CHAPTER 19
Julia
Theo
Honestly, Jules. Can you tell me
ANYTHING? What about the title? I’ve been deep diving online, searching for clues, and reading fan theories. But it’s a
brand-new show, and there’s zero information.
Julia
You need a hobby.
Theo
It’s the offseason. I’m bored. Have pity on me, sis!
Julia
You’re annoying. Go bug Winter. She
signed up for you. I was born into this without consent.
Theo
I tried!
Theo
But she gave me that hot, grumpy look she does and told me to stop trying to make another baby. Apparently, it’s “too soon.”
Julia
Too much information, Thee.
Theo
I told her we could practice so that when
the time is right, we’ll basically be professional.
Julia
I genuinely do not want to know this.
Theo
I’ll stop if you tell me SOMETHING.
Julia
Something.
The view from the top of Prickle Point is as beautiful as I remember. Emmett did
not lead me astray with this suggestion. It’s the perfect spot for the show to film.
As the crew buzzes around, arranging the set, their excited energy filling the air,
I’m more puffed up than I have any right to be.
Glowing reference from Executive Producer Richard Wadsworth, here I come.
Ben, our director of photography, sidles up next to me, arms crossed while gazing out over the valley with a smile. “Your pictures didn’t do this spot justice.”
I grin and nod. “Well, Emmett suggested it. I just went digging.”
“It’s definitely the perfect spot for a romantic date,” Ben says dryly before his gaze lands on where Emmett stands. Richard is talking at him, hands flailing at a rapid pace as he explains… whatever he’s explaining. He carries on, moving around the space, acting out how he wants the scene to go.
“Dick Wad’s really micromanaging this one, huh?” Ben says, not bothering to keep the disdain from creeping into his voice.
I turn slowly in his direction, trying not to laugh at the joke. “Wait, do you call him Dick Wad too?”
The man slides his gaze to me. “Girl, we all call him Dick Wad. Because he is one. Why do you think your predecessor marched away from this gig without a backward glance?”
“Wait, really? I thought she got another job.”
Ben tilts his head, giving me a come-now sort of look. “Yeah, maybe one day.
When he decides to take her off his Hollywood blacklist for leaving us with a last- minute opening.”
My mouth opens, but no words emerge for several beats. I was the last-minute hire? All I can think to say is, “I had no idea.”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll be fine.” He pats my shoulder and traipses away, chuckling to himself, like I’ve said something funny. But this isn’t funny. This development does nothing other than stress me out. Because I do not want to have my career ruined by Richard before it’s even started.
With Ben gone, I try to refocus. He said I’ll be fine, and I’m sure that I will.
Still, I stand facing out, my back toward the trees so that I don’t take a dazed tumble into a pile of cacti. I refuse to make that same mistake twice.
Last time, this spot was perfectly peaceful. This time, the crew spreads out, placing lights and microphones while setting up a picnic on a red-and-white- checkered blanket. I watch them place a wicker basket filled with snacks in the center, then a bouquet of flowers, and a bottle of chilled champagne.
It’s supposed to appear to audiences that Emmett went out of his way to set this up. But I know he’s had no hand in it. He’s too busy being coached by
Richard.
For a beat, his eyes flash to mine so quickly that I doubt anyone else would notice. He turns his attention back to the showrunner, but I don’t miss the flash
of uncertainty in his eyes.
It confuses me. He confuses me.
When I first found out Emmett was going to be the bachelor on Romance Ranch, my first thought was, Of course he would. He’d be perfect for this.
But that was before I knew him.
That was before I’d had a taste of his biting humor or witnessed the streak of tenderness beneath all the hard edges.
There’s no denying that Emmett has been known to get around. But what I’ve learned is that doesn’t preclude him from also being thoughtful and honest and dedicated. And in recent weeks, I’ve made peace with the fact that both versions of him can exist at once.
I’ve also learned that he doesn’t readily share every part of himself. Except with me—or so it would seem. Outwardly, he’s closed off and wrapped up. But when we’re one-on-one, his layers unfurl, and I always look forward to finding out more about who he really is.
That curiosity pulls me closer as I edge along the tree line, eavesdropping on what Richard is saying to him.
“So they’re all going to come up here, right?” Richard’s excitement is palpable, where Emmett’s is… not. His arms are crossed, his tongue popping into his cheek —something I now recognize as a telltale sign that he’s holding back from saying what’s on his mind.
“Right up here, right up the path. And they’re going to come here,” Richard continues, oblivious to the way Emmett’s jaw works as he keeps talking. “And then they’re going to see this beautiful picnic that you’ve set up for one lucky lady.”
