The first thing I saw after abandoning ten years of my life was a naked man holding my best friend’s floral hand towel over his penis.

Not a bath towel.

Not even one of those generously sized hand towels found in expensive hotel bathrooms.

This was a decorative scrap of cotton embroidered with tiny blue flowers and the words Home is where the herd is.

It covered almost nothing.

I knew because I looked.

Not intentionally. At least not the first time.

“Greer?”

The naked man said my name as if I were the unexpected one.

I tightened my grip on the handle of my suitcase. “Why do you know who I am?”

His eyebrows lifted.

It was an irritatingly effective gesture on a face like his. Dark hair damp from the shower. Strong nose. Sharp cheekbones softened by a mouth currently hovering somewhere between amused and confused.

Water traveled from the ends of his hair, down his neck and across a chest that belonged in an advertisement for rugged outdoor equipment.

Or contraception.

Definitely contraception.

He shifted the tiny towel.

My eyes followed.

That time was intentional.

His mouth moved into a full smile. “You don’t recognize me.”

“I’m a little distracted.”

“I noticed.”

I dragged my attention back to his face. “Who are you?”

His smile widened.

Dimples.

Of course he had dimples. Why wouldn’t the naked stranger in Sadie’s guesthouse have dimples? My day hadn’t punished me nearly enough.

“August.”

I stared at him.

He waited.

I stared harder.

“August?” I repeated.

“Last time I checked.”

“Sadie’s August?”

The smile vanished. “I’m not sure I like the way you said that.”

“Sadie’s little brother August?”

“I like that even less.”

I blinked at him.

The last time I’d seen August Wilder, he had been twenty-four, lanky and sunburned, with too much hair and a habit of leaning back in his chair until Sadie threatened to kick the legs out from under him.

This man was not lanky.

This man had shoulders. And abdominal muscles. And a dark line of hair disappearing beneath a hand towel that had never anticipated this level of responsibility.

“Oh my God.”

“Now you recognize me.”

“You grew up.”

His gaze moved slowly over me, from my tangled hair to my wrinkled blouse and down to the single black heel I was still wearing. Its mate was somewhere in my back seat beneath two empty coffee cups and the remains of my dignity.

“So did you,” he said.

Heat crawled up my neck.

I blamed exhaustion. Exhaustion and the fact that I had eaten nothing but gas-station almonds since crossing into Wyoming.

“Could you put on some clothes?”

“I was about to.”

“You don’t look like you were about to.”

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

“This is a guesthouse.”

“And I’m the guest.”

“No, I’m the guest.”

“Interesting.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It is from where I’m standing.”

My eyes betrayed me again.

His grin returned.

“Stop doing that,” I snapped.

“Standing?”

“Enjoying this.”

“I’m trying not to, but you keep looking at my—”

“I am not looking at anything.”

“Then you’ll be relieved to know the embroidery is facing out.”

I closed my eyes.

Ten years.

I had spent ten years carefully assembling an adult life. A tasteful apartment. Matching dishes. Coordinated Christmas cards. A relationship everyone described as stable.

Less than twenty-four hours after detonating all of it, I was arguing about penis coverage with my best friend’s younger brother.

Maybe Calvin had been right.

Maybe I was having some kind of breakdown.

No. I refused to give him that satisfaction.

I opened my eyes. “I’m going to step outside. When I come back, I would like you to be wearing pants.”

August leaned one shoulder against the bathroom doorway. “Any particular kind?”

“The kind that cover all your August parts.”

A low laugh rumbled out of him.

My stomach fluttered.

Traitor.

I turned, dragged my suitcase across the wooden floor and stepped onto the porch. The screen door slammed behind me with more force than the situation required.

Or exactly the amount it required.

Outside, the late-afternoon sun stretched across the Wilder ranch, turning the fields gold. Horses grazed beyond the nearest fence. Cottonwoods trembled along the creek, their leaves flashing silver-green in the breeze.

The air smelled like dry grass, leather and open space.

It was beautiful.

I hated it.

Beauty was inconvenient when a person was committed to being miserable.

I sat on the top step and looked down at my phone.

No new messages.

That shouldn’t have hurt. I was the one who left.

I had stood in the kitchen Calvin and I had remodeled together and asked him the question I’d spent years pretending I didn’t need answered.

