Blake wasn't what you'd call a morning person.
Ranchers wake early out of necessity, sure…but waking up and functioning like a decent human being were two very different things. Especially when your brain was still tangled in yesterday's chaos and your heart was doing acrobatics over a woman you'd only just met. A woman who, inexplicably, made you feel like a teenage boy with a crush and no idea what to do about it.
"Alright, Rex," Blake mutters, pouring coffee into a mug that might have once featured a rodeo logo…hard to tell under the scratches. The bitter aroma wasn't anywhere near as fancy as the vanilla chai latte Emma had been sipping yesterday, but it was coffee. Fuel. Survival juice. "Today's the day you work your magic again. Do not screw this up."
Rex thumps his tail on the floor like a slow drumroll and lets out a bark that sounds suspiciously like, You're on your own, cowboy.
The big dog flops down beside Blake's boots, stretching out with a groan, already king of the ranch and too dignified for nerves.
Blake eyes his reflection in the microwave door…flannel shirt, worn jeans, hair that refused to be tamed even after water, gel and prayer. "Maybe I should've shaved. Or ironed this shirt. Or...I don't know, done something to look less like I got into a wrestling match with a hay bale."
Rex blinks slowly. Charming, his look seems to say.
Blake rolls his eyes. "You're not helping."
Outside, the sky was painting itself in pink and gold, the kind of morning that feels like a soft reset. A blank slate. Maybe even a promise. Blake steps onto the porch, coffee mug in hand and breathes it all in like he was trying to centre himself before a first date he wouldn't admit was a date.
Meanwhile, across town, Emma stands in front of her mirror holding a mug of her own…green tea this time, nerves already fizzing under her skin. She'd changed her shirt three times, debated putting on lipstick, then wiped it off in a fit of panic. What was the appropriate level of effort for coffee on a ranch with a man who looked like a cowboy calendar come to life?
"He probably doesn't care what I wear," she mutters, tugging her favourite fitted shirt down over her jeans. "But I do."
Eventually, she settles on the basics: worn jeans, her favourite boots, a light jacket and a smile. Well…she packed the smile. It hadn't quite made an appearance yet.
"Rex likes me. That's gotta count for something," she whispers, then grabs her keys and heads out.
Back at the ranch, Blake is pacing the porch like a caged stallion.
"She's just bringing coffee," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. "Not proposing marriage."
Still, he checks the driveway five times in two minutes and curses himself for being this jittery. He could wrestle calves and face down storms, but one woman with a killer smile and a scarf that has ruined his driving record? Total kryptonite.
Rex sits nearby, watching with sage patience. When Blake stops pacing, the dog gives a single, deliberate woof and trots toward the gate like he had a plan of his own.
Then…tires on gravel.
Blake stiffens. "Showtime."
Emma pulls up and for a second, Blake forgets how to use his limbs.
As Emma drives up, the ranch looks like something out of a country song in the soft light…golden fields swaying, birds chirping, a breeze dancing through the leaves and a beautifully well maintained one story ranch style home, with wraparound porch.
Emma, steps out of her car with a to-go tray of drinks and a hesitant grin.
"Sheriff Rex!" she calls, as the dog barrels towards her like she'd just arrived with bacon.
She kneels, almost getting bowled over as he leans into her with an excited whuff, giving him a side hug, as she holds the coffee precariously in her other hand.
Blake clears his throat. "Don't take it personally. He's like that with anything that might smell like cinnamon."
Emma stands, laughing. "Me or the coffee?"
Blake grins. "Let's just say you're both equally irresistible."
She blinks. "Smooth, cowboy."
Handing Blake his cup of coffee.
"I practiced in the mirror," he says, taking the cup. "Rex judged me."
They walk towards the ranch house with Rex following in the back like a king, the horses grazing in the fields and early-morning sunlight pooling over the hills.
"So," Emma says, sipping her drink, "do all your mornings involve pacing the porch like an expectant father?"
"Only when caffeine and nerves collide," Blake replies. "Also, Rex demanded we be up early. He's a stickler for punctual romance."
Emma laughs. "I knew he was matchmaking."
"He's got a nose for it."
Rex sneezes loudly as if to say you're welcome.
They settle on the porch steps with their coffees, boots side by side. The world around them stretches wide and quiet, full of promise.
Blake finds himself telling her about the land…about the storms, the branding seasons, the quiet pride of long days with your hands in the dirt. Emma shares stories of her living above the café with her best friend Tory, how she helps part time there and that she works at the hospital as a physiotherapist, and being new in town.
Somewhere between the second sip and the tenth smile, the moment shifts. Lightens. Softens. Deepens.
At one point, Blake looks at her…really looks and the air between them buzz with something warm and electric.
"Thanks for coming out," he says, voice low. "I know this probably isn't your usual kind of morning."
Emma smiles, brushing her fingers along the rim of her cup. "It might just be my favourite kind."
They sit in silence for a beat, watching the breeze roll over the fields.
Then, awkwardly, Blake clears his throat and shifts in his seat, his fingers tapping nervously against the side of his cup.
"So, uh..." he begins, avoiding her gaze and pretending to examine a spot on his boot. "Not that this wasn't great already, but...I was thinkin' maybe we could do this again sometime. Like, not just today-coffee, but maybe...future-coffee. Plural."
Emma raises an eyebrow, amused. "Future-coffee?"
"Yeah," he says, stumbling a bit. "Like...coffee that happens again. With you. And me. And maybe Rex, if he's not too busy being sheriff."
She smiles, clearly enjoying watching him squirm. "You have my number, Blake."
"Right," he said, cheeks warming. "I do. I just...didn't want to assume. You know, in case you gave it to me out of politeness or scarf-related guilt."
Emma laughs. "You're overthinking, cowboy."
"Probably," he mutters. "But perhaps, I could text you. About coffee. Or the weather. Or important ranch-related events."
"Or?" she says, leaning in slightly. "Like Rex's morning patrol reports?"
"Exactly. He's very thorough."
She grins. "Then I'll be expecting an update at sunrise, Sheriff Rex style."
Blake grins, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Consider it done. First report: subject received belly rubs and issued zero bark citations."
Emma giggles. "Sounds like a very good boy."
"The best."
And as her laughter fades into a soft smile, Blake realizes…awkwardness and all…he'd somehow managed to ask for another chance. And maybe, just maybe, she'd said yes.
As the morning wears on, the sun climbs higher and the scent of coffee mingles with fresh earth and hay. Rex dozes at their feet, tail twitching in sleepy satisfaction.
Blake looks down at the dog, then at the woman beside him.
"Alright, partner," he says softly, reaching to scratch behind Rex's ears.
Rex let out a triumphant grunt, clearly satisfied with himself.
Emma leans against Blake's shoulder just slightly, casual but intentional. "So...same time tomorrow?"
Blake smiles. "I'll make sure the porch is ready. And Rex is ready for your usual attention."
The dog gives one last wag, sealing the unspoken deal.
And somewhere in that golden morning glow, a story that had begun with a crash and a flying scarf started finding its rhythm…brewing slow and warm, like the best kind of coffee.