I understand that kind of family structure—mine is similar. You grow up and start your own family, but you all stay intertwined. This ranch is too large to be run by one person or two—it’s an empire of its own type. Like my family’s web of influence in Chicago.

“Hey, save some for me,” Raylan says, coming into the kitchen. His hair looks blacker than ever, still damp from the shower. I can smell the clean scent of his soap and see the flush on his skin from the hot water. He’s actually shaved for once. It makes him look younger, and also reminds me that he’s quite startlingly handsome beneath the beard. I’ve gotten comfortable with him over the last couple of weeks. Now I feel thrown off-kilter, like he’s a stranger all over again.

He sits down right next to me. The sleeve of his flannel shirt brushes against my bare arm. It feels warm and soft and familiar. I relax just a little.

“You want pot pie?” he asks me. “I’ll get it for you.”

His voice is as low and drawling as ever—as familiar as his shirt. It’s funny to hear him talking the same, out of this face that looks leaner and sharper now that it’s shaved clean.

He dishes me up a huge serving of pie.

“Riona helped make that,” Celia says.

“Don’t give me any credit,” I say, shaking my head. “I only chopped onions.”

“That’s the hardest part,” Celia says, smiling at me.

The pot pie is delicious. It is similar to chicken and dumplings, but honestly Celia’s cooking is better than my mother’s. Celia is a master at seasoning the food so that it’s rich and flavorful, but not over the top. Just like how Raylan cooks.

She urges me to have a second helping and makes sure everyone has whatever they want to drink.

She’s been tirelessly kind to me the whole time I’ve been here, making sure I’ve got fresh towels and any toiletries I need. Bo is the same. I guess that’s southern hospitality. Specifically, the way they offer things with such warmth and genuine concern, so you’d feel worse declining the favor than accepting it.

“You look stunning,” Raylan says to me, eyeing the borrowed dress. “That one of yours, Bo?”

“Yeah.” She nods. “Auntie Kel gave it to me for my birthday. I’ve never worn it.”

“Kelly’s still trying to turn you into a little lady, huh?” Raylan says. “I admire her persistence, if not her grip on reality.”

“Well, all things work out in the end,” Celia says. “Because it looks beautiful on Riona.”

I have a hard time accepting compliments, or warmth of any kind from people I don’t know well. I’m always looking for the ulterior motive, the hidden agenda. But for some reason, maybe because I know Raylan pretty well by now, or maybe just because his family all has that same attitude of honesty and practicality, I feel relaxed around them. I can enjoy their friendliness and their interest without feeling like they’re prying at me, searching me over for flaws.