"Why do you keep looking at the door?"

I glance over at Rooney from the corner of my eye. I'm behind the bar top at the Tipsy Cow, my head tilted toward the front window. The place is closed tonight, but the streetlights and the soft amber glow from inside make it easy to spot anyone passing by. This time, it's Emma and Jack—the librarian and the postman—walking hand in hand toward the diner. Guess they've made it official now that their drama got aired out for the whole town at the last meeting.

But no Ellie.

Rooney eyes me suspiciously, a smirk tucked at the edge of his mustache as he pours another beer from the tap.

"I do not keep looking at the door," I mutter, tearing my eyes away and focusing on the snacks I was told to set out.

"Yes, you do. Almost every thirty seconds—on the dot." He raises a brow as he sets down the freshly poured glass and reaches for another. "You expecting someone I don't know about?"

"Don't get me started on whether I'm expecting anyone—not with Tess sitting right over there." I nod toward the table as I dump a bag of chips into a bowl, where she and Della are talking. She showed up twenty minutes ago, and Rooney said he invited her that night at the bar. "Funny, I don't remember her ever being invited before tonight."

"It's that girl, isn't it?" Rooney drawls, ignoring my jab. I've already given him enough shit about inviting Tess, and at this point, he's not much bothered by it anymore. "The one you were making out with by the bathrooms. That Instagram girl, Shep said you had a thing for last summer when you were ridin' the circuit with him."

I grunt. I shake my head just ever so slightly as if shaking it the tiniest bit won't make me as much of a liar.

"Don't think I don't know what goes on in my bar," he continues, setting down another beer. "I've got eyes everywhere."

I hear the door swing open, and my head snaps toward it before I can stop myself. It's just Shep, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the coat rack. And when I turn back, Rooney's smirk is damn near splitting his face, his mustache twitching with amusement. He knows. Everyone probably does. I've never been like this, and Rooney's enjoying every second of it.

I drag a hand through my hair and duck my head, busying myself with grabbing another bag of chips, pretending not to care that it's Shep walking through the door and not her. I shouldn't be expecting Ellis—I only gave her a vague invite, to which she answered just as vaguely.

"Well," Rooney drawls, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches me pour the chips into a bowl, "she's got you wrapped around her pretty little city-girl finger, don't she?"

"She does not," I mumble.

"This for me? Appreciate it," Shep says, walking up to the bar and snagging my beer without hesitation before twisting to head toward the round table with Tess and Della.

I exhale sharply. "And you don't have eyes everywhere. You've got bored, small-town gossips who can't mind their own business."

"Some people would call those gossip's eyes."

The door opens, and it happens again. I turn so fast this time that Rooney actually laughs—loud and full-bodied—just as I knock into one of the beers on the bar top, spilling it everywhere, only to find Porter standing there, not Ellis.

"Shit," I murmur, glancing down at the mess I've just made.

"You're cleaning that up," Rooney says, tossing a rag straight at my face. "And don't miss the stuff on the floor either, or I'm charging you for the beers."

I yank the rag off, shaking my head as I lean down to wipe up the mess, then crouch to get the rest off the floor. I'm still wiping when I hear the door open again, but I don't stand—not with the way Rooney's watching, just waiting for me to make a fool of myself so he can laugh at me for a third time.

"Hi, everyone."

Ellie's honeyed voice spills through the room, and I immediately straighten, abandoning the mess. Her head turns at the movement, catching me as I stand, and she gives me a small smile and a wave.

Her dark blonde hair is in a loose braid tonight, and she's in a pair of loose jeans, a green sweatshirt, and, this time, an actual coat—something that will actually keep her warm. And even though she's dressed casually tonight, she still looks nicer than anything anyone in Cottonwood bothers to put on.

"Ellis," Della says, standing from her seat, confusion flickering across her face. The same confusion spreads through the room—everyone except Rooney, who looks entirely unsurprised. "Did you—Is everything okay at the cabin?"

