Sophia was getting sick of cameras.

To his credit, this paparazzi was doing a bang-up job of hiding; only the tip of his black camera was visible behind the green potted plant. The rooftop restaurant was packed; all around them, Calgary diners munched on celeriac velouté and chicken liver parfait, basking in the golden June sunshine. It would be difficult for the paparazzi to get a good shot.

Difficult, but not impossible.

Sophia leaned forward, pretending to reach for a breadstick. "Kit."

His eyes were trained on his menu. She poked him.

"Kit!" she hissed.

"Hmm?"

She took his menu. "We need to go."

"Why?"

Subtly, Sophia tilted her head in the direction of the offending pot. Kit lowered his designer sunglasses, squinting towards the camera. She could see the moment that he spotted it because he scooted closer to her.

"Feed me a breadstick," Kit said.

Sophia clutched the menu. "Excuse me?"

"A breadstick." Kit nodded at the basket. "And smile, like I've said something that made you laugh." When Sophia didn't move, he gave her an odd look. "We want positive PR, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"Quickly," Kit said, leaning forward. "The couple next to us just stood up. He'll be able to get a good shot."

Oh, god, Sophia thought, her throat tightening. Had she sounded like this once? A year ago, she would have been like Kit, jumping at every opportunity to get photos together. Hiking in the Rockies, skating at Stanley Park, dancing on the tables at 4 a.m. at a Chinese food joint called Singapore Sam's...

It had been a long six months.

Six months, Sophia thought, since she'd moved to Calgary to be closer to her classes. Six months since she started dating Kit again. Six months since she broke Finn's heart — since she broke her own heart, too.

Did Finn still think of her sometimes?

Sophia pushed around her lentil stew. She'd cracked last month and asked Gemma about him, during one of their Blush Wine meetings. Gemma had turned around so fast that she'd knocked over a crate of wine.

"Please don't," she'd said.

"Don't what?"

Gemma's mouth had tightened. "Don't put me in this position." She'd crouched down, picking up the fragments of glass and wood. "I like you, Sophia. I do. You're a wonderful business partner. But Finn's my little brother. You understand that, don't you?"

Sophia had dropped down next to her. "I just want to know if he's alright."

"You broke his heart."

There had been a silent question in Gemma's eyes. Why did you do that? But Sophia had continued to silently pick up shards of glass, stacking them neatly into a pile, and eventually, Gemma sighed. "Finn's fine. Busy with exams."

"Is he seeing anyone?" she'd asked.

Gemma had paused. "Maybe we shouldn't talk about this."

Now, Sophia took a bite of lentil stew, hardly tasting it. There was only one reason Gemma would have said that, and it was to avoid giving her bad news. Finn was seeing someone. He had to be. Not that it mattered.

They weren't together. They never had been.

In the end, Sophia had even asked Saoirse and Gemma to give Finn the pajamas with the pink horses on them. To claim that the gift was from them. The more distance between them — the more Sophia cut herself out of his life — the better.

Even if it hurt.

"Soph," Kit hissed, recapturing her attention. "The breadstick. Hurry."

She picked up a breadstick.

It was too easy. Too easy for Sophia to smile and playfully touch Kit's hand, too easy to toss her hair and laugh. She'd spent her whole life acting. Sometimes Sophia worried that she was so good at playing a role that she'd never find her way back to herself.

She hated this.

Posing for photos. Unboxing yoga clothes. Sharing her skincare routine. Everything she'd once loved about being an influencer — everything she'd been excited about — now felt like an obligation. What if she didn't want to go for a run in the morning? What if she didn't want to order a matcha latte to post on Instagram? What if she just wanted to stay in bed and have a good cry?

It was a trivial problem. Logically, Sophia knew that. She was lucky to have this job, lucky to be able to reach so many people with the click of a button.

But she was burning out.

She shoved the breadsticks away from her. Kit was speaking with the waitress now, asking for some drink that clearly wasn't on the menu. A Flaming Zombie, whatever that was.

"We can't make it," the girl said, shaking her head. "The Kitchen is very specific that all cocktails have to be on the menu."

"Can you try?" Kit learned forward, his mouth quirking up. "For me? You strike me as the sort of girl that's very good at persuading people to do anything for her. Would I be correct, er..." His eyes flicked to her name badge. "Melanie?"

She flushed. "I'll see what I can do."

Sophia watched as the waitress scurried away, bumping into a chair. Kit was already scrolling through his phone. He knew it would work. Of course he did, Sophia thought; she'd done the same thing a thousand times before. Flirted her way out of parking tickets, into private clubs, on to a yacht in Monaco...

But this time felt different.

She leaned forward. "Don't you ever get sick of that?"

"What?"

