Blake knew peace couldn't last forever…not in Prairie Ridge.
Especially not when things had been going almost suspiciously well. After that impromptu walk with Emma, he'd felt something he hadn't in a long time. Not just attraction. Not even affection. Something dangerously close to possibility.
And that terrified him.
But it was a warm kind of terror. The kind that nestled behind his ribs and curled up beside him at night, especially when Rex climbed into bed like an oversized heat-seeking missile. Even the dog could sense that something was shifting.
Unfortunately, so could fate.
And fate had a nasty sense of humour.
It started at the grocery store.
Blake had been minding his business, judging tomatoes that looked more like red balloons than actual fruit, when a voice from the past blindsided him like a flying fence post.
"Blakey?"
He stiffens. Even Rex, sitting obediently beside the cart, stops panting mid-breath and stares up at him.
Blake turns slowly. And there she is.
Carrie.
Leggy, blonde, confident-as-ever Carrie. The ex who had ghosted him with a vague note, a packed suitcase, and half a shared dream left to rot in the dust.
She saunters over like she hadn't shattered his carefully guarded heart three years ago.
"Wow," she purrs, giving him a once-over. "Still wearing plaid, I see. Some things never change."
"Carrie," he says, as flat as the tomato he'd just squished. "Didn't expect to see you back here."
"Visiting my folks. Thought I'd check in on my favourite cowboy."
Rex gives a low, guttural growl.
Carrie blinks and takes a step back. "Is that the same mutt you used to have? He looks...bigger."
"Still the same dog." Blake gives Rex a slow pat on the head. "Still has a good memory."
Carrie's smile falters, but she recovers quickly. "Well, give him a biscuit or something. So he doesn't need to be rude."
Rex gives her a look that could curdle cream, growling lowly.
Blake doesn't stop him.
He does, however, push the cart in the opposite direction.
"Nice running into you," he calls over his shoulder.
Carrie doesn't reply.
She was too busy inspecting her overpriced avocados for emotional trauma.
Meanwhile, back at Emma's apartment, which she and Tory affectionately call The Nest due to its minimal square footage and maximum chaos, were getting a bit dramatic.
"I heard Blake's ex is back in town," Tory says, dramatically flopping onto the futon with her laptop open and a tub of hummus dangerously close to spilling. "Rosie saw her in the produce section, smirking like she owns the town."
Emma blinks. "His ex? Wait…like, the ex?"
"Yup. Carrie. Barbie-on-a-horse Carrie."
Emma raises a brow. "And..."
"She already hates you."
Emma's face scrunches. "What?"
"She saw the article in the local social media, Emma. That's basically a red flag for her. in small-town terms."
"Tory!"
"I'm serious. And guess what else? Blake's mom is hosting a cookout tomorrow for a few locals. Megan, Blake's sister, has invited us. Which means Carrie will probably 'accidentally' show up wearing heels and bad decisions."
Emma groans, flopping back on the couch. "I don't have a 'meet the mom while fending off ex-girlfriend sabotage' outfit."
Tory grins and tosses a hanger at her. "You do now. Sundress. Boots. And don't worry…we'll weaponize your charm."
The next day arrives with suspicious sunshine and the smell of slow-cooked meat wafting from Megan's yard.
The cookout is already in full swing when Blake rolls up in his new truck…the one he still refers to as "Too Fancy" under his breath. His favourite ride was still in the shop after its heroic sacrifice in the Great Scarf Crash at the beginning of that week. This one had automated everything, Bluetooth and USB nonsense, front and rear camera view, GPS and cup holders that adjusted for temperature. He hadn't bonded with it yet.
Rex, however, had claimed the back seat like a throne.
Megan waves from the grill, spatula in hand. "Well, if it isn't the man of the hour."
"And the dog of destiny," Duke adds, tossing Rex a piece of brisket.
Blake groans. "Don't encourage him."
Emma arrives a few minutes later with Tory, both looking like they'd stepped out of a Pinterest board. Emma's sundress flutters in the breeze, her hair loose and glowing in the sunlight.
Blake's breath catches. Rex barks once and trots toward her like she was the guest of honour.
"Hey," Blake says. as he approaches them, trying not to sound like a teenager.
Emma smiles. "Nice truck. Smells like a tech showroom from here."
He grimaces. "Don't remind me. I miss the old one."
"You mean the one with duct tape on the mirror and a fender like an accordion?"
"Sentimental value," he defends. "And it doesn't talk to me through the dashboard."
She laughs, and his heart does a strange, happy tilt.
"Come meet my mom," he adds, offering her his arm.
His mother, Janice, was everything Emma had been warned about and more: steel-grey eyes, silver hair swept into a no-nonsense bun, and an aura of disapproval that evaporates the moment she smiles.
"So," Janice says, taking Emma's hands. "You're the reason I had to tell three church ladies that Blake didn't elope in secret, he wouldn't dare without telling me."
Emma flushes. "I promise I didn't mean to cause drama."
"Nonsense," Janice says. "You caused spice. There's a difference. I like you already."
From the porch, Tory whispers to Megan, "Emma's winning. Carrie hasn't even shown up yet."
As if summoned by name, Carrie appears half an hour later, in designer jeans and boots that had never seen dirt. She gives a wide smile and a wave, but the reception is lukewarm at best. Even the grill seems to hiss louder when she approaches.
Rex stares her down from under the picnic table. No growling. Just...judgment.
"Hi Blakey," Carrie says sweetly. "Didn't expect to see the whole town here."
"That's usually what 'cookout' means."
She turns to Emma, eyes flicking from her boots to the top of Emma's head in dismissal. "And you must be the girl from the road."
Emma smiles brightly. "And you must be the girl from the rumour mill."
Carrie blinks in confusion.
Janice claps. "Oh, I like her."
Later that evening, after the sun dips low and the firepit casts dancing shadows across the lawn, Blake finds Emma near the fence, staring up at the stars.
He joins her quietly, the scent of grilled peaches and smoke clinging to his shirt.
"Thanks for coming," he says.
"Thanks to your Mom and Megan inviting us. And also, for not letting your dog bite your ex."
Blake chuckles. "He's got restraint. Barely."
They stand in silence, shoulder to shoulder.
"It's strange," Emma says softly, "how a place can start to feel like home... even when you're not sure where you belong."
He looks over at her, something warm blooming in his chest.
"You belong just fine."
Rex barks once in the distance again.
Emma smiles. "He agrees."
And under the prairie stars, with meddling mothers, designer-clad ghosts and the occasional bark of encouragement, something real takes root.
Something with potential.
Something worth trying for.