“Did you get lost?” Warner’s voice trickles in from somewhere else in the house.
I leave the room to find him, wrapping my arms around myself against the slight chill in the air.
Warner is in the kitchen, a mixing bowl in one hand and a whisk in the other. Coffee percolates from a machine on the counter.
“Pancakes okay?” he asks, motioning to the bowl.
“Pancakes are perfect.” I hop onto the kitchen counter and look around. Warner’s cabin is similar to Wyatt’s, but larger. Where Wyatt’s cabin is sparse, Warner’s looks more like a home. A magnet keeps a list of spelling words held up to the fridge, kitchen gadgets compete for space on the countertop, a pair of boots with dirt caked to the edges next to the back door. I look back into the living room and see more proof that this is a home. A gaming console next to the television, framed pictures of Charlie and Peyton, a tie-dye hoodie haphazardly lying on the back of the couch.
And then I remember the books. “I think I figured out why you’re not a cinephile.”
“What’s your theory?” Warner asks, glancing over at me as he butters a pan.
“You’re a bibliophile instead.”
Warner finishes pouring batter into four rounds on the griddle. He sets the bowl on the counter, then comes to stand between my legs, resting his palms on my thighs. “It’s my thing. Reading. It gave me something to do when things with Anna started going downhill.”
Her name is a reminder that I know nothing about his marriage. His ex-wife. Or if what’s between us is ever going to amount to anything.
Warner walks away to check the pancakes. I watch as he flips them, lets them cook for another minute, then places them on a plate and pours more batter. He hands me the plate with the pancakes and pushes the syrup my way.
“Eat while they’re warm.”
I’m so hungry I eat every crumb on my plate. By the time I’m finished, Warner’s pancakes are ready. He eats leaning up against the counter. I get down and set my plate in the sink. Warner finishes too, stacking his plate on mine and grabbing two mugs. He fills them, then motions for me to follow him.
We walk into a room off the kitchen, about halfway to his bedroom.
“This is my office,” he says, striding behind a wooden desk. A laptop sits open on top, and a few different colored notebooks are scattered across the remaining space. Warner sweeps a hand in the air an inch above the notebooks. “Can you keep a secret?”
My head tilts, unsure of where he’s going with all this. “I like to think so.”
“I just finished my master’s degree. In English literature.”
The surprise makes me flinch. How have I been spending so much time with him and not known this by now? “English literature.” I nod slowly. “Warner, that’s great. I mean, you obviously love to read. Are you going to do something with the degree?”
Warner runs a hand through his hair. “I always wanted to be a college professor.” He glances at the bare wall to his left, like he’s envisioning a framed degree he feels belongs there. “I managed to get my bachelor’s before Wes left for the Army, and then my dad needed me here. And also, well, Anna…” Warner looks at me, his eyes probing, trying to read my thoughts. “Does it upset you to hear about her?”
I shake my head no, but it’s a lie. Maybe a little more like a fib. It’s natural not to love hearing about someone’s ex.
“Things just didn’t really go my way, I guess. Not that that’s a bad thing. I have a lot to show for the things that did go my way, and some other blessings that came from the unknown.” Warner rounds his desk and comes closer, but he stops short and sits back on the edge of his desk. “I heard about a spot opening up soon at the local community college.”
“Will you keep working for your family?”
Warner looks down, crossing one bare foot over the other. “I can’t be in two places at once, and ranching is a full-time commitment. There’s never a shortage of tasks.” He frowns as he speaks, and I wonder if he realizes it. “I’ll have to choose. Either the ranch, or what I love.”
“You don’t love ranching?”
“To a point. Not like Wes does.”
“But you’re so good at it.” Snippets of his lessons come back to me.
“Do you love what you’re good at?”
He has me there. This is my last film for a reason.
I reach for him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Wes doesn’t know, does he?”
His hands run the length of my back and he buries his head into my neck as he shakes it back and forth.
“Your secret is safe with me,” I whisper into his hair.
We stay that way until I remember I need to feed Libby. Warner offers to come with me, but I need to shower and I’m ready for a little space. I’m not sure what this has meant, and I’m even more unsure if I should ask.
“Are you busy later? Do you want to do something this afternoon?” Warner asks when I’ve picked up my purse off the ground where I dropped it inside his front door last night.
My mind travels to my fridge. My very empty fridge. “I have to run lines with Calvin. And I need groceries. Maybe you can come with me and be my security?” I say it jokingly, but after what happened with my underwear, I guess it’s not much of a joke.
Warner chuckles. He palms the open door, and it makes his bicep ripple, and then it makes my whole body do a melty, ripply thing alongside it.
I pause in the open door. “I must be missing the joke.”
Warner shakes his head. “Do you know how Wyatt got your underwear back?”
“No…” The word is drawn out as I realize I have no clue how he retrieved my unmentionables.
Warner’s eyebrows raise. “Me neither. But my guess is that Wyatt is right and nobody around town is going to give you any more trouble.”
I eye him. “Does that mean you’re not interested in grocery shopping with me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
I give him a challenging look. “What did you say?”
Warner smirks. “I’d be happy to accompany you on your trip to town. I’ll even hold your bags.”
I press a hand to his chest. “You’re quite the gentleman.”
Warner’s expression changes, his eyes knowing and hungry. “Not always.”
In LA, I rarely did my own grocery shopping. I would have preferred to do it myself, but Tate insisted on ordering groceries or having his assistant go on a run. Unless, of course, he wanted to be seen. Then he had his assistant call the paps and tip them off. It wasn’t a big deal to Tate if he missed a photo op, because he would just create them instead.
But grocery shopping at a small, adorable grocery store like the Sierra Supply? That’s something I can see myself doing regularly. Between this place and the Merc, which I’m told sells Cow Tales candy (a must-try, Warner insists), I think I’d have all I need. Sierra Supply is loaded with fresh produce grown by local farms. It also has an aisle for basic hunting and fishing supplies, but that was added a couple years ago according to Warner. Its addition made steam shoot from the ears of Maia, the owner of the Merc, who also carries basic hunting and fishing supplies. But, Warner added, for those who do more than dabble in hunting and fishing, there’s a real store for that a few miles away. I nodded at all the inside information, then moved on to the next aisle. What I didn’t tell Warner was how much his stories are making me fall deeper in love with the small-town charm of Sierra Grande.