When we started here, it was… rustic, to say the least. An old spot for staff to live while working the farm that had fallen into a serious state of disrepair. In the weeks that have followed, I’ve made a point of creating a lookbook and shopping around for simple fixes that would spruce the place up.

A fresh coat of stain on the cedar siding. Wine barrels from local wineries, cut in half and filled with planted lavender. String lights zigzagging over the bricked-in patio, where Richard decided most of the interviews and elimination ceremonies will take place. The inside was in desperate need of a deep clean too. But now, each room is fresh and tidy. One long, dorm-like hall of bedrooms attached to a communal living and dining room means all the women get private sleeping space, but they must share social areas. Which—according to Richard—is where all the magic happens.

And though I felt out of my depth with the project at first, I’ve managed to stay afloat and create a usable space for the show.

Earlier this week, Richard pulled up in his silver Cybertruck and strutted around the property—frantically dusting off his loafers. After he’d inspected every corner of the place, he’d finally turned to me with a firm nod and said, “Not bad, kid.”

So, I’m taking that as a big win, considering I’ve seen the man lose his shit at several crew members over the past couple of months.

My presence isn’t essential—until something goes wrong. Then, anything on the set or location falls on my shoulders.

Which is why I work quietly and plan to always be available for any issues that might arise during filming. Something broke on set and needs to be replaced? I’m here. Need to pivot to a different backdrop? I’ve got ideas. Someone is boxed in where the crew parks? I’ll find the offending driver.

I’ve kept my head down, slipped under the radar, and worked longer hours than I’m paid for, completing tasks beyond what any established location manager would tackle. But as the new girl, I don’t mind. I’m not above grunt work. And if it gets me to where I’m going, I’ll put that time in without complaint.

My only complaint is that Emmett keeps popping up. Every morning I see him. And every so often, he insists on helping me, even though I don’t want it.

Needless to say, he is always around. Helping. Watching. Working.

Often shirtless.

I’ve tried hard to keep my distance. To not overstay my welcome. To conduct myself as staff and not as a neighbor.

But unfortunately, his family has made it more awkward than necessary. Leon and Tina are constantly inviting me in for snacks and drinks when I’m on-site, and I’m a jerk for turning them down. They’ve begun trying different food and beverage combinations as though that’s the root cause of why I’m never available.

Cookies and coffee?

Tea and banana bread?

Beer and potato chips?

Wine and cheese?

My answer is always no, but I worry they’re starting to take it personally—which I don’t want, because they are genuinely the sweetest people.

I don’t interact with Emmett much. Save for the odd time when he stomps past and feels the need to make my business his own. But I do see him. Driving a tractor. Stacking hay bales. Setting jumps for his sister in the outdoor arena. He’s… everywhere. Inescapable.

“Cut!” someone calls, and Brad’s fake-ass smile drops instantly as the crew goes from quiet and still to bustling.

I look toward the driveway where a flash of movement catches my eye. It appears the women have arrived, and my stomach twists into a knot. Casting wasn’t part of the prep that I was included in—my predecessor was still on staff for that. So this is my first time meeting them.

They exit their limos and line up around the side of the house, out of sight for Emmett, but perfectly in view for me. Each woman who joins the line is physically different from the last. Varied ethnicities, different hair colors, and bodies that range from lean to curvaceous.

The thing that ties them all together is that each one is beautiful in her own right.

My stomach turns over, and my palms sweat. I can’t help but wonder if Emmett is feeling the same now that it’s finally go time. I scan the people dashing all over the place, searching for high, stubbled cheekbones and sandy waves.

When I find him, he’s impossible to read. Face blank, eyes straight ahead, posture straight. He looks as though he belongs in a wax museum. Stoic. Possibly even nervous?

I frown as I take him in. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t for him to appear as though he’s about to walk the plank into shark-infested waters.

“Heyoo, don’t eye-fuck the bachelor if you aren’t on the show.”

I startle and turn to see his younger sister, Riley, sidling up beside me with a wide grin plastered on her face. Her brown hair falls in a thick ponytail from the back of her ball cap. She’s wearing a T-shirt and navy-blue riding jodhpurs with black paddock boots and colorful socks pulled up to her knees.

I’m no equestrian, but I know the socks make it easier to slide tall leather riding boots on and off.

I shoot her a droll look and scoff. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting all the Brandt siblings since I started on location, and they are all incredibly likable. Down-to-earth, funny, warm. And nothing like I expected.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I don’t do cowboys. I just wasn’t expecting him to look so…” I search for the word to describe Emmett’s face and body language.

“Constipated?” Riley provides, and I can’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah, that.”

“Not much makes my brother nervous. But the prospect of traditional dating might be the one thing to do it. He’s probably got hives underneath that dorky suit.”

I swallow and smile tightly. I saw enough on the cruise ship to know that thinking too much about what Emmett Bush has under his suit is dangerous territory.

The suit they forced him to pair with cowboy boots and a cowboy hat.

Oh, and a bolo tie.

It had been a whole thing. And Emmett had not been pleased.

“I’d never wear this around the farm. Like… ever. Hell, I’d never wear this anywhere except at a rodeo as a sponsor or if I was being a cowboy for Halloween. Because this is a costume,” he’d forcefully complained to Teri, one of the head story producers, as he sat in hair and makeup a mere hour before.

“Exactly! We’re putting on a show here!” had been her exuberant answer. Like her positivity might trick him into being equally enthused.

I don’t know what he was expecting from a dating show called Romance Ranch, but it was evident to me that the forced cowboy attire was only adding to his discomfort in front of the camera.

“Did he ask you to be on set?” I ask Riley, attempting to make small talk.

She looks around, her hands propped confidently on her hips. “Oh, hell no. He specifically told me he’d kill me if I showed up.”

Then she turns and hits me with a grin. “But you know Em. All bark, no bite. Biggest fucking softie I know. Plus, I have so little blackmail fodder to use against him, whereas I’m the one who’s always fucking up around here. So I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I’m not waiting a year for it to be on TV.”

I try to keep my brow from furrowing as I glance back at her brother. He’s scowling right in our direction. Riley may be confused about his persona, because he looks primed to commit murder.

My brother, Theo, is a softie. A big goofball with a smile for pretty much everyone. Emmett, though? Emmett has a dangerous edge to him, a permanent “fuck off” sort of twinkle in his eye.

Riley waves at him, but his hands stay in the pockets of his silvery-gray suit pants. The muscle at the back of his jaw flutters in response, and that’s it.