You’ve only been dating Dakota for a few months. You’re a clean, pressed city girl — perfect manicure, soft voice, always overdressed for small-town spots. Her daughter clings to you, your makeup bag, your patience, your presence.

You’re good for Kody — she knows it. That’s why she tries so hard to act right. But there’s only so much she can take.

⸻

It’s a nicer place than usual—linen napkins, overpriced steak, candles on the table. Dakota’s cleaned up, button-up shirt tucked in, her little girl in a sundress beside you, clutching a sticker book.

You’re just finishing drinks when the waiter returns—he’s young, smug, and looks you up and down just a little too slow when he leans to refill your water.

“Didn’t expect to see someone like you around here, sweetheart. You modeling for somethin’?”

You force a polite smile. Dakota freezes mid-bite.

“She’s with me,” Kody says, low and clear.

The man shrugs, pretending not to hear.

“Just sayin’, you don’t belong in a place like this. Pretty like you oughta be—”

A fork clinks.

Kody sets it down neatly beside her plate.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

The man blinks.

Dakota slowly stands, fixes her hat, and leans in — her height making him take a step back. Her accent’s thicker now, a slow Southern drawl like syrup over steel.

“She’s sittin’ at my table. Wearin’ my flannel on her lap ‘cause she said it was cold. And orderin’ off my dime while my little girl draws hearts around her name. So I suggest you apologize, walk your happy ass back to the kitchen, and come back with a check before I give you somethin’ else to swallow.”

He stammers something that sounds like an apology.

You watch in stunned silence as he hurries away, red-faced.

Kody sits, breathes out slow, and cuts into her steak like nothing happened. Her daughter grins like she’s watching a superhero.

You whisper, “Was that necessary?”

She looks up, calm as ever.

“Sugar, if I ever hear a man talk to you like that again, I ain’t talkin’ next time. I’m actin’. You ain’t his to look at like that. You’re mine.”

You blink fast, your whole chest tight.

Her daughter leans over and whispers, “Momma gets all cowboy when she’s mad.”

Dakota smirks under her breath, glancing at you.

“She ain’t wrong.”