“But,” he adds, his voice low and certain, “I’d really like to take you out tomorrow. If you’d like that?”
I smile, heart fluttering.
“I’d like that.”
He smiles a quiet, dimpled grin that feels like it’s just for me, and then he steps back, letting his hands slip from my waist.
“Goodnight, Stormy,” he says.
“Goodnight, Ford.”
And then he’s gone, walking back down the path, leaving me standing at my door with my heart still racing and the taste of him lingering on my lips.
35
Ford
The air smells of hay and horses as I stir, stiff-limbed and foggy from a night on the cot in the stables. I hear Sunshine shifting softly in the stall, nestling close. I’d been up every few hours feeding her, keeping watch like some overzealous sentry.
It’s Saturday, which means Kit should be arriving to take over. I planned to swap with him, grab a shower, and maybe even eat something other than a granola bar before getting on with the rest of my tasks for the day.
But the figure standing over me isn’t Kit. It’s Missy. She’s nudging my ribs with the toe of her boot, arms crossed, wearing a grin that’s far too smug for this hour.
“Missy,” I groan, rubbing my hands over my face. “Did you seriously just wake me with your foot?”
She shrugs, unapologetic.
“Sooo …” she drawls, eyes sparkling, toe still nudging me. “You and Stormy. Anything I should know?”
I squint at her; the words barely register through the haze of sleep.
“What?”
“Last I saw,” she says, drawing out the words like she’s interrogating a suspect on some low-budget cop show, “you two were getting very cosy feeding the foal together. Then I left. And now …” She gestures dramatically around the stable. “You’re still here. Alone?”
I sit up, rubbing the back of my neck. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you. Orchestrating this whole thing like life is some stable-based romcom.”
Her grin widens.
“I am actually,” she boasts before she pauses, studying my face. “What’s that?” she says, pointing at my mouth.
“What?” I rub my hand over my jaw. Do I have hay stuck to my face or something?
“That,” she insists, leaning closer. “Right there.” She prods her finger at my cheek, and I bat her hand away like the pest that she is. “Looks to me like you’re smiling, Ford.”
I try to school my expression, but it’s too late. The corner of my mouth has betrayed me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter.
Missy gasps, clapping her hands.
“You are! You’re smiling! Oh my god, you kissed her, didn’t you?”
I groan, flopping back onto the cot.
“Alright, alright, calm down,” I say, covering my ears as she squeals. “Some of us have been up all night keeping a newborn horse alive.”
But even as I grumble, the smile creeps back.
