Page 6 of Promised Cowboy
“I guess it’s been a while,” she says softly.
“Too long.”
She glances up at me then, her eyes catching the overhead light just right, turning them into pools of amber warmth. That spark—the one that always lived between us, even when we were too young and stupid to understand it—flares back to life.
Neither of us moves.
Neither of us breathes.
I swallow hard, hearing the faint echo of a long-ago promise ringing between us.
If we’re still single at thirty…
She’s back.
She’s here.
And I won’t lose my chance this time.
Chapter 4 – Lacey
I can’t breathe.
I tell myself to relax—to act normal—but it’s useless. The second Colton Walker walked through that door, every ounce of calm I’d managed to collect since returning to Shadowbrook flew straight out the window.
He’s here.
And he’s… more.
Taller, broader, more confident somehow. His shoulders fill the doorway, his voice carries a rough edge I don’t remember but feel everywhere. His dark hair’s a little longer than it used to be, dusted with road grime from his trip, and yet he still manages to look effortlessly good in that worn button-down and those well-fitted jeans. His jaw’s a little sharper, his features a little more chiseled, like life’s been carving him into something stronger while I was gone.
And then there are his eyes.
That same piercing blue that always cut straight through me when we were kids, like he saw parts of me I hadn’t figured out yet. Only now, there’s a depth behind them I don’t quite know how to handle.
I swallow, forcing my fingers to stay still against the table. My hands have gone clammy.
Why am I so nervous? This is Colton. My best friend. The boywho used to race me down the dirt roads in his old truck, who used to steal my fries when I wasn’t looking, who could make me laugh until I couldn’t breathe.
Except he’s not a boy anymore.
And standing here across the kitchen from him now, I’m suddenly hyperaware of everything we’ve never said out loud.
I watch him as he leans casually against the counter, his gaze steady but not unreadable. Colton’s always been good at holding his cards close while still making you feel like you’re the only thing in the room he sees.
He called me “darlin’.”
He hasn’t called me that in years.
The simple word sends a little spark racing under my skin. I drop my gaze for a second, trying to collect myself, but my pulse keeps hammering in my ears.
This was supposed to be easy. Comfortable.
But nothing about this feels easy.
It feels like standing at the edge of something I’m not sure I’m ready to step into.
“You look good, Colton,” I say, my voice softer than I intend.