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Why does it seem like celebrities age slower, never gain a pound, and are always looking perfect?

That said, Buck still wears an old pair of blue jeans and a Carhartt t-shirt. It’s probably part of the schtick. I’m sure they want him looking blue-collar to better identify with all us common folks. The thing that’s changed the most about him is the number of tattoos. Tattoos and muscles. I guess those are two things, or way more than two things, if you count every new muscle. I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s got biceps on top of biceps… so we could be here counting for a while.

He hands me a handful of local flowers that he’s wrapped in a wet paper towel and tied with a piece of string. “I… it’s just… I know you like flowers and I wanted to give you something personal, not pick something generic at the store.”

What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I always have to be such a hard-ass? Why can’t I crash into him like the crazyperson I feel like? Why can’t I gush over the flowers and thank him profusely with hugs and kisses? Why can’t I live in the moment instead of getting stuck on what’s inevitably going to end us?

“Thank you,” I finally say, holding the black and yellow petals up to my face. “These are gorgeous. You shouldn’t have.”

Really, girl? That’s all you got?

“I hope it’s not too dorky. I could get you a big bouquet at the flower shop on the way home if you’d rather. I just remember you talking about how much you love wildflowers when we last talked and—”

“They’re perfect.” I lean into him, attempting to hide the hesitation in my touch. He smells so good, like Christmas morning or a day out in the woods. Pine, cinnamon, maybe a hint of cedar. The longer we embrace, the easier it gets, and the further my brain drifts from the future consequences of my actions.

“I’ve missed you, Opal.” His voice is rough and deep, his breath warm against the lobe of my ear.

“You too,” I whisper, unsure of what the hell I’m doing. “I, ugh,” I pull away from him, attempting to compose myself, “I see your taste in boots has changed.”

He glances down at the scaly alligator boots he’s wearing. “Nah, they’re bitch-boy boots. Lucchese. I get all this fancy shit handed to me by promoters. Everyone wants me to endorse them. I wore them because I thought there was a chance they’d impress you.”

“You definitely look impressive. How much do those things cost?”

“Sixteen grand, I think. You want ‘em? I’d rather wear my Red Wings. They’re more comfortable.”

I smile and stare down at the ground before glancing up again. “You look good no matter what you’re wearing.” I can feela playful grin lift my cheeks as I say, “I bet I’m making so many girls jealous right now. I saw the way they mobbed you the other day after breakfast.”

His cheeks turn red and he looks away. “Yeah, well… it’s part of it all, I guess. Funny, I can’t getyouto return my calls, though.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I haven’t returned many calls this year.”

He nods slowly, never turning his gaze away. I’m not sure what it is about the way he looks at me, but at the moment, I’m back to where I was a year ago. My heart pounds, my chest aches, and the desperation to touch him itches at my palms.

What the hell am I doing? I should go back inside, lock the door, and force myself to watch reruns of The Office. I should shove him out the door and bolt it closed behind him, then bury myself in bed until I forget he ever came back. Or maybe, I should run to the chicken coop and let the hens explain to me how to adapt to the world.

He tilts his head down slightly, with that grin on his face that everyone in the world is finding hard to resist. “I thought we could hit up that old mining camp for a picnic. I had Josie pack us some fresh bread, fruit, cheese, and hopefully some cupcakes.”

“Wow,” I say with a grin, excited by the fact that he’s planned something. It’s been a while since I dated, but even longer since I had a man that wanted to put effort into one. “That sounds so nice. I love that old camp. There were bears up there last week, though.”

“I’ll keep you safe. I told Sawyer today that I’d rather a few bears than the paparazzi. Thankfully, I haven’t seen anyone today.”

I grab my coat off the hanger by the door. “I heard the photographers were trying to gain access to the ranch houses. Scarlett was working hard to get all that figured out.”

Scarlett owns Mail Order Ranch, and she’s also become one of my closest friends. Some days, I’m not sure what I’d do without her.

Buck reaches out for my hand and guides me out to the pickup truck that sits warming in the driveway. I try to focus on the truck, or the warm air, or the birds singing, but all I’m thinking about is his hand. His big, rough, calloused hand. I don’t imagine he’s doing much labor these days, but rather built the calluses from playing his guitar. Buck helps me up into the truck, wrapping his careful hand around my waist, then climbs up himself on the opposite side.

“I’ve loved driving the past month. I miss it so much when we’re out on the road.”

“I remember you saying that when we were at the diner that night. You were so worried you wouldn’t get to take those long drives. I’m sorry you’ve been missing out.”

He glances toward me and smiles as he pulls out onto the main road. “Well, I get a lot of other things, so I shouldn’t complain. Besides, that’s not what I’m missing the most.”

My heart swells and my body heats. I want to believe every word he says. I want to fall into him and lose myself in his light blue eyes… but I can’t. Love isn’t real. It’s an illusion. An idea sold to us by card companies and romance books. In reality, people get bored. People leave. People cause pain. I don’t want to hurt again.

“You ever listen to my music?”

I was hoping this wouldn’t come up. “Is it awful that I don’t?”

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