"Oh, um..." Ellis presses her lips together. There's a flush in her cheeks that deepens, and her eyes flick to me with a questioning look, as if to say, You didn't tell anyone you invited me? before shifting back to Della. "Sorry, no, everything's fine. I just—"

"I invited her," I cut in.

Ellis huffs a quiet, nervous little laugh. "Well, he didn't so much invite me as he did demand I come." Della's head snaps toward me, her eyes going wide with fury, but before she can start in on me, Ellis quickly adds, grimacing, "Because my friends left and I was, um... lonely?"

"Oh... Okay." Della glances between us, her brows furrowing just slightly. She shakes her head before turning back to Ellis, a warm smile pulling at her lips, and gestures to the seat beside her. "Please, um... sit."

"Eyes everywhere," Rooney whispers to me, pointing two fingers at his eyes before sweeping them dramatically around the room. Then, with a cocky grin, he brushes past me, grabbing the tray of drinks and carrying it over to the table.

I watch them from the corner of my eye as I work on the chips and dip—Della and Tess chatting with Ellie. I catch bits and pieces of their conversation, just enough to hear Della introduce Tess. The girl looks mortified, cheeks flushed, as she stammers out what is surely an apology to Ellie for walking in on us at the bar the other night. Based on the way Della grimaces with secondhand embarrassment and Ellie's face scrunches, she's just as uncomfortable.

And then Ellis stands. She walks toward me, and my grip on the bowl of dip nearly slips.

"Hi," she says softly, pressing her hands against the bar top across from me.

"Hi," I echo as I place the last of the dip onto the tray.

"I was told one can be served a drink over here."

I nod, swallowing hard—because up close, she's even more beautiful. There's barely a trace of makeup on her tonight, and somehow she's still the most stunning woman I've ever seen. Tonight is going to be impossible to handle.

"What can I get you?" I rasp out.

"Um," she glances over her shoulder at the table before turning back to me. "Just whatever everyone else is drinking is fine."

"You sure? Full bar here." I gesture behind me at the lineup of wine bottles in the corner and the top shelf of liquor. "I can make you a tequila soda. Or pour you a glass of rosé. There's only one bottle, and it might be shit, considering most of Cottonwood doesn't know what it is, but Rooney won't mind."

She pauses, her eyes lingering on mine for just a second—something wistful about her expression, like she wasn't expecting me to remember what she likes to drink.

"Thanks," she breathes, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear. "Um, that's okay. I'll just have whatever wine Della and Tess are drinking."

"I'll bring it to you," I offer.

She nods once before turning back toward the table. I watch as she settles in beside Della again, and that's when I realize—the only open seat left is right next to Ellie.

I exhale sharply through my nose because that has Rooney and Shep written all over it. I turn back to the bar, quickly pour her a glass of wine, and set it on the tray alongside two bowls of chips, the ranch dip, and the buffalo chicken dip, then carry it over.

When I get to the table, I lower the tray, just close enough for Della to grab the bowls and dips. She helps pass them around while I reach for Ellie's glass.

"Here you go," I murmur, setting the wine in front of her before slipping into the empty chair at her side.

"Thank you," she says, her hazel eyes lifted to mine—soft, earnest. I feel it deep in my chest, that quiet pull I remember so well, and have to swallow against it.

I distract myself, dragging a hand through my hair, brushing back the piece that keeps falling into my face, and taking a sip of my beer, mostly to keep from thinking too hard about the fact that she actually came. The table hums with noise around us—Rooney is halfway through one of his theories about who's behind Estella's Who Keeps Moving the Town Bulletin Board Flyers dilemma over at town hall.

Ellie shifts beside me, tucking one leg under the other, our knees bumping together. When I glance over from the corner of my eye, I find she's already looking—her eyes flicking sideways, dragging across my face, but when she sees me, her gaze snaps back to the table.

"Elwood cornered me at the grocery store yesterday," Shep says to me, and I jerk my eyes back across the table. "Started asking why you haven't turned in your paperwork for town council—like I'd have a clue."

"Oh, running for town council?" Ellie asks into her wineglass.

"Everyone in town wants him on it," Della chimes in.

