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Unfortunately, I was dating the town's favorite former Heartbreaker, which meant my personal life had become something of a public service announcement.

And apparently, my culinary skills had become public property as well.

My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.

Selma Lockhart: Mija, are you bringing the pasta salad?

Before I could answer, another message appeared.

Selma Lockhart: Damon says you're bringing the pasta salad.

Then another.

Selma Lockhart: Don't let him carry it. He dropped my award-winning deviled eggs in 2019, and I haven't forgiven him.

I stared at the screen.

"Your mom texts me more than my mom, and we live on her property."

Damon leaned against the counter, looking offensively attractive in jeans and a faded gray T-shirt. "She likes you."

"She sent me a picture of a cow yesterday."

"That was Daisy."

"She captioned it 'your future daughter.'"

"Mom's subtle."

"Your mother has never been subtle a day in her life."

He grinned and stole a cherry tomato from the cutting board. I slapped his hand. "Those are for the salad."

"Pretty sure they're for eating."

I held up my knife. "Pretty sure you're about to lose a finger."

He kissed my forehead. And just like that, my irritation lost approximately eighty percent of its structural integrity. Annoying.

Six months ago, I'd been convinced that falling for Damon Lockhart would ruin my life. Instead, he'd made it exponentially better and somehow bigger.

Not simpler. Definitely not quieter. But bigger.

I still had my career. An apartment in the city. Meetings, deadlines, and three corporations I was running. I hadn't traded my heels for cowboy boots or developed a sudden passion for mucking stalls. I still thought waking up before sunrise was a crime against humanity.

And Damon hadn't asked me to become someone else. We'd figured it out.

Some weeks, I worked remotely from his place, stealing his coffee and complaining about his slow internet connection. Some weeks, he came to the city, where he charmed my doorman, learned my favorite takeout orders, and discovered that parking cost more than livestock feed.

But wherever we were, we were together.

We chose each other even when choosing each other meant a commute, an inconvenient schedule, or one of us falling asleep while the other was waking up for their day.

It wasn't a fairy tale. It was better. It was ours.

Unfortunately, ours also included an entire town that had apparently appointed itself our relationship management committee.

Grace had decided we had a favorite booth at the diner.