"Using your good looks to get what you want."

Kit looked up, arching an eyebrow. "Are you calling me good looking?"

She frowned. "I'm serious, Kit."

"Jesus, Sophia." He lowered his phone, looking incredulous. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"No. I'm just..." She fiddled with her bracelet. "Don't you ever worry that this is all you are? What happens in twenty years when we get older? And don't say Botox," Sophia warned, seeing his mouth quirk. "I'm not talking about that. I mean what happens when people see through the bullshit? What happens when having a pretty face isn't enough?"

Kit shrugged. "Beauty will always be enough."

"You're wrong," Sophia said. "I did a Christmas photoshoot, once. There were dozens of beautifully wrapped boxes, each prettier than the last. Handcrafted paper, velvet bows, organza flowers... And you know what? All of the boxes were empty." She pursed her lips. "Beautiful giftwrap is only that: beautiful giftwrap."

Slowly, Kit set down his phone. His eyes searched her face. "Don't take this the wrong way, Soph, but Alberta has changed you."

Sophia pushed around her lentil stew. "That's a compliment."

"What's wrong?" Kit leaned forward, lacing his hands together. "Did you lose a bunch of followers or something?"

"No."

Her following had increased over the last six months, actually, Sophia reflected, pushing at a lumpy clump of lentils; Callie Winthrope had phoned yesterday to congratulate her on hitting two million on Instagram. Kit's brow furrowed.

"Are you on your period?" he asked.

She set down her fork. "Jesus, Kit."

"Ah." He leaned back, his expression clearing. "This is about your farm boy."

Her chest tightened. "He's not my farm boy."

Kit sighed. "Look, if you're going to be this moody about it, go find him. Tell him the truth." He adjusted his sunglasses, resting one ankle casually on his knee. "You can have him too, Sophia. You can have it all."

Sophia paused, leaning back as the waitress deposited a garish, red drink on the table. It had been too many months, now. Finn had moved on. And even if he hadn't, it didn't matter, Sophia reflected; it was still a choice between him and her career. Finn or Estrella. Finn or being able to pay her university tuition.

No.

She'd made the right decision. Kit had already paid off half his gambling debts, and Sophia had put a down payment on a flat in Toronto for next year. They made a good team. And if Sophia sometimes missed the smell of hay and Finn's stupid country music, then so what? Everyone thought about their ex occasionally. Everyone—

The red drink exploded in flame. Sophia yelped, pedaling backwards, her thoughts instantly scattered. Kit grinned.

"Cool, right?"

She wrinkled her nose. "What's in that?"

"Maraschino cherry, horseradish, and clamato juice." Kit counted the ingredients off on one hand. "Oh, and a lot of overproof rum."

"Sounds disgusting."

"It is," Kit said. "Makes for a good photo, though." He took out his phone, half-rising out of his seat to snap a photo. "Back to your farm boy. I can't say I understand the appeal, but are you going to talk to him?"

"Why?" Sophia took a bite of lentil stew. "You're not jealous, are you?"

It was a ridiculous suggestion; after all, they'd been living as friends for months. Kit had tried to kiss her that first week, during a boozy day of skiing (sponsored by Estrella, of course), but Sophia had pushed him away. He'd never tried it again, and they hadn't spoken about it since. Now, Kit lowered his phone.

"A little," he admitted.

She paused, fork hovering. "Really?"

"Honestly?" Kit shrugged. "I can't tell if I'm jealous. Hurts my pride, though."

"Well, it doesn't matter," Sophia sighed. "I'm not talking to him." She scraped her chair back. "Look, can we go?"

Kit held up a finger. "One more photo."

Sophia sighed, settling back into her seat as Kit crouched down to get a different angle. Her phone lit up. She waited for her heart to lurch — for that familiar jolt of excitement — but her pulse remained steady. Finn hadn't texted for months; she knew better than to be hopeful.

She picked up the phone.

One text from Tabby.

How's Calgary? Boring compared to Bashaw, I'm sure ;)

Sophia smiled. So boring, she typed back. I'm missing the cows.

The response was immediate.

Come to Bashaw for the weekend, then. It's the Ponoka Stampede!

Sophia paused. Was it? She supposed it must be; it was the end of June, after all. She had been trying to avoid any rodeo-related news since she read about Finn's horrific fall in Grande Prairie. She had spent all night watching YouTube videos of it, replaying the incident over and over again.

He hadn't suffered any injuries, according to Tabby, but that hadn't stopped Sophia from checking every local newspaper for a month.

She glanced up at Kit, who was pulling out a black credit card. It might be good to escape for the weekend, actually. Get away from the cameras for a while.

Okay, Sophia wrote. Not going to the Stampede though.

Her phone pinged.

We'll see.