Cord’s eyes meet mine as we both reach at the same time for another buttery breakfast biscuit.

His fingers brush ever so subtly across the back of my hand as he lets me take first pick, a faint smile twitching on his mouth—a mouth that showed me pleasure beyond belief last night.

I bite back a sudden moan, sinking down into my seat as raw desire throbs inside of me, a flash of Cord hovering over me, making my blood boil.

Last night was magical, cheesy as that word is. Actually, it was more than that. I’ve never felt as happy as I do right now. It’s like everything is finally coming together for me. When I stepped off that train the other day, I never would have guessed just how much or how quickly my life was about to change.

“You all be safe out there today, boys.” Aunt Miranda yawns sleepily as the men get up and start leaving the house. Over his shoulder, Cord shoots me one last lingering gaze.

As much as I wanted to spend last night in his cabin, I snuck back into the main house around midnight. Thinking about Uncle Daniel knocking on my bedroom door and not finding me there sent shudders through me . . . Since Cord wasn’t my boyfriend, it would be really awkward for anyone to find me in his cabin late at night or early in the morning.

“Sloane, can I steal you for a bit?” a cheery-faced Miranda lightly asks.

On the other side of the window, Cord and a hand—Dane—pass by. I wish I could follow behind Cord’s broad shoulders and stand in their shadow all day long.

Instead, however, I turn back to Miranda and nod before collecting as many plates as I can off the table. I hurry into the kitchen and set them all in the sink.

“I’ll just wash these and then I’m going to go out—”

“Oh, I was hoping you would help me make some cookies!” Miranda frowns, her jubilant mouth twisting downward. “They’re chocolate chip. It’s the bake sale at the community center tomorrow.”

“Of course I’ll help,” I reply, suppressing a sigh.

The last thing I want to do is bake. And hasn’t Miranda had enough of me trying to blow up her kitchen? I clearly have no culinary talent whatsoever, which is becoming clearer every time I dare step foot in here.

“Okay, I need you to crack three eggs into this bowl.” She gestures at a pink bowl on the counter. “Then add half a cup of brown sugar and half a cup of white.”

“Um, what’s the difference between brown and white sugar?” I ask, eyes distractedly on the window.

Was that Baby I just saw go by? Is she headed out to see Cord?

Miranda laughs until she realizes I’m not joking, then purses her lips and sets the sugar bags in front of me. “One is white, and one is brown, Sloane.”

I laugh, embarrassment warming my cheeks. “That seems obvious enough.”

“Yes, so cream those all together, okay?”

“How many eggs did you say again?”

“Three.”

“And how many cups of what?”

It takes ages, but I eventually get what I hope are the right ingredients in the right order into the bowl before whisking away until my arms hurt.

Twenty minutes later, as the smell of burning dough rises in the kitchen, my phone suddenly trills loudly from my back pocket.

“Go on, dear,” Miranda smiles and gives an exasperated laugh, shooing me away from the stove where I was supposed to have been watching the timer.

With a little too much glee, I dart out of the kitchen and into the hallway, pulling my phone from my pocket as I do so.

Mom shines up at me from the bright screen of my cell, and my heart drops into my stomach like a heavy anchor thrown off the bow of a ship.

“Oh, no,” I mumble, cringing at the thought of talking to her.

The last thing I want to do right now is have a conversation with either of my parents, especially when I’m dying to get outside.

This talk has to happen at some point though, so I begrudgingly accept the call and dart into my room to answer it.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, trying to make it sound as though I’m happy to hear from her.

“Sloane Gentry, you have some kind of nerve!” she starts instantly, her voice so shrill that it makes my ears sting. “I can’t believe you! Ignoring our calls, really?! We raised you better than that, young lady.”

“I’m fine, I’m safe, I’m happy. Isn’t that what matters?”

Mom laughs, a laugh that I know is definitely not a cheerful one.

“What matters, Sloane, is that you need to come home now. You’ve made so many mistakes. You worked so hard all your life, and now you’re just throwing it all away. My daughter is not a college dropout—”

“I’m afraid she is, Mom. I studied really hard for you and Dad, but not for me. It was never about what I wanted,” I retort with a scoff. “It’s only been a few days here at Uncle Daniel’s, and I’m already happier at this ranch than I ever was for a second at school. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“You need to come home. You need some serious therapy. There is no way you’re enjoying life on that dirty ranch.”

“I am, actually. And I might be staying here longer than expected.”

“Sloane!”

“I’ll talk to you soon, Mom. I love you, but I love it here, and I’m going to stay if it makes me happy.”

Before she can argue any further, I hang up my phone, turn the sound off, and slide it under my pillow so that I can’t see it illuminate with the next dozen calls I’m sure I’ll receive.

Blankly, I stare at the pillow, trying to remember how to breathe.

I’ve never stood up for myself like that. Maybe . . . maybe I am actually changing. Maybe this farm is just what I need to find myself.

I stand and escape outside before Miranda can find me again. I take in a deep breath as I step off the porch, and the warm breeze sends my hair tumbling back off my shoulders.

This place, it really is becoming like home to me. I feel like I’m changing, like I’m building a cocoon around myself and becoming a whole other, better person than I was in Connecticut or California.

Crumpet looks up as I dance into the barn, shaking his head with an excited whinny and a few stomps of his feet.

He’s as ready as I am to ride, to get one long taste of freedom.

I take his reins, fitting the saddle on his sturdy back as he shifts impatiently.

“We’re going, Crumpet!” I laugh, fitting my foot into the stirrup and heaving myself upward with more ease than before.

As the air rushes around me, I breathe in the scent of grass and mountain air and utter independence.

Finally, I’m becoming the woman I always imagined myself being—a woman who is completely and totally my own.