“Okay, and what have I set up for them?”
“Pfft. You know. All the stuff chicks love. Champagne, cheese, berries, chocolate—they say it’s an aphrodisiac, you know?” He adds a sleazy wink. “And you just have to sit here and chitchat with this girl like she’s going to be the mother of your children one day.”
Emmett grimaces, and I stifle a laugh.
“Any thoughts on which girl you’re going to choose?”
Emmett’s head tips back and forth in consideration. “I was thinking—”
“Evelyn, right?” Richard provides firmly. It’s phrased as a question, but everyone on set knows he isn’t asking.
I swallow the lump in my throat. Just from reading Emmett’s body language, I can tell Evelyn is not who he was going to say.
“Good call,” Richard says before Emmett can get a word in edgewise. But I don’t miss the way he sighs as his shoulders slump forward slightly. “She’s perfect,” Richard forges ahead, not picking up on his bachelor’s feelings. Or he is, and he just doesn’t care. That seems more likely.
“There’s already tension behind the scenes in the bunkhouse with her and the girls. When they walk up here and see the picnic you laid out? All with Evelyn in mind? Ka-boom!” Dick Wad’s arms go wide as he reenacts an explosion. “Just like that, we’ve got ourselves great TV.”
He slaps Emmett on the shoulder like the friends they are not. And it’s clear he’s not at all in the business of helping people meet each other. He might as well be producing a soap opera as far as I’m concerned.
“Is that… what we want?” Emmett doesn’t sound convinced.
Richard barks out a laugh. “Of course, it’s what we want. We want ratings. We want drama. We want catfights.”
I stifle a groan, because that is not what we want. My recent research on reality dating shows tells me that Richard is an old-school producer, focused on creating trash TV. I know there are newer, more progressive sets that encourage healthy communication and let real relationships unfold. Ones where they have psychologists on set. Sometimes, nothing happens in an entire episode except two people getting to know each other. Some of these shows even have a reasonable success rate, with couples who go on to get married, have children, or live whatever their version of happily ever after looks like.
But Romance Ranch isn’t going to be one of them.
“To be honest with you, Richard, I wasn’t planning on picking Evelyn.”
“Bah,” he waves him off. “It’s just one date. She’ll get the ball rolling. Just think, whichever girl you’re into is going to see Evelyn getting your attention, and
she’s going to step up her game. She’s going to want it even more.”
This time, Emmett doesn’t bother hiding the look of distaste on his face. “Are you recommending that I gaslight a girl into liking me more?”
“Call it what you want. I know this strategy works. I’ve used it a few times myself. Solid success rate guaranteed.”
Richard throws his head back in laughter, as if he enjoys messing with people’s lives and sanity. Once he catches his breath, his tone turns serious once more.
“And stop being such a fucking prude, Emmett. When the lighting’s right and the sun’s getting low, do me a solid and kiss the girl, all right?”
Emmett doesn’t respond, but the muscle in his jaw flexes as he stares down his nose at the older man. When Richard leaves him, Emmett’s eyes meet mine.
And then he winces before turning away, as if it hurts to look at me.
He chooses Evelyn.
My stomach sinks hard and fast when I hear him speak her name. And based on the other daters’ reactions, they aren’t impressed either. Akira and Catherine had turned to whisper into each other’s ears. And the look that Jada shot Richard was one of skepticism—one that tells me the other women might be more aware
than he’s giving them credit for.
As for me? I’m torn.
On one hand, I’m horrified Richard pressured Emmett into this. On the other hand, I’m glad he chose her. This farm means everything to his family, and if playing along means they get the paycheck they desperately need to keep it all afloat, then how could I ever judge him?
I’d do the same for my mom or brother.
Fierce loyalty. We have that in common. And where other people may not understand his dedication to this cause, I do.
It doesn’t mean that standing here watching them sit on a picnic blanket making small talk feels great, though. Evelyn puts on a show for the camera, toasting champagne with a knowing glance, licking her lips as she stares at Emmett’s mouth.
Standing beneath a tree, I watch as she rubs his knee and tells him it seems like he needs some help releasing “all that tension.” As though people carry sexual tension in their knees.
To Emmett’s credit, he doesn’t return her affection. He plays his part, but his eyes have shuttered.
They talk, but it’s all surface level. He explains what his day-to-day life on the farm looks like and how it differs from being on the road, traveling from rodeo to rodeo for months on end to chase points. Hoping and praying you accrue enough to qualify you for the WBRF finals.
