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Chapter Two - Dinner

Summary: You meet Harry Castillo for dinner hoping to convince him that Willow Creek is more than just a business opportunity. As the evening unfolds, Harry starts to understand the deep connection you have to the ranch. But when business finds its way back into the conversation, the fragile understanding between you both is shattered.

You stared at the dress laid out on the bed and let out a frustrated sigh. This was ridiculous. It was dinner.

Just dinner. A conversation.

A chance for Harry Castillo to see Willow Creek Ranch as more than a number on a piece of paper..

That was it..

Except... When was the last time you had actually gone out to dinner with a man? You couldn’t remember. Not properly. There had been no time.

After your father passed, the ranch became your priority. Every morning brought another responsibility. Every decision seemed to rest on your shoulders.

Dating had slowly become something that belonged to another version of you.

A version of you who had time to get dressed up. A version of you who didn’t fall asleep thinking about fence repairs, bills, and whether the winter feed would last.

You ran your fingers through your hair, looking at your reflection.

“When did I become this person?”

Not some romantic evening where you were trying to impress a man. Harry Castillo was the man trying to buy your ranch. The ranch your father and his grandfather had spent their entire life building. The ranch you had spent the last two years fighting to keep running. You had every reason to keep your guard up. And yet, somehow, you were standing in your bedroom wondering what to wear.

You shook your head at yourself.

“When did this become complicated?”

A knock sounded at the door before Emma stepped inside. She took one look at the clothes scattered across the room and smiled.

“Oh no.”

You pointed at her.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.” she held up her hands defensively.

“You were thinking it.”

Emma laughed and walked over, picking up one of the dresses you laid out before putting it back down. “You know you don’t have to prove anything tonight, right?”

You looked at her through the mirror as you finished curling your hair into soft waves.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Harry Castillo walked onto your land expecting a simple deal. He thought money would solve the problem.”

Your expression softened.

“He didn’t exactly act like that.”

“No,” Emma admitted. “I’ll give him that. He was more respectful than I expected from what you told me.” She sat on the edge of the bed watching you run fingers through your hair. “But that doesn’t change why you said no.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“You built this place back up after your dad passed. You kept the ranch going when people told you it was too much for one person.” You looked down as Emma’s voice softened. “Don’t forget that just because he’s charming.”

You smiled slightly rolling your eyes towards her. “He is annoying.”

“Very.” she agreed.

“And arrogant.”

“Definitely.”

“And impossible.”

Emma grinned. “But?”

You sighed. “But he’s not what I expected.”

“I figured.”

You looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re trying to figure out the man, not the ********.”

You were quiet. Because maybe she was right. Emma reached for your hand. “Listen to me. Having dinner with him doesn’t mean you’re giving in.”

“I know.”

“Talking to him doesn’t mean you’re selling.”

“I know.”

“And being curious about him doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten what this ranch means.”

That was the part you needed to hear because that was your biggest fear. That somehow being willing to see another side of Harry meant you were betraying everything you had fought for.

Emma smiled as she saw the realisation on your face. “You can be open-minded and still stand your ground.”

You nodded slowly. “That’s true.”

“Good.” She stood up, walking towards your choice of dresses. “Because I actually think that’s exactly what you should do.”

You looked surprised. “You do?”

“Yes. Meet him. Listen to him. Let him listen to you.” She paused. “But don’t let a nice dinner and a handsome face make you forget why you said no.”

You laughed. “Handsome face?”

Emma shrugged. “I’m not blind. I googled him.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh. “He’s still the enemy.”

“He’s not the enemy.”

You looked at her in the mirror. “He’s the man trying to buy my ranch.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “And you’re the woman standing in his way.” She walked over and picked up another dress from the wardrobe. “But he’s also just a person on the other side of the negotiation.”

You watched as she held it up.

A long white dress, elegant and effortlessly feminine. It was nothing like the practical clothes you normally lived in. It showed just enough to feel confident without feeling like you were trying to be someone you weren’t.

Your eyebrows lifted.

“Emma.”

“What?”

“You’re suggesting I wear that?”

She smiled. “I’m suggesting you remind him that you’re not just a ranch owner he wants signing papers.” You looked back at yourself in the mirror, then at the dress in her hands.

“He’s not going to change his mind because of a dress.”

“I know.” Emma placed it against you as you both looked in the mirror. “But maybe he’ll stop seeing you as a business obstacle and start seeing the woman behind it.”

