Biscuit stood motionless.
“Biscuit, come on, move!”
The horse swished its tail and started walking ... sideways?
“What are you doing?” I grabbed the saddle horn as Biscuit drifted left, then right, like a drunk uncle at a wedding.
“Biscuit, go. Move! Hyah!”
The horse responded by pawing at the ground like it was auditioning for “Horses Got Talent.” Then he kept shifting his hooves, like he was dancing the salsa.
“Maybe Diego should takeyoukayaking.”
Jenn marched over. “Come on, Biscuit, stop messing around. You know the routine.”
Eventually, we caught up.
Noah pointed to my phone, which I was using to create a “HorseCam” video. “Keep that thing in your saddlebag. This trail gets bumpy. One good jostle and you can kiss your phone goodbye.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Grumpy Cowboy Face.” I slipped my phone into the leather pouch.
“I thought it was Grumpy Mountain Face.”
“Well, you’re on a horse now, so …” He really did look like he belonged on the set ofYellowstone.
His lips softened, and once again, I wondered exactly how soft those lips might feel on my own. We rode in silence for a moment. I decided to go for it. “We need to talk about last night.”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“No,” I said. “Let’s not do this.”
“Do what?”
“That. That right there. Pretend like you don’t know what’s going on.”
“But I don’t know what’s going on.”
I pressed my lips together, biting back the words that almost came out of my mouth. I had to take a deep breath to rally my patience. “Something happened between us last night. And we’re not going to just pretend it didn’t happen.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“I told you we’re not playing that game.”
“What game?”
“The whole … enemies to friends, friends to enemies trope. This isn’t one of your Bigfoot mountain virgin romance novels.”
“Pretty sure she wasn’t a virgin.”
I refused to let him distract me. “I’m not going to sit here in this saddle on this horse for the rest of the day and let you go back to being the grumpy mountain man just because two otherwise intelligent, mature adults aren’t capable of having an honest conversation. It’s a cliché. And we’re not doing it.”
The stubborn mountain man stayed stubbornly silent, staring out at the distant mountains, as if he was trying to figure out a way to teleport himself over there, as far away as possible from me. Finally, he turned back to look me in the eye. “Fine. You want to talk about last night?”
“Yes, yes, I do.”
“Honest talk?”
“Please.”