Where is this going?

He hadn’t been cruel. Cruel would have been easier.

He’d looked tired.

Not surprised. Not frightened by the possibility of losing me. Just tired.

Then he’d sighed and said, “Why can’t what we have be enough?”

As if wanting to be chosen made me greedy.

As if ten years should have taught me to stop asking.

So I had packed two suitcases, thrown everything else I could reach into the back of my car and driven nine hundred miles to my best friend’s horse ranch without telling anyone I was coming.

Including, apparently, my best friend.

A truck rattled over the cattle guard in the distance.

I stood as Sadie’s dusty blue pickup raced up the drive. It stopped crooked beside my car, and Sadie jumped out before the engine had fully died.

She wore jeans, scuffed boots and an expression of total disbelief.

“Greer?”

I lifted one hand. “Surprise.”

She ran at me.

For one wild second, I thought she might slap me.

Instead, she wrapped both arms around me and squeezed so tightly my ribs protested.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded into my hair.

“I left Calvin.”

Sadie went still.

Then she pulled back and held me at arm’s length. “You left him?”

“I left him.”

“For real?”

“I have luggage.”

“You take luggage when you visit.”

“I also brought my espresso machine.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, shit.”

“Exactly.”

Sadie hugged me again, and this time I let myself sink into it.

I had kept everything contained for the entire drive. I hadn’t cried when I crossed the state line. I hadn’t cried when Calvin finally texted to ask whether I had taken the good corkscrew.

But with Sadie’s arms around me, something inside my chest cracked.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” I whispered.

“You come here. Always.” She rubbed my back. “You should’ve called, but you come here.”

“I know.”

“How long are you staying?”

“I don’t know.”

“Good. Stay forever.”

A tear escaped before I could stop it.

Sadie wiped it away with her thumb. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not even a little.”

“Drink about it?”

“Enthusiastically.”

“Burn his belongings?”

“Possibly as a weekend activity.”

“That’s my girl.”

The screen door creaked behind us.

I stiffened.

August stepped onto the porch wearing faded jeans and nothing else.

Sadie looked from him to me.

Then back to him.

“Oh,” she said.

“Your friend broke into my house,” August told her.

“I didn’t break in. The door was unlocked.”

“Because people around here know not to walk into someone else’s house.”

“It’s the guesthouse.”

“I’m a guest.”

“You’re her brother.”

“That doesn’t make me livestock.”

Sadie raised both hands. “Wait.”

“I was promised privacy,” I said.

“By whom?” August asked.

“By the general concept of a guesthouse.”

Sadie winced. “I may have forgotten to mention something.”

“That he’s allergic to shirts?”

“That August is staying here.”

“I gathered that when I saw his penis.”

Sadie’s mouth fell open.

August folded his arms. “You did not see my penis.”

“That towel was transparent.”

“It was damp.”

“Because you were wet.”

His eyes locked on mine.

Silence descended.

Sadie made a strangled sound. “I’m going to need both of you to stop talking.”

“I would love to stop talking,” I said. “I would also love to take off my bra and remain unconscious for the next fourteen hours.”

August’s gaze dropped briefly to my chest.

Very briefly.

Not briefly enough.

“Eyes up, cowboy.”

His attention returned to my face. “You looked first.”

“I was ambushed.”

“In my bathroom?”

“In what was supposed to be my empty guesthouse.”

Sadie stepped between us. “Okay. Here is the situation.”

“I don’t like the situation,” I said.

“You haven’t heard it yet.”

“I’ve seen enough of it.”

August coughed into his fist, but I caught the laugh.

Sadie shot him a warning look. “The water line at August’s cabin broke. Half the floor had to be pulled up, and the contractors are apparently operating according to a calendar no one else has access to.”

“Two weeks,” August said.

“You said that two weeks ago,” Sadie reminded him.

“That’s what the contractor told me.”

“And Calvin told me he didn’t believe in arbitrary timelines,” I muttered. “Men say many things.”

August’s expression changed.

The humor remained, but something more attentive settled beneath it. I didn’t want his attention. I especially didn’t want his sympathy.

Sadie took my hand. “You can stay at the main house.”

“With you and Luke and three children under seven?”