You were quiet. Because that was the part that had surprised you most about Harry Castillo. He had arrived expecting a deal. You had expected arrogance but underneath the expensive suit and confident attitude was a man who seemed genuinely curious about you. A man who listened when you spoke. A man who, despite everything, had made you wonder who he was when he wasn’t negotiating.

You took the dress from her. "This is not a date.”

“Of course not.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That smile.” Your friend of 15 years laughed.

“I’m just saying, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to look nice.” You looked at your reflection again.

For so long, your life had been about responsibility. About protecting the ranch. About proving you could handle everything thrown at you. Maybe tonight wasn’t about proving anything. Maybe it was simply about allowing yourself one evening to be something other than the person who carried the weight of everything.

You changed into the dress and stood in front of the mirror. There was a difference. Not because you looked like someone else. Because you felt like yourself again. And maybe that was why you were going. Not because Harry Castillo had convinced you. Not because he was charming enough to make you forget what mattered. But because you wanted to understand him. The man behind the offer. And maybe, just maybe, you wanted him to understand you too.

“Okay.”

******

Harry Castillo had spent his entire career walking into rooms and knowing exactly what to expect.

Boardrooms. Private offices. Luxury hotels.

Rooms filled with people who knew his name before he introduced himself. He was used to being watched. Used to being the person everyone turned toward. Tonight was different. Tonight, he was the one waiting.

He sat at the table near the window, one hand resting beside his glass of water, his other thumb brushing absentmindedly against the edge of his phone.

He had checked the time twice.

Then a third time.

He told himself it was habit. He valued punctuality. That was all. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was waiting for a woman who had spent their first meeting refusing to give him what he wanted. A woman who had challenged him more in 30 minutes than most people had in years.

Harry noticed the difference the moment he stepped inside. This wasn't New York. There were no glass towers surrounding him, no perfectly dressed executives talking over expensive cocktails, no room full of people trying to impress one another.

Wyoming had its own kind of confidence.

Around him, men sat wearing worn Stetsons and well-loved boots, their jackets carrying the faint smell of the outdoors. Cowboys and ranchers filled tables alongside locals who had grown up with the land as part of their identity. Whiskey glasses sat beside plates of steak, beer bottles were raised between stories and laughter, and nobody seemed concerned with appearances.

It was refreshingly honest.

Luckily, the restaurant he had chosen gave him a little middle ground. It was refined enough that Harry didn't feel completely out of place, but still rooted in the world around it. The dining room attracted a mixture of people, wealthy locals celebrating special occasions, visitors passing through Wyoming for the first time, ranchers after a long day's work, and tourists wanting a taste of the West.

It was elegant without feeling disconnected. And as Harry looked around the room, he realised something. This place made sense for you. You belonged here. Not because you were trying to fit into it, but because it was part of who you were.

And for the first time since arriving in Wyoming, Harry felt like he wasn't just visiting another location for a business deal.

He was stepping into your world.

The restaurant doors opened distracting his thoughts. Harry looked up casually at first. Then he stopped. For a moment, the noise of the room seemed to fade.

You stood just inside the entrance, one hand resting lightly on the strap of your purse as you looked around, searching for him. And Harry found himself simply watching.

It wasn't just that you looked beautiful. He had met beautiful women before. Women dressed in designer gowns, perfectly styled, surrounded by people trying to impress them. This was different.

You weren't trying to command attention. You weren't walking in like you expected the room to notice you. You were just being yourself. And somehow, that was exactly why he couldn't look away.

The white dress caught the warm glow of the lights, elegant without being overly formal. It was softer than the clothes he had seen you wear on the ranch, but it still felt like you. Like you hadn't dressed up to become someone else. You had simply allowed him to see another side of you.

Your hair fell loosely in soft waves around your shoulders instead of being tied back like it had been when you worked. There was a confidence in the way you carried yourself, but Harry could see something else too.

A hint of uncertainty. A small hesitation as your eyes moved through the room. And strangely, that made him smile.

Because the woman who could stand in the middle of her ranch and tell a billionaire no without blinking looked almost nervous walking into dinner. He stood before he even realised he had moved. His usual composure had slipped. Only slightly. But enough that he noticed.

You finally saw him and your eyes met his. For a second, neither of you moved. Harry had seen you angry. He had seen you determined. He had seen you ready to fight for what mattered to you. But this was different and he hated how much he liked it.

A small smile appeared on his face as he stood to greet you.

“You came.” The words escaped before he could stop them.

You walked toward him, raising an eyebrow. “You sound surprised.”

Harry shook his head slightly, trying to recover. “Maybe I am.”

