Page 21 of More Than an Ex-Girlfriend

“To the other side of the ranch. Not far.”

“Cool.” Anderson ducks as he walks into a stall. The man is tall.

He’s the newest of the ranch hands. Technically, he’s a wrangler, but he’s always willing to pitch in wherever, which we all appreciate.

He takes one side of the barn, and I handle the other. After a few minutes of quiet, I decide to risk a conversation.

“You seeing anyone?”

He shakes his head. “I wish. I spent the last ten years raising my sister, so dating wasn’t even on my radar. She just started college, which is why I moved here. She’s in San Antonio, so I found a job close but not too close. But I’m hoping I’ll meet someone.” He swings a stall door closed. “You?”

“Not since my ex dumped me years ago. I was finally feeling ready to get back out there, and she shows up here in town.”

“Ooof. On purpose?”

“Guessing so. She moved here at some point. We just hadn’t bumped into each other.”

“Crazy. But I guess with all the recent growth, you don’t know everyone anymore.”

“And I stick pretty close to the ranch.”

“I’ve noticed that. So you rekindling things? Or did it end badly?”

“The breakup was abrupt and unexplained. Not sure I’d risk a relationship again. But the fun part is that she’s living on the other side of the duplex. At my new place.”

“Whoa. That’s complicated.”

“Yeah. I haven’t said anything to the other guys about my history with her. Dag and Grayson know, but…” I shrug.

Anderson gives a conspiratorial smile. “And I don’t tell many people that I raised my sister. It sometimes makes things awkward.”

“I avoid awkward whenever I can.” I refill the bucket and finish up my side. Then I dust off my hands. “Thanks for letting me yap.”

“Anytime. And I’m guessing you’ll figure it out. Someone once told me not to chase love, but to let love find me. Maybe your new neighbor is more than an ex-girlfriend. Maybe she’s your meant-to-be.”

Once upon a time, I thought she was. I never expected her to be an ex.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” That’s my polite way of saying that there’s no way that’s true.

But his words remind me of Lettie’s message. The one she unsent. I have a screenshot, but I’ve read it so many times, I could probably quote it.

When my phone buzzes, I check it and read a text from Dag. Then I shout to Anderson, who is in the tack room. “I’m going to head out. Dag needs help clearing brush along the fences.”

“Have a good one. And thanks for the helping hand.”

I hadn’t intended to share any of my situation with Anderson, but having someone to talk to—someone who isn’t riding cloud nine after getting engaged—feels pretty good.

* * *

Two weeks later,I know Lettie’s schedule pretty well. She works a really early shift at the donut shop, then is home by the time I get back after dinner. Every day except Monday. Then she’s home all day. Leaving for work before four most mornings means her side gets really quiet about seven in the evening.

We don’t see each other often, but when we do, I’m polite. Ignoring her seems immature. I haven’t stepped out to the back porch since that Monday morning. But I miss her. And knowing she’s so close but not talking to her is hard.

Thankfully, after a few rough days, I started sleeping at night, which is good. Safer. I still spend a lot of mental energy thinking about Lettie. That hasn’t changed a bit in the last two weeks.

After dinner, I head back home, and the first thing I do is take a shower, then stretch out on the bed. Lettie’s phone rings on the other side of the wall, and that reminds me to tuck my phone under my pillow. If my phone had been on a table when she messaged that night, she might’ve heard the buzz. So I’m intentional about laying my phone on soft surfaces.

Her phone rings several times before stopping, but I know she’s home. I’m spending way too much energy guessing her movements and motivations. But then I expend more energy and read over the message she sent then deleted. It was nice of her to mention that she’d likely delete it. Because as soon as I read that, I snapped a screenshot of the message. Reading through our messages on the app has been my nightly habit since we moved in. I keep looking for clues to her identity, questioning why I didn’t realize it was her sooner.

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