A Small Town Enemies to Lovers Romance
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The rules were simple.
Keep my hands off his daughter and stay out of trouble.
But now I'm stuck with her.
There's only one bed.
And well, rule...
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Willa: I miss your face already. Having fun playing Hell on Wheels?
Summer: What?
Willa: Your cowboy. I looked him up. He looks like the hot guy from Hell on Wheels. You know the one with the long hair? Did you know they filmed that show out there?
Willa: You should fuck him.
Summer: No.
Willa: Want me to print you a picture of him for your wall?
Summer: I don't miss you at all.
Rhett and I drive in utter silence, which is fine. It gives me the opportunity to get acquainted with everything out the window.
"Turn here." One slight turn takes us to a dead-end side street, at the bottom of which sits The Railspur.
The bar is not what I was expecting from a small town. In fact, Chestnut Springs is not what I was expecting from a small town. I think my dad and I have watched too many old Western movies, and I realize I am genuinely an oblivious city girl.
Because Chestnut Springs is beautiful. The main street has these adorable bricked-in sidewalks, and ornate lamp posts with little town flags dangling from them, and the businesses down here have maintained the historic facades while modernizing or adding onto the rest. Old brick buildings with dramatic archways or charming colorful awnings line each side of Rosewood Street, the main thoroughfare in town.
And the bar is not some small-town dive either. It's like... cowboy chic.
"Is this an old train station?" I ask as I roll into the parking lot that Rhett just silently pointed to.
"Yup."
"I guess the name should've been clue enough, I say, mostly to myself since Rhett seems limited to grunts and one-word answers, before pulling to a stop in a space not too far from the door.
He grunts.
And I turn to him as he flings off his seatbelt like he can't get away fast enough. "Are you always this monosyllabic? Or is this special just for me?"
"I don't need this," he mutters just before he slams the passenger door in my face and storms toward the bar.
I flop back against my seat and exhale a frustrated breath through my lips.
I ask myself what I always do.
If this were my last moment alive, how would I want it to be?
My eyes flutter shut, and I suck in a deep breath like that might help me grow some extra patience to deal with the big asshole bull rider assigned to me. Because in my last moments, I'd want to feel happy. If I step out of this car and get run down, I want to go out feeling good, not pissed off at some long-haired, broad-shouldered, round-assed cowboy.