“The twins sleep eventually.”

“The last time I visited, one of them licked my toothbrush.”

“She was exploring.”

“She was six.”

“She’s very curious.”

“No.”

“Then August can stay with us.”

“No,” he and Sadie said together.

August shook his head. “I have to be up before five. The kids wake up every time I leave, and then Luke threatens to murder me.”

“He doesn’t threaten,” Sadie said. “He quietly describes how easy it would be to hide your body on six thousand acres.”

“See?”

I looked toward my car.

I could leave. There had been a motel forty miles back, beside a diner advertising chicken-fried steak and rooms by the week. I could go there, close the curtains and pretend my life had not become a country song.

Sadie tightened her grip on my hand. “Don’t you dare.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re doing the face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you decide needing someone is more humiliating than driving another forty miles on one shoe.”

I glanced down at my bare foot.

August did too.

“Long story,” I said.

“I’ve got time.”

“I don’t intend to spend any of it telling you.”

His mouth twitched.

Sadie pointed toward the guesthouse. “There are two bedrooms.”

I looked at her.

“No.”

“Two bathrooms.”

“No.”

“A kitchen, a living room and doors with locks.”

“Sadie.”

“You won’t even know he’s here.”

August leaned against the porch post. “She’ll know.”

I turned toward him. “Why?”

“I snore.”

“Then you’re sleeping in the barn.”

“I was here first.”

“I am emotionally devastated.”

“That doesn’t give you squatter’s rights.”

“It should.”

Sadie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I have wine at the main house.”

“What kind?” I asked.

“The expensive kind Luke bought for our anniversary.”

I reached for my suitcase. “Get the corkscrew.”

Sadie smiled carefully. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”

“For tonight.”

“Yes.”

“One night,” I warned.

“Of course.”

“And tomorrow we find another arrangement.”

“Absolutely.”

August and Sadie exchanged a look.

I pointed at them. “Whatever that was, stop it.”

Sadie kissed my cheek and hurried toward her truck before I could change my mind. “I’ll bring dinner!”

“And wine!”

“Already said wine!”

“Bring more!”

The truck door slammed.

August and I stood on opposite ends of the porch as her pickup disappeared down the drive.

A horse whinnied in the distance.

The breeze lifted a strand of damp hair from August’s forehead. He was still shirtless, which felt less like an accident with every passing second.

I pulled my suitcase toward the door. “We need rules.”

“Already?”

“Especially already.”

“What kind of rules?”

“Clothing in communal areas.”

“That one feels targeted.”

“No women.”

“Also targeted.”

“No loud music. No interrogating me about Calvin. No telling Sadie anything I say after the second glass of wine.”

He studied me for a moment.

“What?” I asked.

“You look different.”

My spine straightened. “Older?”

“I was going to say sad.”

The words landed with startling precision.

I looked away.

His voice softened. “But sure. Older too.”

I glared at him.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

There he was again. Sadie’s maddening younger brother.

Except he wasn’t a boy now.

That was going to be a problem.

“I’m serious about the rules,” I said.

August opened the screen door and held it for me. “Don’t worry, Greer. I know you’re off-limits.”

“Good.”

I dragged my suitcase past him.

His gaze traveled slowly down my body, lingering just long enough to send a ribbon of heat along my spine.

“I’ve always been very good at wanting things I can’t have.”

The screen door closed behind us.

And for the second time that day, I wondered exactly what the hell I had just walked into.

Greer came to Wilder Ranch for three things:

A private guesthouse.
Several bottles of wine.
And enough time to quietly fall apart after ending her ten-year relationship.

What she did not come for was August Wilder—her best friend’s younger brother, the cowboy she hasn’t seen in years, and the half-naked man currently occupying her guesthouse.

Unfortunately, neither of them has anywhere else to go.

My brand-new Substack romance, The Bunk House Rules, begins September 1st (Tomorrow!).

This story has everything I love:

• A freshly single heroine figuring out what she wants

• Her best friend’s dangerously grown-up younger brother

• Forced proximity

• An extremely irresponsible floral hand towel

• Laugh-out-loud romantic chaos

• Delicious we absolutely should not do this tension

• And a cowboy who has wanted Greer for much longer than she realizes

Here’s your first taste:

The first thing I saw after abandoning ten years of my life was a naked man holding my best friend’s floral hand towel over his……

Not a bath towel.

