I’ve been dying to know what her mouth tastes like. Dying to know how her lips would feel against mine.
And it’s incredible.
So fucking incredible.
I rest my forehead against hers for a moment, trying to catch my breath. Her lips are pink and swollen, and I have to close my eyes just to keep from imagining them on me.
Something shifts, interrupting the moment. It’s Sunshine moving in Stormy’s lap to nudge against her arm. Stormy glances down, releasing a small, soft laugh.
“We should probably move her, shouldn’t we?” she breathes, watching Sunshine curled between us.
“Probably,” I say, though the sound comes out rough, still raw from the effect of that kiss.
I loosen my hold on Stormy, reluctant but careful, and reach down to lift the foal from her lap. She’s heavier than she looks, all long, drowsy legs.
I lower her gently onto the hay, trying my hardest not to wake her, but she snuffles and protests as I lay her down.
Stormy crawls to Sunshine’s side, brushing a hand over her face.
“Oh, you’re such a little drama queen, aren’t you?” she murmurs, her voice quiet and affectionate. “You’re fine, baby girl. Go back to sleep.”
I crouch beside them, watching Stormy soothe her with a touch so gentle it makes something ache in me. Sunshine settles, and Stormy slowly pulls her hand away, careful not to stir her again.
And I think I could get used to this.
I know I’ve said I wouldn’t,couldn’t, want this. The mess of it. The vulnerability. The risk. But how can I sit here, heart thundering in my chest, watching her like this and not want more?
Silence stretches between us. It’s not just the aftermath of the kiss … it’s the quiet reckoning following a broken promise. We’d both said we wouldn’t let this happen. That it was too complicated, too risky. But now the air between us feels different. Thicker.
Stormy glances toward the barn door, and I follow her line of sight. Outside, dusk has begun to settle, the sky bruising at the edges. The light is soft and fading, casting long shadows across the hay-strewn floor.
“It’s getting late,” she says, her voice low, almost tentative. Her eyes flick from the door back to me, searching.
“Yeah,” I say, the word landing flat. I don’t know what else to say. I’m not very good at this.
I clear my throat, trying to find something neutral, something safe.
“Did Missy drive you here? Or do you have your truck?”
Stormy blinks, a flicker of realisation crossing her face.
“Oh. No, I don’t have my truck. Missy brought me here. Where is she?”
Her cheeks flush then, the kind of pink that says she’s only just remembered Missy existed. She shifts to brush the stray bits of hay from her jeans like she needs something to do with her hands. “I can walk, though. It’s not far.”
I shake my head, already pushing to stand.
“I’m not letting you walk home. I’ll take you.”
She looks up.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, come on.”
We walk towards the door in silence, the barn behind us dimming with the last light of day. My truck door is still ajar from when I arrived earlier, and Buddy, who’s been suspiciously quiet all evening, bounds ahead of us, tail wagging. He nudges the door open wider with his nose and hops in.
But instead of settling into his usual spot up front, he pads to the back seat and curls up there, tail thumping softly against the upholstery. Stormy glances at me, one brow raised. I shrug, just as confused.
