Page 21 of His Big Hometown Cowboy
“What about you?” he asked, expertly flipping the omelet with a flick of his wrist. “Silicon Valley not all it was cracked up to be?”
I bit the inside of my cheek, accepting the steaming mug of coffee he slid across the granite countertop. Black. Strong.
I considered how much to say. How much honesty could this fragile new thing between us handle?
“It was exciting,” I began slowly, choosing my words. “At first. The pace, the energy… felt like we were changing the world.” I took a sip of coffee, the heat welcome. “Building something important.”
Years designing an app to connect people based on shared hobbies, genuinely trying to combat loneliness, build community. Then the VCs got involved. Saw dollar signs. “But like I said before, the project we poured everything into, they pivoted. Turned it into this aggressive monetization machine. Gutted the whole purpose.” The bitterness was still there, raw and sharp. “Working eighty-hour weeks, burning out… for what?” I traced the rim of my mug. “And everyone there. So intense. Everything optimized. Networking, kale smoothies. Like one wrong move and you’d fall off the hamster wheel.”
Wyatt slid a perfectly cooked omelet onto a plate, added toast, and placed it in front of me. He said nothing, just listened. His silence was more comforting than platitudes would have been.
“Sounds exhausting,” he finally said, starting another omelet for himself.
“It was.” I took a bite. Cheese, peppers, onions, fluffy eggs. Delicious. “This is amazing, by the way.”
A faint smile touched his lips. He looked pleased. “So, what’s next for you?” He asked casually. “Back to California?”
The question hung there. Loaded. Whatwasnext?
Last night, this morning… it felt real, and if I was honest with myself, better than anything had felt in a long time.
But it was just one night. One morning. We hadn’t talked about… well, anything beyond the next hour.
“Not sure,” I said. “Got some savings. Enough to take some time off. Figure things out.” My gaze drifted out the kitchen window to the wide-open pasture beyond. A world away from the frantic energy I’d left behind.
“Here?” The word was soft, almost tentative. But his eyes, when they met mine, were sharp, intent. Waiting.
My heart did a weird little flip. Staying here?
Trading coding sprints and venture capital pitches for… what?
Quiet mornings and this man?
The thought was ridiculously appealing.
“Maybe.” I held his gaze. “Depends on what’s keeping me here.”
A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. The same possessive heat flared in his eyes. “I can think of a few things. I could start a list.”
The smell of burning eggs broke the spell. Wyatt cursed under his breath, quickly rescuing his own breakfast from the brink.
We ate at the island, the easy silence returning. It felt normal, easy.
Like we’d been doing this for years, not just hours.
Bumped hips cleaning up, stacking plates in the dishwasher, the casual domesticity slightly unnerving at how right it felt.
“I should probably get you back,” Wyatt said finally, leaning against the counter, drying his hands on a towel. His reluctance obvious.
“Yeah,” I agreed, equally unenthusiastic about leaving this bubble. “About Travis…”
Wyatt raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently.
“What do we tell him… about us?”
“The truth. That we’re together now.” He paused, then added, “He’ll deal with it.”
His confidence was a balm, but a knot of anxiety still tightened in my stomach. Travis wasn’t homophobic, not remotely.
