Page 13 of Wrangling Wade

"I mean, it took a little while," I grumble. "Cowboys drink a lot, but…yeah."

"It's incredible."

"It's okay."

He glances up from the drawing, meeting my gaze. "No, Harlow. It's incredible."

I swallow hard, my heart hammering again. "Thank you."

"Can I keep it?"

I hesitate and then nod. "But you aren't allowed to sell it, okay?"

"Sell it?" He cocks a brow like that's an absurd ask. "Baby, I'm framing this."

My heart flutters. "It's not that great, Wade."

"Yes, it is." He narrows his eyes at me. "Don't deny your talent."

"I'm not," I protest. "I just didn't have much time, so I know it could be better. That's all."

"Why are you working here instead of doing this every day?" he asks, holding up the drawing.

"You ever tried to make a living off art?" I quirk a brow at him, crossing my arms. "It's not easy, and bills don't wait for a pieceto sell." Especially when you have as many as I do. My mom's care wasn't cheap. I'll be on my deathbed before I finish paying off all the loans I had to take out to ensure she had more than the bare minimum insurance provided.

He frowns and then nods, tucking the drawing in his pocket. "When are you off?"

"Tomorrow. The bar's closed. Why?"

"I want you to go somewhere with me."

My heart thuds unevenly. "I don't date men who drink at my bar, Wade."

He just grins at me, nodding toward his usual Coke. "Then it's a good thing I haven't been drinking in your bar, isn't it, beautiful?"

"Wade…"

"Go out with me," he says again, his voice pitched low, something intense in his gaze. "Just once, Harlow. I promise you won't regret it."

That isn't the problem, not even close. It's the exact opposite. IknowI won't regret saying yes to him, and that's a problem. His life is on the ranch. Mine is…well, I'm still figuring mine out.

I've spent the last year just trying to keep it together. Now, I'm back here, and I'm still not keeping it together, let alone making any progress. He's got it all figured out already. He knows who he is and what he wants. Me? I'm twenty-six and still in survival mode, just like I have been for most of my life.

"That's not a good idea," I whisper, unable to hide the regret in my voice.

"Yeah, it is," he says just as softly. "And that's what scares you, isn't it?"

"I…"

He leans across the bar suddenly, brushing his lips across my cheek. "You're allowed to want me, beautiful," he murmurs, hisvoice a deep scrap of sound against my skin before he drops back down onto his stool like he never moved at all.

I just stare at him with wide eyes, not sure what to say to that. Not sure how he has me figured out so well already. And not entirely sure I hate it, either.

Chapter Six

Harlow

I'm up to myelbows in paint, literally, in my makeshift studio on my back porch when my front doorbell rings at a little after two in the afternoon. I pause with my brush poised above the canvas, and consider ignoring it. I'm not expecting anyone, and I really don't want to deal with salespeople or Jehovah's Witnesses today. I want to finish my painting. I'm almost done.