“What time is it?” I ask. Nate checks his phone.
“A little past three.”
“Oh my god. We have to feed Tuna in, like, thirty minutes. We won’t make it back in time.”
“I told Axel we were heading out—he’ll handle afternoon feeding.” I relax. I’ve gotten attached to that little horse.
We get back to the barn, and I feel great right up until the moment my feet hit solid ground. Nate, probably expecting it, catches my elbow as my knees buckle.
“Whoa,” I mutter. All of a sudden I am very aware of what feels like every single muscle in my legs and lower back. Hell, even my shoulders are sore. Baseball has never hurt this much.
“It’s like walking off a boat and getting back to dry land,” Nate tells me. “And there’s a reason being saddle sore has a special name—it’s a unique sort of stiffness.”
“I’ll say,” I mutter, trying to shake out my legs.
We go through the motion of removing Friday’s tack, and Nate shows me how to brush her down. I sneak not just one but four carrots to her, and massage between her eyes as she crunches on them. She rubs her black nose against my chest affectionately, flicking her ears and blowing out a contentbreath. I whisper endearments to her in Spanish, letting her know she’s a good girl.
When we get back upstairs, Nate offers to let me shower first and I gratefully accept without argument. All I did was sit there, yet somehow, I’m filthy. Scrubbing down in the hot water feels as though I’m washing a week’s worth of grime from my skin.
Nate is standing barefoot at the stove when I finish. He glances over at me and grins, lifting the pan up to show me.
“Made you some soup, you fucking weirdo.”
I snort out a laugh, and join him at the stove. “I don’t know what to tell you, we always had soup on hot days growing up.”
He kisses the top of my head, and scoots around me to take his turn in the shower. A warmth that can’t be attributed to soup sits comfortably in my stomach. I’ve never felt so content as I do now, cozy in the small loft with Nate, the horses below and the wide Montana sky framed in the window. I want to fucking live here.
My phone chimes with a text as I hear the water turn on. Pouring the soup into a bowl, I turn off the stove and sit at the island. Smiling, I check my phone, clicking the call button instead of texting back.
“Marcos?” Max answers on the first ring. “Hey, I didn’t mean to bother you. Just wanted to check in.”
“It’s no bother. How are you?”
“Good. Luke is at the apartment with me, but it’s weird as shit without you here. I keep looking at your door, waiting for you to come out.”
A pang of sadness jolts through me at that. “I miss you. I just told Nate the other day I wished you were here, too.”
“And Luke?” he asks slyly.
“And Luke,” I grumble, making him laugh. “Tell me about training camp.”
“We played hockey. I want to hear about what you’re doing. Nate sent me a picture of you feeding that baby horse and I thought Luke was going to die. That thing is fucking adorable.”
“His name is Tuna.”
“Tuna!” Max repeats in delight. I laugh, leaning over and eating a spoonful of soup.
“Guess what I did today,” I prompt him.
“Shut up, did Nate get you on a horse? Photographic proof or it didn’t happen.”
“Nate has about a thousand on his phone, I’ll have him send you one. It was a lot of fun, actually. We just got back—he’s in the shower.”
Max blows out a hard breath. “I’m jealous. Every picture he sends me is beautiful, and it looks like you guys are having so much fun.”
“How many pictures has he sent you?” I ask curiously. He’s had his phone out more often than not, snapping photos even when I’m doing something as mundane as sitting on the ground eating a sandwich. I hadn’t realized he was sending them to Max.
“Oh I don’t know, a dozen at least. I’ve started sending back random pictures of Luke.”
