Chapter 16: Dinner
The rain was a soft percussion on the restaurant’s patio awning, a clean scent cutting through the bourbon and grilled meat. Alysha smoothed the napkin in her lap, her fingers tracing the heavy linen. Across the wrought-iron table, Tamika’s eyes were wide with incredulous delight. Jenna just sipped her cocktail, a slow, knowing smile playing on her lips.
“So let me get this straight,” Tamika said, leaning forward. “The little boy with the cowboy boots obsession. The one who cried when his mashed potatoes touched his green beans.”
“He still prefers them separate,” Alysha said, unable to stop her own grin.
“That kid,” Tamika continued, pointing her fork for emphasis, “is now that.” She jerked her chin subtly toward the interior of the restaurant, where Brandon stood at the hostess stand, collecting the bottle of wine he’d brought from the lodge. He was in a simple, dark button-down, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, his jeans worn soft. He looked both utterly out of place and completely self-possessed, a quiet force in the polished room.
“That is indeed that,” Jenna affirmed, her voice dry. “You failed to mention the dimensions, Alysha. Good lord.”
“Hush,” Alysha muttered, feeling a flush creep up her neck. It was one thing to know it herself, another to have it appraised by her most discerning friends.
Brandon returned, navigating the tight patio tables with an easy grace. He placed the bottle on the table, a nice Cabernet, and slid into the seat beside Alysha. His knee immediately found hers under the table, a point of grounding heat. He gave the women a slow, easy smile. “Sorry about that. Didn’t trust they’d have the right glasses.”
“A man who travels with his own wine,” Jenna observed. “Interesting.”
“It’s from a friend’s vineyard near the ranch,” he said, as the server appeared with glasses. He went through the tasting ritual again, simple and sure. When the server left, he lifted his glass. “To old friends.”
They clinked. The wine was deep, peppery. Tamika dove in. “So, Brandon. We need the story. The real story. From mashed potatoes to… well.” She gestured at all of him.
Brandon’s hand settled on the back of Alysha’s chair, his thumb stroking the bare skin of her shoulder where her dress strap sat. He told it plainly, without embellishment. The grandfather’s ranch, the early mornings, the discipline of the rodeo circuit, the stark emptiness after his granddad passed. He spoke of the focus it took, the silence of it. “It was just work,” he said. “Until I remembered what happy felt like. She was my benchmark for that. Had been since I was five.”
Alysha kept her eyes on her glass, warmth spreading through her chest.
“And the shooting?” Jenna asked, her tone genuinely curious, not challenging.
“A tool,” he said with a shrug. “Like a tractor or a stethoscope. Precision matters. Responsibility matters more.” He glanced at Alysha, a flicker of private memory in his eyes. “She’s a natural, by the way. Better first grouping than I had.”
Tamika’s eyebrows shot up. “You took her shooting?”
“He took me shooting,” Alysha corrected softly, finally looking up. “It was… clarifying.”
There was a beat of silence as the women processed this, the pieces of the man and the life clicking together. Then Tamika set her glass down. “Okay, big picture time. What happens next week? You fly back to Colorado. Then what?”
All eyes turned to him. Alysha held her breath. This was the first public test.
Brandon didn’t flinch. He took a slow sip of wine, his gaze sweeping over their attentive faces before landing back on Alysha, including her in his answer. “I’ll be monitoring the spring operations. Checking herds, overseeing the calving crews, making sure the irrigation lines are clear for thaw.” His voice was practical, the foreman listing tasks. Then it softened. “And I’ll be showing Alysha around. The high country, the valleys, the home place. Letting her see the routine, the sunsets, the whole dusty, beautiful, relentless thing.” He looked directly at Tamika. “Seeing if it’s a place she could see herself. That’s the plan. One honest day at a time.”
The answer was so devoid of pressure, so full of patient intention, that the tension at the table visibly dissolved. Tamika nodded, satisfied. Jenna’s smile lost its edge, becoming simply fond.
“Well,” Jenna said, lifting her glass again. “To honest days.”
The rest of the evening unfolded in a warm, noisy blur. The second bottle was opened. Plates of seared scallops in peach glaze, thick steaks, and truffle-whipped potatoes were shared and praised. Laughter came easy. Brandon listened more than he spoke, absorbing the rhythms of their friendship—the gentle mocking, the shared histories, the way Alysha came alive in their company, her head thrown back, her braids swaying as she laughed at a story from nursing school.
He told a self-deprecating story about being thrown into a mud pit by a disgruntled heifer, the women roaring as he described the sound it made. Alysha countered with the tale of his childhood declaration about Annie Oakley, and he just shook his head, a boyish grin on his face, taking the ribbing with good grace.
The rain slowed to a drizzle. The patio lights twinkled in the damp air. It was just drinking, eating, and laughing. No drama, no cross-examinations. Just a slow, building fondness, a sense of welcome being extended and, tentatively, accepted.
When the dessert plates—shared bites of flourless chocolate cake and bourbon bread pudding—were cleared, a comfortable silence fell. Tamika sighed, patting her stomach. “I surrender. That was perfect.” She looked at Brandon, her expression open and kind. “You, sir, have excellent taste in food, wine, and company.”
“I really do,” he agreed, his eyes on Alysha.
They split the bill over Brandon’s quiet protest, the women insisting it was their welcome-to-the-frenzy dinner. Outside, the air was cool and washed clean. Hugs were exchanged, promises made for brunch, and then her friends were walking away, arm-in-arm, turning back once to wave.
Alone under the eaves, the sound of their friends’ fading laughter was replaced by the drip of water from the awning. Brandon turned Alysha to face him, his hands on her hips. The amber light from the restaurant window haloed his hair.
“So?” he asked, his voice low.
“So,” she echoed, looping her arms around his neck. “They’re terrified for me and completely on board. Which is exactly how I feel.”
He chuckled, the sound a vibration against her. “Good. That’s fair.”
He kissed her then, not with the hungry intensity of the lodge, but with a sweet, lingering completeness that tasted of red wine and shared cake and public belonging. When they pulled apart, the world felt solid, the path ahead illuminated just a few steps at a time.
“One day at a time,” she whispered, echoing his words back to him.
“That’s all we get,” he said, and kissed her once more, as the last of the rain dripped from the edge of the world, making way for the clear night.