. It would put us in front of triple the number of followers I have across all of their social media platforms. It's a long shot, asking for something like this, but if I can negotiate them into it, it could land us spreads in magazines, banners on their homepage, press kits, lookbooks, catalogues, billboards.

I know this because it's the one thing that's been holding me back all along: knowing this wouldn't be just another brand deal. It would be the thing that could change everything.

I press her name and lift the phone to my ear. It barely rings twice before she picks up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Courtney Childs?"

There's a long stretch of silence. Long enough I pull the phone away to make sure the call didn't drop.

"Ellis Sutton," she finally says with a smile in her voice, like she's a little surprised. "I nearly choked on my espresso when I saw your name pop up. Thought my assistant was playing some kind of prank on me."

"Oh," I let out a breathy laugh. "Sorry about that. That's probably my fault. I'm sorry for the delay—really. I'm usually a lot better at managing my work. This whole disappearing act isn't really my thing."

"Truthfully?" she says, and there's a shuffle of noise—rustling fabric, a horn blaring in the distance, like she's weaving her way through midtown traffic. "I'm just relieved you called at all. We were this close to reaching out to someone else for the campaign we had in mind for you. So if that's what this is about, saying yes, it's perfect timing."

I smile as I sink into the Adirondack chair behind me, tucking my knees up under me. "It is. I mean, yes—I'd love to talk about it."

There's a pause on her end, followed by the muffled thump of a door closing and the hush that usually means she's stepped inside. The quiet stretches just long enough to feel like maybe she's second-guessing. Or wondering why it took me this long to call back.

"There's been a lot of chatter about your whereabouts," she says finally, voice softer now, like she's not sure if she should be treading carefully.

"I'm aware," I say, wincing.

"You've been MIA on social media for a few weeks. A lot of your followers are assuming you'd been murdered," she says, laughing a little. "Last time someone vanished off social media like this, it was Amber Summers. And we all know how that turned out."

I laugh, pressing a palm over my eye. "I'm not pulling an Amber, I swear. No PR disasters here. Or at least none I'm aware of. I've just been taking a break. Spontaneous, maybe, and a little overdue. But just a break."

"And?" she asks. "How was it?"

"Honestly?" I glance out at the back deck. It's the perfect view. Pasture stretching wide, stables in the distance. "Kind of great. I haven't stepped away from social media since I started. It's been weirdly... freeing."

"But you're ready to come back?"

"Very much so."

"Perfect." I hear the smile click into place. "Then I think we can use your disappearance to our advantage."

I huff out a laugh. "Well, I don't know if disappearing was strategic or just me falling apart a little. But if you can spin that into a campaign..."

"That's exactly what we'll do," she says, and I can practically hear her sitting down, slipping into work mode. "We just locked the branding yesterday. Mood boards have been done, the team's ready to roll—we were just about to finalize someone else for the shoot. But this changes everything. And if you like it and agree to it, I can have the team come to you in Seattle as early as Saturday, rent out a studio. Or we can fly you to New York—whatever works best."

"Well..." I hesitate, shifting the phone from one ear to the other. "I was hoping maybe you could come to me... in Wyoming."

There's another pause on her end. "You're still in Wyoming."

She says it like a statement, like a pin pushed into a map.

"I am, yes." I reach up and toy with my earring, heart kicking a little faster. "It's, um... well, it's a long story. I'd hate to bore you with the details, but I think it could really be a great spot for a shoot."

"Oh, please." Her laugh is half delight, half demand. "I'd love to know why the trendiest influencer on the internet has disappeared into one of Wyoming's smallest towns—yes, I looked it up when you were posting about it—and has stayed put for, what, three, four weeks now?"

I smile into my phone and tell Courtney the short version—how I met Rhett that summer, how we both thought the other walked away, how it took us years and one terrible misunderstanding to end up here again. At his ranch. In this small pocket of the world that somehow feels bigger with him in it.

"Oh my god," she breathes when I finish. "You're living a real-life romance novel."

I smile. "Something like that."

"Wow. Honestly, Ellis, I'll just say it—I knew I wanted you from the beginning. The aesthetic, the presence, the reach. But this?" Her voice lifts into something like wistfulness. "This is magic. And—well... can I send you the mockup for the collection? Just so you can see what I mean?"

"Of course."

I put her on speaker as I hear her tapping away at her keyboard. When she says to check my inbox, I open the email. The second the images load, butterflies leap in my chest, like something startled out of hiding.

"They're... horseshoes."

"They are," she says. "It's our Coastal Cowgirl line. Every piece has that western edge, but with a coastal twist. That's why you've always been my first choice. Ever since you started posting last summer—the rodeo, the cowgirl hat, that whole vibe. But now? The actual cowboy. The ranch. The real-life love story? It couldn't get better."

"No," I say softly. "It couldn't be better."

I keep staring at the screen. Gold horseshoes on delicate chains. Shining studs. Rings shaped like horse bits. Charms with cowboy hats and boots. There's something about it all that settles itself deep in the chest—like it's not just jewelry, not just a campaign. It's a mirror. Of this place. Of this version of me. Of what it's starting to mean to be here.

"You know..." Courtney says as she waits for me to look them over, "when you first asked if I'd be willing to come there, I thought it sounded nice. But hearing all of this... " I run my finger along the edge of the photo on my phone, still trying to believe it's real. "Ellis, what if we made this the shoot? Not just a location, not just convenience. But the whole story. The ranch. The cabins. I know it's your personal life, but there's something here I haven't felt in a long time. And I think—if it's okay—I'd like to share it."

I laugh, breathless with it, because it feels too good to be true. Like everything's clicking into place.

"I would love nothing more than that," I say, pressing a hand to my face, grinning into the cold. "God. I thought I was going to have to beg you to say yes."

"Ellis, I was in the moment I realized it was really you on the phone," she says, sincerely. "You couldn't have kept me away if you tried. Now come on—let's start planning."

——————

Don't ask me how long it took to figure out all the lawyer stuff Felix talks about 😅