“Why?” Because he had spent years surrounded by people who wanted something from him, and yet here you were, walking into a dinner you could have easily refused.

Instead, he simply said “Because you’re not someone who does anything unless you mean it.”

You studied him for a moment. Then the smallest smile touched your lips. "You learned all that for one conversation?"

"Maybe."

Harry pulled out your chair and as you sat across from him, he realised something he hadn't expected.

The woman in front of him wasn't just the person standing between him and a business deal. She was the first person in a very long time who had made him forget about the deal entirely.

Harry waited until you had taken your seat before gently pushing your chair in. He walked around to the opposite side of the table, his eyes meeting yours as he sat down.

"Thank you for coming," he said sincerely. "I wasn't entirely convinced you would."

You let out a quiet laugh, picking up the linen napkin and placing it across your lap.

"Well," you replied, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, "it's not every day the man trying to buy your ranch offers to buy you dinner."

Harry smiled, shaking his head "I had a feeling you weren't going to let me forget that."

"Not a chance."

"I was hoping tonight might earn me a clean slate."

You raised an eyebrow. "That's asking an awful lot after less than twenty-four hours."

"Fair enough."

Your eyes moved slowly around the restaurant, taking everything in. It was clear this wasn't somewhere you visited often.

The room was elegant without being overwhelming - dark wood, soft lighting, crisp white tablecloths, and quiet conversations filling the space. The kind of place where people lingered over dinner rather than rushing through it. Around the room, he noticed a mix of people: local ranch owners in pressed shirts and Stetsons, tourists passing through Wyoming, and businesspeople who looked more at home in places like New York than the middle of ranch country.

Harry watched you for a moment. Not because you looked out of place. You didn't. There was something about you that still made the room feel like it belonged to you more than him. But he noticed the way you studied everything, the details, the atmosphere, the little things most people would overlook.

"You've never been here before, have you?" he asked.

Your eyes returned to his. "No."

It wasn't said with embarrassment. Just honesty. Harry nodded slowly.

"I wasn't sure if it was your kind of place."

You looked around again before meeting his eyes. "It's different."

A small smile crossed his face. "Different good or different bad?"

"Ask me after I've had a drink."

That earned a quiet laugh from him. Straightforward. A little guarded. But with enough humour to keep him interested. Harry had spent years surrounded by people who tried to appear like they belonged wherever they were.

You didn't do that. You simply walked into a room and decided for yourself whether you liked it. And he found that strangely refreshing.

A waiter appeared beside the table, offering each of you a menu.

"Can I start you off with something to drink?" Harry glanced across the table.

"Ladies first."

You looked over the drinks list for a moment before smiling politely at the waiter. "I'll have a glass of the Sauvignon please."

"Excellent choice." The waiter turned to Harry. "And for you, sir?"

Harry closed the menu without looking at it. "Woodford Reserve. Neat."

The waiter nodded. "Of course." As he disappeared toward the bar, you rested your elbows lightly on the table.

"Bourbon."

Harry smiled. "That sound like a criticism?"

"I just had you pegged as a scotch kind of man."

"I usually am."

Your eyebrows lifted. "But?"

He glanced around the restaurant, taking in the ranchers in worn denim, weathered Stetsons resting on nearby chairs, and more whiskey glasses than wine glasses scattered throughout the dining room.

"I figured if I was going to have dinner in Wyoming, I should at least try to fit in."

You laughed softly. "Trust me, one bourbon doesn't make you a cowboy Mr Castillo."

"Harry, please. And I had a feeling you'd say that."

"You'd need the hat."

"And the boots?"

You glanced beneath the table at his polished leather boots that probably cost more than one of your horses. "They're a decent start."

Harry looked down at them before meeting your eyes again. "I'll take that as the closest thing to a compliment I'm likely to get tonight."

A smile tugged at your lips. "Don't get used to it."

The waiter returned with your drinks, placing the deep red wine in front of you before setting Harry's bourbon on the table.

Harry lifted his glass. "To no negotiations."

You looked at him for a beat before clinking your glass gently against his. "To no negotiations."

******

Harry had expected dinner to feel like a negotiation. That was what he was good at. Reading the room. Finding the weak points. Understanding what mattered to the person sitting opposite him. But sitting across from you, he was finding it surprisingly difficult. Because you weren't giving him the answers he expected. You weren't impressed by his reputation. You weren't interested in the money. And you certainly weren't interested in making this easy for him. He took a sip of his drink, studying you for a moment.

"I want to understand something."