Not even one of those generously sized hand towels found in expensive hotel bathrooms.

This was a decorative scrap of cotton embroidered with tiny blue flowers and the words Home is where the herd is.

It covered almost nothing.

I knew because I looked.

Chapter One: The Guesthouse Problem will be out tomorrow.

Come meet Greer and August—and let me know whether you could survive sharing a guesthouse with him.

Love,
Tessa

I have important news.

And by important, I mean deeply chaotic.

I really wanted to do a cute little love story and I am……it’s just not far enough a long I want to share yet. I am shooting for a novella. And I will start introducing you to Greer and August soon.

My schedule has been a little different as of late, and because of it my Muse has b…

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Memorial Weekend always feels like the unofficial beginning of summer.

The smell of sunscreen.
Country music playing somewhere in the background.
Somebody grilling slightly questionable hot dogs.
A folding chair appearing in the yard like it’s legally required.

And maybe it’s just me, but every year around this time I start convincing myself that …

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Happy Monday. Or at least… mildly survivable Monday.

I don’t know who needs to hear this (probably me), but this week does not require a complete personality transformation.

You do not need to wake up at 4:30 AM suddenly lovi…

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Calm mornings.
Clean spaces.
No surprises.
No disruptions.

Everything handled.

Everything… easy.

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Not really.

Not in a way that matters.

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Several, actually.

Written down. Thought through. Emotionally necessary.

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That’s really the only way to start this.

Because at this point, there is enough evidence—documented, repeated, undeniable—that every time I try to “get my life together,” something goes wrong.

Not small wrong.

Not manageable wrong.

Public, slightly hu…

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I write small-town, slightly unhinged, very heartfelt stories about women trying to get their lives together… and accidentally making things worse before they get better.

Which brings us to where you just landed:

✨ The Soft Life is a Lie (But We’re Trying)

This is a serialized story about Stevie Hart—
a woman who decided she’s en…

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A strong one.

A mature one.

A very necessary for my emotional stability one.

I was not going back to the feed store.

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1. He needed coffee.

2. He just saw the girl he was going to marry.

Stevie Hart still hit him straight between the solar plexus. The same way she always had. She just didn’t know it. Beau didn’t even think she knew his name.

He’d …

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To be fair, the day started off strong.

I woke up at 6:42 a.m. without hitting snooze, which felt like a personality shift. The light coming through my window had that soft, golden, main character who drinks lemon water kind of glow. I just knew—deep …

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I closed up the laptop with the words still warm on the page sometime after 11 p.m. Late night for someone who thrives on her 9 p.m bed time routine.

The world feels different today — not because I woke up older, but because I woke up still willing. Still here. Still writing.

Yesterday’s quiet gave me space to think about how often I ch…

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Outside, the world is ink and silver and lit up with Northern Lights. Inside, it’s just me, the hum of the laptop, and the soft glow of the words stacking up:

9,000 wor…

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If you’ve been reading along, THANK YOU for every comment, emoji, and “more please.” You made this wild, rodeo-fueled adventure one of my favorite projects yet.

Want to catch up or binge from the start?

• 🐎 Start Chapter 1 on Wattpad »Ro…

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The reflection didn’t move.

Josie froze mid-step, her breath fogging the window. Behind the glass, her mirror-self smiled—slowly, wrong. Then the living room lights flickered out, plunging everything into that cold, damp dark from the manor.

Antonio spun toward the sound of a door slamming. “No, no, no—we are not doing this again!”

Josie grabb…

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The woman at the table smiled, too still to be alive but too human to be a prop.

Josie forced a laugh. “You’re—wow, great makeup! What’s your secret? Foundation of eternal doom?”

The woman’s lips twitched. “I don’t remember.”

Antonio frowned. “What do you mean, you don’t remember?”

The candles around them flar…

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The first scream came from upstairs.

Josie laughed—it was automatic, the way you do when something’s supposed to be scary. Antonio didn’t move. He just squinted up the staircase, jaw tight.

“Fake,” he said.

“Obviously,” Josie replied. “Don’t ruin it for the others.”

But there were no others. The group ahead of them had vanished behind a swingi…

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