"Good ol' Rhett here," Rooney says, giving my shoulder a firm shake, "doesn't seem to care much about actually being on it."

"Sounds fun to me—getting into everyone's business, gossiping under the guise of civic duty," Ellie teases. "I'd kill to be on a town council."

"Oh, you'd love town meetings," Della tells her with a smirk. "It's basically a scheduled time to air out everyone's drama publicly."

"Which is exactly why I hate it," I mumble.

"Which is exactly why half the town thinks you'd be good at it," Della counters. "You'd sit there, start laying down the law. And you'd scare the useless ones off the council."

"Nah," Porter says, shaking his head as he pops a pretzel in his mouth. "They just want him on there so he won't skip town—lock him down before he disappears all of a sudden like he did with the PBR. Besides, Estella only wants him because she thinks he'd be nice to look at during meetings."

"I was gone for two years," I mutter, more to myself than to anyone else. "I don't get why everyone's still so hung up on it. I came back, and I ain't going nowhere."

"He'd be terrible anyway," Shep says around a mouthful of buffalo dip. "He'd just sit there with his arms crossed, pouting like a little kid." He folds his arms, mimicking me, and everyone laughs. "Probably scare half the town into hiding. First councilman in history to get cited for being menacing. Animal control would have to show up with one of those giant nets."

Ellie barks out a laugh, and I glance over at her as Shep asks, "What? You think he'd be terrible too, don't you, Ellis?"

"Oh, um," she says, shaking her head, a smile pulling at the edges of her mouth. "Actually, I..."

"Actually, what?" I ask, leaning in a little without meaning to, suddenly desperate to know what she thinks about me being on a council.

She turns to me, hesitating for a second, like she's debating whether to say it at all, then glances back at everyone. "I actually think he'd be really good at it. He's very, um... very commanding," she says, subtly popping my shoulder, almost like she's embarrassed to admit it. Her lips twitch like she's fighting a smile. "He's grumpy, sure. But he has this way of making everything feel... steady. Like the whole world could catch fire, and no matter what, he'd be there—he'd figure out how to put it out. And when he does talk, people stop. They listen. Maybe it's the way his voice deepens when he means it, or the way he looks at you, really looks, like he's reading things you don't even know you're giving away. But I figure he'd run the town the same way. Steady. Solid. Direct. He'd make you feel like everything would always be okay. Even when you know better."

The table falls into silence. Ellie glances up, then quickly down again, a flush blooming across her cheeks. She clears her throat before quickly adding, "Plus, he would be something pretty for the town to look at during meetings."

"You think I'm pretty."

She glances over at me, chin to shoulder, a coy tilt to her lips. "I think we've already established what I think you are."

Her hazel eyes catch mine, that light brown melting into the blue at the edges, and for a second, I want to grab her chair and pull it closer. I want to brush the wisps of hair from her face, press my lips to her throat.

She bites the corner of her lip, and then—a chair shifts, and she blinks away, breaking the moment between us. My eyes stay on her as she glances around the table again, a small, sheepish smile tugging at her lips before she nervously traces over her earrings and reaches for her wine.

When I glance around the table, Porter is shaking his head as he moves behind the bar to pour another beer. Della has stopped chewing entirely, her chip frozen halfway to her mouth as her eyes flick between us. Shep hides a grin behind his fist, and Tess, smiling as always, rests her chin in her palm—but there's a dreamy look in her eye.

"Well," Rooney claps his hands together, and when I glance over, he's aiming a very obvious, there's clearly something going on here, look at me. "Enough talk about this grumpy-ass cowboy. Shall we start?"

Rooney pulls out the Settlers of Catan, dealing out everyone's roads and settlements. I try to keep my eyes off Ellie, but it's impossible when she so effortlessly holds everyone's attention.

As we play, she tells them, in vivid detail, about getting lost in the snow the other day—her internal monologue, the moment she realized she was actually lost, how I was grumpy when I found her, which makes them all laugh. When Tess asks, Ellis tells us how she became a social media influencer, a story I hadn't known about until now. She tells Della she should start making reels, post about life on the ranch, and if she wants, she'll help her while she's here.

