Page 20 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
“SOPHIA.”
“I know. And one of them I’m certain already dislikes me. Another one may dislike my scent. I’m living in a fairy-tale cottage, and I found the world’s best Portuguese tarts, so maybe I’ll just stress-eat myself into a coma and hope the problem solves itself.”
“Breathe. This is spiral thinking. What did your therapist say?”
I inhale through my nose and count to four. “You’re right. I’m okay. This is manageable. Completely fine.”
“Important question. Are any of them single?”
“Mer!”
“What? It’s a practical question. You’re stuck there for three months with three hot cowboys. The universe is writing you a romance novel, and you’re ignoring the plot.”
“The universe needs an editor. These guys think I’m stealing their legacy. Romance isn’t even in the prologue.”
“Mm-hmm. What do they smell like?”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“You can’t smell them through the phone. That’s the one upside to long distance. Just tell Auntie Mer.”
I sigh. “Sage and coffee. Cedar and cinnamon. Honey and fresh bread.”
“O. M. G. You’re living in a damn bakery. And they’re all single?”
“I don’t know! I’ve only known them for less than twelve hours!”
“Enough hours of smelling like a Williams Sonoma catalog. Girl, your ovaries must be writing poetry.”
“My ovaries are drafting their resignation letter. One more whiff and they’ll unionize.”
I shift in the hanging chair, trying not to smile, but it’s impossible with Meredith. “How’s your mom?”
“Doing better. Hip surgery went great. She’s already bossing around the nurses, so clearly she’s on the mend.”
“Good. Tell her I said hi.”
Another pause. Then her voice softens. “You sure you’re okay? This is a lot. Way more than the plan.”
“I don’t really have a choice. I need the money, Mer. Nolan’s accounts are basically dry, and it’s not like he let me have a job. I only started my freelancing gig after he passed. I’m surprised he even left me the ranch inheritance. So I’ve got to make this work.”
“You could ask your parents for help.”
“Right. Let me just call them up and say, ‘Hey, remember how I didn’t try hard enough to make Nolan happy? And then after he died, you sent me all those guilt texts? Well, now I need a loan.’?”
“They don’t really believe you didn’t try.” Her voice dips low.
“They never said it, not directly. But they didn’t have to. Dad barely looks at me when I go over, and Mom only calls when he’s out of the house. She checks in, but she’s too scared to cross him. And honestly? I think they were just relieved when Nolan died. Now they don’t have to pretend anymore.”
Meredith sighs. “They’re wrong. And you’re doing your best.”
“Yeah, well, my best is currently avoiding eye contact with guys who could break the internet with one smolder.”
“Again, you say this like it’s a bad thing.”
I glance out the window where the last of the sunlight casts long shadows across the ranch. The guesthouse feels quieter now, the kind of quiet that dares you to unpack your thoughts.
“I should probably go,” I say, my voice softer now. “Spotted some yogurt and fruit in the fridge and I’m planning to raid the pantry like a raccoon in silk pajamas.”
