I throw a piece of hay at her, but I’m smiling again. And this time, I don’t bother hiding it.
Missy claps her hands like she’s ticking off a mental checklist.
“Okay, well, I just came in to check if my plan worked, and clearly it did.” She gestures triumphantly at me. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
I roll my eyes in theatrical despair as she continues, “Now I’m off to work, and I’m desperate for a pastry. Honestly, the best decision I ever made was working at the café. Perks of the job.”
She turns to leave, already halfway out the stall door when she pauses, spinning back around.
“Oh! You’re still taking Mom to book club today, right?”
“Yes, Missy,” I say, dragging myself up off the cot. “When do I ever let anyone down?”
She stops, her expression softening.
“You don’t,” she replies quietly. “That’s kind of your thing. You always show up. For Mom. For me, and for Harper. For everyone.”
Something in me stills at the sincerity in her voice.
Missy steps closer, her tone gentler now.
“I know I tease you a lot, but … you’re the glue, brother. You hold us together more than you realise.”
Before I can respond, she rushes over and plants a quick kiss on my cheek.
I recoil.
“Ugh, what are you doing? You’re being weird, Missy.”
She laughs, backing away.
“I’m just happy, Ford. Love is in the air …”
And then she twirls dramatically, arms raised like she’s performing a waltz across the stable floor, humming some made-up tune as she goes.
I watch her disappear around the corner, shaking my head.
“She’s gone mad,” I mutter to Sunshine, who snorts softly in agreement, nudging my arm with her head.
I sit there for a moment, staring at the dust motes drifting in the morning light.
'You’re the glue, Ford. You hold us together more than you realise.’
I let out a slow breath, rubbing the spot on my cheek where she kissed me like it might erase the warmth. But it doesn’t.
I glance down at Sunshine, snuffling in my hands as I stroke her head, the half-eaten granola bar on the hay bale, the worn boots by the stall. Missy’s right. I do show up. I always have. But this thing with Stormy … it feels different. Like maybe, for once, I want to show up for me, too.
I shake the thought off, standing and stretching out the stiffness in my back. There’s work to do. Horses to feed. A date to plan.
And as I head toward the feeding equipment, I catch myself smiling again.
Just a little.
36
Stormy
Icame down to the tree swing this morning to do a bit of reading and snap some photos for my Bookstagram. There’s something about being out here in the wild, with its perfect light and peaceful quiet, that makes the photos feel more alive. They’ve been getting so much engagement lately, which is honestly amazing. I’ve also been working on a separate account for the bookshop, slowly trying to build momentum and share the space across my socials. There’s been some lovely interest, but also a few discouraging comments from people who seem determined to be negative before the shop’s even had a chance to open. I don’t usually like deleting comments, it feels a bit like silencing, but I didn’t want that kind of energy to derail the progress I’ve been making. So, I removed them. I suspect it’s some of the locals who aren’t too pleased.
