Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“You okay?” he asks casually.
“Yeah. All good.”
He passes me a tray of silverware and leans a hip against the counter. “Levi, though. He isn’t a bad person.”
I don’t respond, but I stop drying.
Cody sighs through his nose, then glances out the window like he’s checking that the others are out of earshot.
“He was young when we lost our parents. Like the rest of us, but… he didn’t have Dylan’s instincts or Conway’s direction. He had a smile that could cover his pain, and too much freedom once he was old enough to start making bad choices.”
I watch him quietly, waiting.
“He started sleeping with older women early. Way too early,” Cody continues. “We didn’t know the full story until after. He got attention, and it worked like anesthesia. It numbed him to the pain in his heart, but it also… twisted something. Now, I think sex is the only way he knows how to connect. Which is fine if that’s all he’s looking for, and the women are on board. But when there’s someone like you in the picture…”
I glance down. My hands are still. “Someone like me?”
“Yeah”. He doesn’t elaborate.
“You’re worried he’s hurt me.”
“Yeah… or that you’ll see it as who he is deep down… who we are, and you’ll think whatever happened between you last night is how we do things here.”
I twist my fingers together. “I don’t.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek. A part of me wants to tell him that I recognize more of myself in Levi than I’d ever want to admit. The way he uses charm to deflect. How connection feels easier when it’s physical and fleeting. How maybe neither of us knows what it looks like to be chosen for more than what we look like and what we can give. How touch comes easily but trust never does.
I feel... sad for him in a way that isn’t laced with pity or judgment but a low, quiet, throat-burning ache, because I know what it’s like to lead with your body when you’re sure your heart isn’t worth keeping. I know what it’s like to be wanted in pieces, and to start to believe that those pieces are all anyone’s ever going to want.
But I don’t say any of that.
Cody studies me for a long moment, then gives a quiet nod. “Okay.”
We move around each other easily, rinsing plates, wiping counters, and falling into a rhythm that’s familiar even though we barely know each other. It’s strange how quickly this house drags you into its orbit and makes you a cog in the machine.
I set a bowl on the counter and glance at him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“This arrangement you’re hoping for… the one you advertised for. What do you want out of it? What are you hoping it’ll feel like?”
Cody sets down the dish towel and leans against the sink, arms crossed loosely.
“I want peace,” he says without thinking. “Not quiet necessarily. We’ve got kids, so that’s never happening. But something steady. Someone who isn’t afraid of the mess, who walks into a room like this,” he gestures around the chaotic kitchen, “and sees home, love, and family, not chores, grind, and work.”
He pauses, voice softening. “I want warmth and a partner. Not just in raising the existing kids… and more if we’re blessed… or running the ranch, but in the late-night stuff. The hard talks. The long days. The sweet nights. The special moments in between.”
Wow. The romance in that statement takes me by surprise. I nod, the answer sitting heavier than I expected. Cody’s answer is deep. He’s obviously thought long and hard about this, which is necessary but surprising. I made assumptions about these men. I thought they’d be looking for the obvious qualities a woman could bring to the table. A ranch wife who was content in the kitchen and happier on her back than most. I thought they’d list out practical traits, but he’s looking for a full-life partner. An equal. What would a woman like that be like? Would I like her? What qualities would she have that I don’t?
Cody nudges my elbow with his. “And hey, someone who can cook like you wouldn’t hurt, either.”
I laugh, easing into the moment. “Noted.”
At least I’m not a total failure at life. Decent in the kitchen and even better on my knees and back. It’s the rest I can’t figure out.
I don’t know how to be a person who stays. I didn’t witness that kind of relationship growing up. My dad wasn’t built for permanence, and I guess somewhere along the way, I learned not to expect it from myself, from him, or from anyone.
So, how do I become something I’ve never seen? How do I survive the hard talks, the long days, the raw, quiet work of loving someone and being loved back? Even the thought of it knots into something sharp in my chest.