Your expression became slightly guarded as you placed down your knife and fork.

"What?"

"Willow Creek. Why does it mean so much to you?"

The question caught you off guard. Not because it was difficult. Because you had expected him to ask about the land. The value. The price. Not the reason.

"You mean besides the fact that my family has owned it for generations?"

"Yes."

You studied him carefully, trying to figure out if this was another tactic and Harry noticed. "I'm not asking because I'm trying to change your mind."

You raised an eyebrow. "You're not?"

"No. Not tonight."

You weren't completely convinced, but you continued anyway. "My family built that ranch. My grandfather started it with almost nothing. My dad spent his entire life there." You glanced down briefly. "It's just always been part of my life."

Harry nodded. "And after your father passed, you took over?"

You looked at him without hesitation. "Yes."

"That must have been difficult."

You gave a small shrug, taking a sip of your wine "It was."

No dramatic explanation. No attempt to gain sympathy. Just a fact. You didn't want to give him any more control knowing that and Harry respected that.

"Why not sell then?"

"Because everyone assumes selling is the obvious choice."

"And you don't?"

"No."

"Why?"

You looked toward the window, where the lights of the town reflected against the glass.

"Because people see a ranch and they see land. "And land has a price." You looked his directly in his brown eyes. "But that's not all it is."

Harry nodded slowly, taking a sip of his whiskey.

"So what do you see?"

You hesitated. "I see years of work. "I see my family's name." You looked down at your hands. "I see something my father spent his whole life building."

Harry listened carefully and not because he was trying to find a way around it, because he genuinely wanted to understand.

"And you think selling would mean losing that?"

You considered the question. "Maybe not losing it."You looked back at him. "But letting someone else decide what happens to it."

For a while, the conversation stayed on your side of the table. Harry asked questions. Not the kind his lawyers had prepared. Not questions designed to uncover a weakness. Questions because he genuinely wanted to know. But eventually, his eyes dropped to his glass and he gave a small sigh. "I suppose it's only fair." You looked up.

"What is?"

"You've told me why you won't sell." He started as he put his whiskey glass down. "I should probably tell you why I want to buy it."

You watched him carefully. Part of you expected the usual answer. Money. Expansion. Profit. But Harry didn't sound like he was giving a presentation. He sounded like he was explaining himself.

"When I first heard about Willow Creek, I saw the same things any investor would see. Land. Location. Potential. The property is rare. The size, the location, the resources available... it's the kind of opportunity that doesn't come along often."n

You leaned back slightly.

"So it is business."

"Yes. Always."

The honesty surprised you.

Harry leaned for as as he continued. "But it's not just that."

You raised an eyebrow. "No?"

He shook his head. "When I build something, I don't want it to be temporary. My company has always focused on growth, but I'm not interested in buying something, stripping it down, and moving on." His expression became more serious. "I've spent too many years watching companies get bought by people who only care about the quickest return."

You studied him. "That's not what you want?"

"No." He glanced out of the window. "Willow Creek has history. It has infrastructure. It has something that can't be created overnight."

You noticed the way he spoke about it. Not like a number. Not entirely.

Harry looked back at you, a serious smile on his face.

"You want to keep it?"

"Yes." The answer was immediate. "I want to develop it. Expand it. Make it stronger."

You frowned slightly. "Develop it how?"

"Modernise parts of it. Invest in the land. Create something sustainable." You stayed quiet, biting your tongue. Because even though you didn't like the idea of him owning it, you could understand the reasoning. "I know that probably sounds like a businessman trying to justify a purchase."

"It does." You said flatly taking a sip of your wine.

Harry smiled faintly. "Fair."

A small silence passed.

"But I want you to understand something." You looked at him. "I didn't come here because I saw a piece of land sitting empty." His eyes held yours. "I came here because I saw something worth protecting."

That caught you off guard. Because it sounded dangerously close to what you had said earlier. "You realise that's exactly what I'm trying to do?"

Harry nodded. "I do."

"And you still want to buy it."

"Yes."

There was no hesitation and somehow, that honesty made it harder. Because Harry wasn't pretending. He wasn't a villain trying to take something from you. He was a man who genuinely believed he could give Willow Creek a future.

For a while, you let yourself believe the evening might actually be different. And for a moment, sitting across from him beneath the warm lights of the restaurant, you forgot why he had come to Wyoming in the first place. You forgot he was the man trying to buy your ranch.

Then he brought you back.

"The reality is, though, emotional attachment can make it harder to see when something isn't practical."