I'd dreamed about this. About her here, sitting among the people who matter most to me, like she belongs. Just under different circumstances. With my hand on her thigh, those smiles meant only for me, her climbing into my truck afterward to take her home with me.

I'm distracted for most of the game, too caught up in the way Ellie smiles at my sister, the way her eyes twinkle when she laughs at Shep's stupid jokes. Transfixed by the loose strands of hair that keep slipping free, the way she tucks them behind her ear without even thinking. By the time I manage to half-focus on the game, Rooney's already winning by enough that it doesn't matter whether I try or not.

Ellie glances over just as my eyes linger too long on her, catching me. My jaw tightens, and I drop my gaze to my road pieces, shifting them aimlessly on the table—useless now.

"It's the hair color, isn't it?" she murmurs, just loud enough for only me to hear—a private conversation.

"Your hair?" I glance back at her, confused.

"It's the hair color," she says, fingertips brushing over the end of her braid, then her chin. "And the makeup. That's what you don't like, right?"

"What I don't like?" I ask.

She exhales, shifting in her seat, absently tracing the gold of her earring, her elbow braced on the table. "The other day in the stables, when you—when you said, I'm not what you remember..." Her voice dips slightly as she glances around the table, checking to see if anyone is listening before glancing back at me. "You liked my hair before. The bleached blonde. And less makeup. Not knowing what I did for work. Before you knew I was the girl who worried about how I looked from every angle. Before you knew my life was something people watched instead of something I just... lived. You liked the me before."

I stare at her, a little dumbfounded, watching as she quickly looks away, back to the game board, like she doesn't like whatever my face is doing in response to the ridiculous thing she just said.

Did I mean for my words to sting? Maybe. Yeah. She'd left me twice now—once that summer, and again the other night at Rooney's—and some selfish, petty part of me wanted her to feel even a fraction of what that had felt like. I knew how it sounded, but it wasn't what I meant. Not really.

The hair, the makeup, the curated outfits—sure, those things are different to me. But it's more than that. Back then, she only ever showed me pieces of herself, flashes through the cracks, never the whole picture. I didn't realize it then, didn't see that all I was getting were the parts she wanted me to see. She said she worked in digital marketing and brand strategy, and yeah, that was true. Just not the whole truth.

I never would've guessed back then that she was some massive social media influencer—not during those two weeks. She never acted like one of those spoiled little things, used to the world bending over backward just because she batted her lashes.

Everything about Ellie had always felt magnetic and too alive to ever keep still—like she was the wind that blew into your life, a door swinging open in a storm, and nothing stayed where it was supposed to after that.

And now, seeing her here at Diamond Creek, seeing the pieces I never even knew existed—the glossy stretch of her Instagram page, the work she's carved out for herself, the life she's built out of stubbornness and the dust from the ground—it's like I'm finally seeing where that wind had been carrying her.

Ellie is not what I remember. She's so much better than anything my cynical brain ever managed to come up with—this firecracker of a girl who gathered up all the wind in her chest and spun it into her own damn universe—and somehow, it all fits. Every wild, stubborn, breathtaking part of her. And I can't stop seeing it now. I don't think I ever will.

I place my piece of road down on the table, leaning in just enough that my voice stays between us. "You think I give a shit about your hair color?"

Her eyes snap to mine, startled by the edge in my voice. I can see the gears turning, those hazel eyes scanning my face, trying to decide what I actually mean by it. I shake my head slowly, my gaze holding steady.

"Or your makeup?" My eyes drop to her lips briefly before I lift them again. "You think that's what I meant?"

She doesn't answer right away. Just blinks, her teeth sinking into the corner of her lip as she studies me. Her voice is quieter when she finally whispers, "A lot of people do. Just ask any of the people who commented on the reel when I posted about my hair."

I know exactly what she's talking about. I saw the comments when I went through her Instagram—saw how cruel people could be when they didn't have to look her in the eye, when they could hide behind a screen. But if they were standing in front of her? If they saw her in person? Not a damn word would leave their mouths. Because one look at Ellis Sutton, and they'd know—she's more stunning than any picture could ever capture.

