“Which man?” Rosalina scanned the bar. When she landed on a man grinning at her, she practically jumped out of her chair. The pearl buttons on his black western shirt glowed in the disco lights, and with his jeans and cowboy hat, he looked exactly like the cowboy she’d imagined hooking up with. “He’s cute.”

“I think we found your hot cowboy.”

“Maybe.” Except, now that she was looking at a real man, she didn’t know if she could see herself going home with him. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for it.” But, then, that’s exactly why you’re here. To live in a different skin.

It’s not about whether Marcel’s attracted to me.

Or Fabiana saying I’m not a passionate person

This is about me. Exploring, experimenting. Living.

She was done giving them all this power over her.

Then why are you watching bull riding and not doing it? “I’m going to ride that bull.”

“Seriously?”

“Why do you look so surprised?”

“You’re a little prissy for that kind of thing.”

“You think I’m prissy?” Is that why Marcel isn’t attracted to me?

Oh, my God, shut up. You literally just said you weren’t giving him any more power over you.

Besides, what’s he ever done to make himself attractive to me?

“I’m so not prissy that I’m going to get my name on the leaderboard.”

“Well, this will be interesting.”

She drained her glass. “And you’re coming with me.”

“Nah, I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.”

“Have fun?”

“I have fun. It’s just a different kind.”

Rosalina leaned in to hear better, and the tips of her hair landed near a little cup of salsa. “What’s your idea of fun now?”

“Pushing my little boy on the swings, snuggling with him before bed, and reading him books. Baking cookies and letting him lick the spoon.”

And see? Rosalina wasn’t ready for that yet. It sounded so sweet…but she just wasn’t there. “You’re a good mom.”

“I hope so. I want to be.”

“Can I ask where his father is?”

“He’s not in the picture.”

In St. Christophe, it was exceedingly impolite to ask personal questions. Which meant all conversations were shallow, brushing over the more meaningful topics.

But Rosalina hated small talk. It drove her insane. Which explained why she spent so much time alone. Well, she wasn’t in St. Christophe anymore, and her friend had brought it up. “Like, at all? Does he ever visit?”

“He comes home every now and then to see his family—”

“Isn’t his son his family?”

“His son is an obligation forced on him by his parents.”

“What happened?” Rosalina slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. That was rude.” She pushed her drink away. “I’ll stop now.”