Page 117 of Forever To Me

Cami chokes on her coffee. “Oh my God, I'd totally take a few off your hands.”

"I'll send Mack your way for negotiations," I grin. "But be warned, she's ruthless. She’s out here pitching livestock like it's a door-to-door subscription service.”

Cami snorts. “I love that for her.”

Just as I’m about to steer the conversation back to sanity, my phone buzzes. I glance down and immediately curse under my breath. It’s Walker. His name shows up on the screen and Cami notices.

“Oooh,” Cami teases. “Walker's calling.”

I answer, bracing myself. Walker’s voice comes through, low and unimpressed.“Red.”

I grin. “Walker.”

“Did you know my kid just emailed the entire town an ad for ‘Gently Used Goats: Negotiable Pricing’?”

Poppy and Cami absolutely lose their minds laughing.

I close my eyes, and chuckle. “No, but that’s hilarious.”

And Mack? That kid is definitely going places.

But also? Maybe she's a little bit my hero, too.

I should’ve known better than to call my mother.

Not because I don’t love her, I do. But because she is a menace. If she even sniffs that there's something she can meddle in, she will sniff it out like a bloodhound.

And, apparently, Maggie is the same way. Sisters who have that in common. Meddling.

The second Mom picks up, I barely get out a “Hey, Mom,” before she launches in.

“Well, it’s about time you called me. You know, some mothers get regular updates from their daughters, but me? Oh no, I have to get my information secondhand from my sister.”

I roll my eyes, already bracing myself. “Mom?—”

“Anyway, she tells me you’re staying with a handsome single young man,” she says with a voice full of glee.

My entire body freezes. Oh. Oh no. I inwardly groan.

“Tell me about him,” she prods, her tone way too interested.

I clear my throat, playing it cool. “Not much to tell."

“Uh-huh,” she hums, clearly smelling a lie.

I twist my hoodie’s hem—okay, it’s Walker’s hoodie, so not the point right now—and force a casual tone. “He’s just a guy.”

Silence.

Then—“Oh, sweetheart,” she says not believing me.

I groan. “Mom.”

“No, no. I just—” She exhales dramatically. “I didn’t think I’d live to see the day my daughter downplayed a man. Usually, I hear about every tiny little detail, but now? Oh, now, he’s just a guy? What makes this one so special?”

“He is just a guy,” I insist, pacing the room. “Just a regular, broody, infuriating cowboy bar owner guy.”

Mom gasps. “A cowboy? Violet, are you living in a romance novel?”

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