"I'm not a lot of people."

"No," she murmurs, shaking her head, a small, sardonic smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she watches Porter place another settlement on the board. "You're just the one who keeps looking at me like you wish I were."

"You're wrong," I grumble.

She tilts her head. "Am I?"

"I said you're not what I remember because you're not." I pause as Shep makes a trade with Ellie, swiping all her wheat, then moves on to Della, who immediately starts arguing that he's cheating. They erupt into bickering, as I lower my voice to murmur, "You're so much more, Ellie."

"More?"

"I liked you then." She glances at me, and it takes everything in me not to touch her—not to close the space between us, not to rest my hand on her thigh the way I've been itching to since I sat down. "But I see you now."

Her eyes narrow playfully like she doesn't believe me. "You're just saying that to distract me, aren't you? Because you know you're about to lose your last bit of grain."

"Oh, I know I'm losing." My eyes don't leave hers because I'm not talking about the game. I'm talking about her. About how every second I spend looking at her, sitting here with her, I feel myself losing—losing all my restraint, all my control. "Feels a hell of a lot like I am."

She turns slightly in her chair, and our legs knock together—heat licks down my spine from the touch alone. "How's that?"

"Because I can't stop looking at you." The words rush out like they've been sitting there the whole time, waiting—begging—to be let out. "Can't stop wanting you. Can't forget what it felt like to touch you, even when I try. And I'm damn sure I'm not supposed to be thinking those things anymore."

Her cheeks flush pink as her eyes search mine—like she's trying to read my mind, like she can't believe that after all this time, after everything, I'd still want her. Her gaze drifts down to my mouth, then flicks back up again, and her body tilts toward mine just enough for only me to notice.

She parts her lips, like she's about to say something, then hesitates before saying, "Why did you lea—"

"That's it!" Shep shouts, and we both jolt apart, whipping our heads toward him. "Ten points, baby! I win, you bunch of washouts."

"You're cheating," Della accuses, narrowing her eyes.

"I'm not cheating. You're just jealous you can't ever win," Shep fires back. He has won every game for the past three weeks, and no one can seem to figure out how. He slaps his cards down dramatically, leaning back in his chair with a victorious grin. "Now, pay up, losers."

"No one was betting money, Shep," Rooney deadpans.

He shrugs. "I'll take payment through Venmo or in the form of beer."

When I glance back at Ellie, whatever she was about to say has already passed. She's shifted back to her side of the table, no longer leaning close. Instead, she's busy chatting with Della.

We all start tidying up the Tipsy Cow—packing up the game board, stacking chairs, wiping down tables. By the time everything's clean and Rooney's locking the door behind us, it's snowing again.

"Are you okay to drive back in the snow?" Della asks Ellie, her voice edged with concern.

"Oh, um..." Ellie tugs her coat tighter around her, and for half a second, she hesitates—like she wants to admit, no, I'm not okay. But instead, she waves her hand dismissively and says, "Yeah, I'll be fine. It's only a ten-minute drive."

"I can have Porter drive you if you want," Della offers. "It can be kinda scary driving when you're not used to it. He doesn't mind. Right Port?"

"Sur—"

"I'll drive you." The words are out before I can stop myself. My throat tightens, and I glance down at the snow-dusted ground, already walking toward her Jeep before I have to see the looks on my siblings' faces. I'm sure Shep's wearing a shit-eating grin.

"Oh, um, that's really okay," Ellie says, her voice drifting off as I round the front of her SUV. She's not following. "I can drive myself."

I glance over the hood of the Jeep at her, my breath clouding in the cold air. "Get in the damn car, sugar."

——————

This chapter literally sucked all the life out of me. I had to wrestle every last one of our wishy-washy, grumbly-ass cowboy baby's feelings onto the page, and let me tell you, it was not easy getting it right.

Next week is our final flashback chapter 🥹 and I have a feeling you already know what's waiting for us there. Hold on to your hearts.