Page 48 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

Maybe that’s what it really is. Love, I mean. Not the curated, perfect ones I would see in rom-coms.

But the kind that sees you exactly as you are.

Someone who doesn’t flinch when you’re loud or unfiltered.

Someone who doesn’t ask you to change and who can hold a safe space for the beautiful parts of you, but also the chaotic, messy, and ugly parts.

The parts that talk too much, feel too hard, and panic out of nowhere.

The kind of love that doesn’t try to fix you; it just chooses you.

My heart’s still fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings when Bell’s Books comes into view. The familiar storefront blurs a little as tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back, pressing my hands to my chest .

This is really fucking happening.

I squeal, clapping like an idiot as Carter pulls up to the curb. He’s already climbing out before I can even fumble with the door handle. He opens it for me, offering his hand.

My bedazzled boots hit the pavement as I hop down from the truck, taking in the weathered brick. Ivy curls up the side, and that faded wooden sign with the hand-painted letters: Bell’s Books.

I turn to him just as he starts patting down his pockets as if he’s misplaced something important. He mumbles under his breath, then straightens up and holds out a small silver key dangling from a plain little ring.

“Here,” he remarks nonchalantly. “Congratulations, darlin’.”

I look up at him, grabbing the keys from his fingertips. “How do you–”

He cuts me off, putting his finger to my lips, gently brushing them. “Don’t worry about it, baby.”

I should push, demand to know how the fuck he got the keys. But the soft look in his blue eyes silences every question before it even forms.

Whatever, I turn on my heel and bolt towards the door. My fingers tremble as I fit the key into the lock. There’s a loud click, and just like that, I walk into an empty storefront that I get to call mine.

The tears come fast, but I let them. Because this is real. Inside, it’s nothing. Just blank, sunlit walls, exposed beams, scuffed floors, and that golden spill of light that pours through the big bay windows.

I let out a cough, pulling out my phone from my back pocket, my hands are shaking as I call my girls, and it barely rings before they pick up .

“I GOT THE KEYS, BITCHES!!!” I scream into the speaker, nearly dropping the phone.

Shrieking erupts on the other end.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW!”

“NO FUCKING WAY, OH MY GOD!”

“CATALINA, BABE, YOU DID IT!”

“OUR PRINCESS HAS A BUSINESS!!”

“WE NEED TO COME OUT AND CELEbrATEEEE!!!”

Their voices collide with each other. Loud, chaotic, and full of love. For a moment, their joy becomes my own. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts.

“I’m standing inside the space right now,” I breathe into the phone, spinning slowly in place. “I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.”

“But you’re doing it,” Amelia says, firm and gentle like always. “That’s all that matters, babe.”

“I’m so freaking proud of you!” Layla squeals, her voice practically bouncing through the line.

We talk a little longer—about ideas, paint colors, silly names for the matcha bar I want to build in the back. Eventually, I hang up, letting the stillness return. I’m alone again in the middle of this raw, echoing room.

Just me. And the weight of what I’ve done, what I’ve earned.

I turn in slow circles, my eyes tracing over the blank canvas around me. That wall will support rows of shelves. Over there, I’ll create a cozy reading nook with overstuffed chairs and fuzzy throws. Fairy lights and maybe some wild ivy hanging from the ceiling.

My fingers curl around my biceps as I hug myself tight, grounding the moment before it floats away. I let out a shaky breath as I close my eyes .

“Hola, Mamí.” I tilt my head back, blinking hard at the ceiling. My throat closes, but I force the rest out, even if it breaks me open. “It’s me again. I wanted to show you something.”

My voice trembles as I open my eyes and look around, seeing not what it is, but what it will be.

“There’s nothing here yet, I know that. But, it’s mine,” I whisper. “This place? It’s going to be mine. And not because someone gave it to me with strings attached, definitely not because I earned it through someone else’s name. Because I chose it, because I worked hard for it.”

My throat thickens as my fingers tremble against my sweater. A small tear escapes, running down my cheek.

“Te quiero mucho, Mamí,” I let out. “Wherever you are... I hope you’re proud of me.”

The words break something loose in my chest. I let out a breath and walked to the front window, dragging the sleeve of my sweatshirt across the dusty glass. The smudge smears, but it’s enough. I can see through it now.

Carter’s leaning against his gunmetal RAM TRX with his arms crossed, one boot braced against the tire, and his hat tilted low over his eyes, his signature pose. He doesn’t know I’m looking, he’s just waiting for me, like always.

My hand presses to the window, as I rest my forehead against the cool frame just above it. My heart thuds like it’s trying to speak for me. I close my eyes and say it—just once, soft enough that only the ghost of my mother could hear it.

“Mamí… I love him.” The words catch and crack mid-air. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

Tears pool again, but this time I let them fall. “I know it sounds crazy. I know I’m still a mess. I’m chaos on my best days, and a disaster on my worst.”

A shaky breath escapes as my fingers toy with the gold pendant around my neck. “With him, I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of how I used to be. It isn’t this kind of fear that nags in my mind, telling me that I’m hard to love, screaming at me that I’ll always be too broken.”

The words catch at the back of my throat, softer now, like I’m saying them for the first time. “Because with him, it’s quiet.”

My gaze lingers on Carter as he scans his surroundings, still oblivious to the fact that I’m staring at him. “He doesn’t try to fix me. He doesn’t ask me to shrink or dim myself down. He just… stays. He’s seen all of it—the anxiety, the daddy issues, the mess—and never once flinched.”

I choke out a sob, rubbing my nose with the sleeve of my sweater.

“He stays when I scream, when I cry, when I mentally shut down, and he chooses to stay through all of it. He makes a safe space for me, and he makes me feel like I’m not a burden.

” I barely choke out. “And he loves me, not in spite of everything I am... but because of it.”

I let my gaze linger on him as my hand presses harder against the glass.

“I think I want to love him back.” I pause, letting out a breath.

“For real. Without fear. Without running.”