Page 18 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
I text her back.
Survived. Long story. Can I call you?
Her response comes in seconds.
About to jump on a Zoom call for work. Will call you once done.
So I unpack quickly, needing something normal and routine to ground me. Laptop, chargers, the silk pajamas that are wildly inappropriate for ranch life but that I packed anyway. Once everything is in its place, Ifeel marginally more human. Though I’ll seriously need more clothes and toiletries if I’m actually going to live here for three months.
Maybe I can make a quick trip home? If someone’s willing to lend me a car. That wouldn’t break the contract… right?
I start wandering around the guesthouse, and it’s not what I expected.
From the outside, it’s a charming little wooden cabin with whitewashed panels and flowers along the front yard, like it belongs on a greeting card. Inside, it’s cozy in that lived-in, well-loved way. Not overly modern, but not a time capsule either. The kind of place where someone once cared about the details.
The entry opens into a small lounge with a plaid couch, a rug with horses galloping across it, and a little brick fireplace. To the left is a kitchenette with cheerful yellow cabinets and an honest-to-God mint-green fridge that hums like it’s survived five generations and a few heat waves. Down the short hallway, I find a snug bedroom with soft linens and a quilt folded neatly at the end of the bed. The bathroom is clean and bright, smelling faintly of lavender soap.
I pause at the back door and peer through the window. A tiny brown bunny is hopping lazily through a vegetable patch just beyond the porch, pausing to sniff the air. Its nose twitches like it’s caught me watching, and in a blink, it darts away under the fence, white tail flashing like a retreating puffball. Ipress a smile to my lips. Cute. Unexpected. And maybe a small sign that this place isn’t out to chew me up and spit me out after all.
Then I find the last room and… it steals my breath.
A miniature library.
The walls are lined with shelves, some crammed full, others half stacked with books lying sideways or tucked in at odd angles. Light filters in through a wide window, and nestled in the corner is the coziest reading nook I’ve ever seen. A hanging bamboo chair curled like a crescent moon, with a plush mauve cushion practically purring my name.
Okay, universe. I get it.
I backtrack to the kitchen, find a cold lemonade soda waiting in the fridge like some small miracle, and then hurry to grab my laptop, phone, and charger from the bedroom. My arms are full, wires tangled, soda tucked awkwardly under my chin as I half stumble, half slide into the library nook. There’s a power outlet behind the seat, and I quickly plug in my laptop. The suspended chair wobbles dramatically, swinging just enough to make me yelp, but somehow I manage to settle in cross-legged, tech gear piled around me like I’m preparing for battle.
The chair sways slightly, but it’s comfortable. Absurdly so. The cushion cocoons me in just the right way, and for the first time since I landed in this dusty town, something inside me eases.
I pull out my laptop, open it with a soft chime, andfire up my blog. The familiar interface blooms to life in the way only something truly mine can. My little corner of the internet. This, at least, hasn’t changed.
I lean back into the cushion, legs tucked beneath me. Then my fingers find the keys as I read and reply to a few people from my last post.
I started this blog two years ago as a total shot in the dark, keeping it a secret from Nolan, my then Alpha. Just me, no name shared, and a whole lot of frustration. I was tired of being told what I could and couldn’t do. Where I should go. Who I should be. What I should feel. And the worst part? Most of those opinions didn’t even come from other Omegas. Just people telling us how we ought to behave for our own good.
So I did something a little rebellious that no one knew about, except my bestie.
I made a space for Omegas. For anyone who needed it, really. I wanted to share my life as it happened—the awkward parts, the messy bits, the painful ones too. And in return, others started sharing their stories. Omegas from all over. Some scared. Some furious. Some who just wanted to feel like they weren’t the only ones questioning the old rules. We’re not a huge demographic, but we’ve got experiences worth telling. And apparently, a lot of people want to listen.
The blog has just under fifty thousand followers now, which still blows my mind. Most are Omegas, sure, but some have outed themselves in the comments as Betas. Even a few brave Alphas. Surprisinglyrespectful too. No unsolicited scent matches or mating proposals. Yet.
There’s something kind of magical about that. This odd little patch of internet land where everyone is just… decent. Curious. Supportive. Sometimes snarky. Sometimes sad. Always real.
Leaning back, I breathe easy and start typing, unsure of exactly what I want to say.
Confessions of a City Omega
In Which Our Heroine Discovers Cowboys Are Real and Very Distracting
Dearest Diary,
Remember how I always said I’d never leave Chicago? Well, surprise! Your girl is currently sitting in what can only be described as a Pinterest board come to life, in the middle of Absolutely Nowhere, Montana.
Why, you ask? Inheritance drama. Long story. The short version is I now own a ranch. Yes, you read that correctly. Me. Owner of actual land with actual animals.
But let’s talk about the REAL issue here. Cowboys. Not the Halloween costume kind. Real ones. With the hats and the boots and the way they say “ma’am” like it’s stitched into their DNA—it’s honestly unfair to the rest of us.