I’ve seen my brother do it. It’s a tough life. The injuries are perpetual. The risk is endless. Your family’s worry? Constant.
It’s why I don’t do cowboys.
As it turns out, Evelyn is a life coach. I have to swallow my laugh, because who the hell is taking life advice from this woman? She talks about wanting to be an actress as a child and how hard it’s been to give up that dream. That disappointment, she says, led her into life coaching. When Emmett asks about her qualifications, she skims the question and explains how she can do her job from anywhere—something that would, according to her, make traveling with him or working from the farm easy for her.
Possessiveness flashes hot and bright inside me. It comes in a searing wave that washes over me when she mentions living on the farm. Here. In my valley. Where I’d run into them.
It’s not like I personally want to live on the farm with Emmett. That’s not even on the table. But I sure as shit don’t want Evelyn doing it. Living that life. Having breakfast with the Brandts. All at once, I feel fiercely protective of their family— of what they’ve built here.
“Wow,” Evelyn breathes, pushing up onto her knees to face over the ridge. Her hand stays on Emmett’s knee.
From somewhere a few people down, Richard whispers eagerly, “Yes, perfect.
Just like we talked about. Good girl, Evelyn.”
I swallow down my growing disdain for the man and remind myself that I’m just here to do my job.
But it doesn’t help the lurching sensation that’s taken over my gut. I will it away, but it sticks there, consuming me with every passing second. Unease spreads through me as I watch them.
The sinking sensation is making me worry that somewhere along the way, Emmett has started to feel less like a job and more like… something else.
Something he shouldn’t.
As the sun drops toward the low-slung mountains, the light atop Prickle Point takes on a golden pinkish hue, casting the entire set in a stunning glow.
And like that’s her signal, Evelyn leans in toward Emmett.
“This has been the perfect date,” she whispers, just loud enough for the cameras to pick up.
I know what’s coming, and I want to look away… but I can’t.
I freeze, staring raptly as Evelyn draws closer to Emmett’s mouth.
Her arms hook over his shoulders, but his hands stay planted behind his body where he’s propped himself up on the checkered blanket.
I suck in a harsh breath when her lips press against his, my throat constricting as I look on in fascinated dismay.
He freezes. His hands stay planted on the ground. His eyes stay open. They land on mine.
She’s kissing him, but he’s looking at me.
This is what we’re here for. This is the job. And still, a trickle of unwelcome nausea roils in my throat as I hold his gaze. He looks… mortified.
When she moves to lift one leg to sit astride his lap, our connection snaps.
Emmett shifts, jerking away as though he’s been burned. And it sends Evelyn tumbling off the blanket, toward the downhill slope.
She catches herself with her palms. Right on the clusters of cacti that I am all too familiar with. It elicits a shocked squeal from her as she rears back on her haunches and lifts her hands to inspect.
They are full of the same spines that I had in mine. She breathes hard, tears welling in her eyes, and if I didn’t irrationally dislike her as much as I do, I might sympathize with her.
Instead, I’m almost gleeful. And it reminds me of when I learned the German word schadenfreude during a philosophy course at university. It describes the
feeling of finding pleasure in someone else’s troubles. And I remember thinking, what a perfect word because anyone who could look me in the eye and say they’ve never felt that way is a big, fat liar.
Which is why I don’t beat myself up as a nasty little voice inside of me murmurs “good.”
It’s just a little schadenfreude. Perfectly natural.
“Oh my god,” she whimpers. “Emmett, can you help me?”
I could stomach the kiss, but the thought of watching him take care of her the way he took care of me sends hot, stabbing, undeniable jealousy through my gut.
Emmett looks at her, then at me, his head tilting ever so slightly. Richard follows his line of sight, looking perplexed when it leads to me.
And after what Ben told me about the last location manager’s demise I don’t want to be at the center of whatever this is. So, I turn away, pretending to take a call that is entirely made up.
I don’t want to get myself into trouble and do not want to watch any retakes either.
Desperate to get away, I walk down the path, silent phone pressed to my ear, away from the scene playing out on camera. My presence is no longer necessary in any professional capacity. I’m just hanging around on set for no reason other than trying to learn as much as possible.
The tree line swallows me, but not before I hear Emmett’s voice ring out through the evening air. “Actually, I’m really not good with blood.”
A loud groan follows, then an irritated-sounding “Cut!”
I don’t turn back. I continue down the mountain feeling strangely flayed open and satisfied all at once.
Because Emmett seemed to handle my bloody hands just fine.