You stared at him. Slowly, you placed your glass down.

"Excuse me?"

Harry immediately noticed the shift in your expression.

"I didn't mean-"

"No." You shook your head. "You did."

He paused.

"I was just saying that sometimes-"

"Sometimes what?" Your voice was sharper now. "Sometimes people who actually live and breathe something don't understand it as well as someone who walks in with a business plan?"

Harry leaned back slightly. "That's not what I said."

"But it's what you meant." The table went quiet. You looked around for a second, almost embarrassed that you had allowed yourself to relax. That you had thought tonight could be something else. You had agreed to dinner because you thought maybe you could have a conversation with him.

Not a negotiation. Not a sales pitch. Not another attempt to convince you that he knew better.

"We agreed not to talk about negotiations tonight.".

Harry exhaled. "You're right."

But the apology came too late. Because the damage was already done.

"You don't get it, Harry."

His expression softened. "I’m trying to."

"No, you're trying to buy it."

The words landed between you. Harry didn't argue. Because there was truth in them.

"I'm sorry... I can't do this." The words came out quieter than you intended, your chest tightening as you reached for your purse. You pushed your chair back, the legs scraping softly against the wooden floor. Harry looked up immediately, confusion washing over his face as he rose halfway from his seat.

"Wait... you're leaving?"

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh and shook your head.

"I am."

"Please, just let me explain."

"No." You looked at him, disappointment etched across your face. "You promised me this wouldn't happen."

Harry frowned. "I wasn't trying to negotiate."

"Weren't you?" Your voice remained calm, but it carried enough hurt to make him pause. "You invited me here because you said you wanted to get to know me. You told me there'd be no business, no lawyers, no negotiations." You gestured between the two of you. "And yet somehow we've ended up right back where we started."

"That wasn't my intention."

"Maybe not." You slipped your purse onto your shoulder. "But intentions don't really matter when the outcome is the same."

Harry stood fully now, taking a cautious step towards you.

"Please... don't leave like this."

You met his eyes, and for a fleeting second he saw the warmth that had been there earlier in the evening disappear.

"I'm sorry, Mr Castillo..." You stopped yourself, shaking your head. "Harry - whatever your name is." You took a steadying breath. "I don't know why I convinced myself this dinner was about anything other than selling Willow Creek. That's on me."

The words stung far more than if you had shouted.

"The ranch isn't for sale," you said firmly. "It wasn't for sale yesterday, it isn't for sale tonight, and it won't be for sale tomorrow." You took another step back. "And if you or your lawyers set foot on my land again without my permission..." A faint, humourless smile crossed your face. "...I won't hesitate to shoot them or you off land."

Harry couldn't help the small breath of disbelief that escaped him.

You held his gaze. "I'm done having this conversation."

Without another word, you turned and walked away, leaving Harry standing alone beside the table as the restaurant fell quiet around him.

The cool Wyoming air hit your face the moment you stepped out of the restaurant. You didn't stop walking. Your boots clicked against the wooden sidewalk as you wrapped your arms around yourself, your heart pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears.

"Damn it," you whispered, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. You weren't crying because of the ranch. You had defended Willow Creek countless times before. You'd argued with developers, lawyers, and investors who thought money could buy generations of history. That part didn't hurt anymore.

What hurt was that, for a little while, you'd forgotten who Harry Castillo was.

The man who had listened as you spoke about Willow Creek.

The man who had made you laugh over dinner.

The man whose smile had caught you completely off guard.

You had allowed yourself to believe that, just for one evening, he genuinely wanted to know you. Not because you owned something he wanted. Just... you.

You shook your head, frustrated with yourself. "How stupid can you be?"

You should have known better. Men like Harry didn't become the men they are by separating business from everything else. Business was who he was. Every conversation had a purpose. Every meeting had an objective. And tonight, despite everything he'd promised, you'd ended up right back where you'd started.

On opposite sides of the table.

You reached your truck and rested your forehead against the driver's door for a moment, closing your eyes. The image of him standing as you walked away flashed through your mind. The confusion on his face. The disappointment. Part of you knew he hadn't meant to hurt you. That almost made it worse. Because if he'd been manipulative, you could have hated him.

Instead, he was simply a man who couldn't stop thinking like a businessman.

You climbed into the truck and gripped the steering wheel tightly. As the engine started, you looked back at the restaurant one last time. You swallowed hard, shifted the truck into gear, and pulled away.

---------------------------------------------------------

Would love to know what you guys think and what you want to see? Do we want a slow burn? 🖤

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