My heart warmed at yet another unexpected kindness from him. I glanced over to take in his profile as he navigated the traffic.
“Owen, that’s too much. You’re already doing a ton to help me; you don’t have to.”
“It’s no big deal,” he pshawed, still staring ahead. “Plus, it might be good for me to get out with regular players for a change. CPA is sort of a heightened reality. The members are all high-level players in a rarified setting. It’s not a typical pickleball experience.”
“So you’re saying that a public court will probably have more seniors and crappy players?” I paused to consider it. “I could probably take down a seventy-year-old.”
“Look at you, trash-talking.” He chuckled. “You’d be surprised; you think they’re at a disadvantage because of their age, but what you’re forgetting is they have the time to focus onstrategy. So you might have speed and agility going for you, but they’re playing chess. They’re gonna stand at the kitchen line and swat down every ball you try to hammer home.”
“Like I need to be humbled more,” I complained.
“It’s all part of the process. Losing helps you grow as a player, trust me.”
The landscape transformed from a thousand lanes of traffic to six, then four, then two, until we ended up on twisty, narrow back roads lined with lush green trees.
“How did you wind up in horse world?” I asked him, a little mortified that I hadn’t used the drive to uncover Owen’s backstory.
His jaw flexed and he gripped the wheel a little tighter. “I spent a couple of years chasing down all of the weird stuff I’d always been curious about. Trying on different lifestyles. So I spent time training to be a rafting guide out in Colorado, and I learned how to make cheese in Switzerland. I got my pilot’s license. Learned how to tango in Spain. And I’d always loved horses so I spent time working at Evergreen Stables.”
It was a Pandora’s box of information that didn’t compute. Was it all an effort to find a career path? Because pickleball coach and cheesemonger were at opposite ends of the work spectrum, if they even existed on the same chart at all. And what was the tango thing about?
“Rafting?” I sputtered. “And you can fly a plane? What kind of cheese did you make?”
“All kinds.” He laughed. “But the specialty was obviously Swiss cheese.”
I tried picturing him in the various roles. Rafting guide? Sure, that made total sense. I’d feel safe with Owen fitting a life vest on me and then helping me navigate rapids. Pilot? Totally on brand, because he had an eye for detail that meant the souls on his flights would always reach their destination. But the cheese, dance, and horse stuff were all beyond me.
“Okay, I guess my biggest question iswhy?” I asked. “Is there some sort of through line that I’m missing?”
A shrug. “I was lucky enough to spend time letting my curiosity lead me.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I tried to come up with a polite way to ask about the intersection of curiosity and finances.
“But, like... how?” I managed.
“Easy,” he replied with a tiny shrug. “You do your research, book a ticket, and go.”
I had a feeling that he knew exactly what I was asking, and the gentle brush-off was his way of telling me that it was none of my business. I had plenty of time to unravel the mysteries of Owen Miller, so I opted for a side step rather than pushing.
“How did you wind up at this barn?”
The verdant green around us opened up to long stretches of fields dotted with horses and cows alike. We were definitely getting closer to the farm.
A quick frown, then his profile settled into his usual neutral expression. “I’ve always thought the cowboy lifestyle was cool, so I looked into farms that were sort of close to the city to tryriding. I picked Evergreen because they had the best website, not realizing that they’re an English riding barn, not Western.”
“Ooh, ooh, I actually know the difference between them!” I waved my hand as I interrupted. “English is formal and Western is more relaxed.”
“Exactly.” He nodded. “I probably should’ve switched to a different barn when I realized that Western was a better fit for me, but...”
Owen trailed off, and I stared at him while he seemed to collect his thoughts.
“The horse girl?” I asked softly, convinced that I wasreallyoverstepping.
“The horse girl,” Owen agreed. “She boarded at Evergreen. And Ivy, the owner, had lost a couple of employees and needed help, so I wound up working there for a while.”
I couldn’t resist pushing a little more, since he hadn’t shut me out quite yet. “I’m guessing you and the horse girl didn’t ride off into the sunset together?”
“Nope, not even close.” Owen huffed out a hollow laugh.
