“No,” she says. “But it changesthings.”
She’s right and so I kiss her again. This time my hands find the shape of her waist, fitting perfectly, as if the storm outside is just a prelude to the one we’re making here.
Her hands slide up my chest, tentative at first, then firmer, fingers curling in the fabric of my shirt. I let the kiss deepen. I can’t help it. Nicole’s body is soft, yet strong, in my hands. She gives in to me like she’s been waiting for this. There’s a hunger beneath her calm … a heat that matches every wild, unsaid thing between us.
My hand finds the curve of her hip, fingers caress against the fabric of her riding pants. I pull her even closer to me and she doesn’t pull away. She moves into it, mouth hot and open, like she’s been waiting for this.
The thunder outside cracks so loud it’s a cannonball. We both jump, then laugh nervously, like two people caught doing something they shouldn’t. The lights flicker again, and for a second we both freeze.
“I hope the horses are alright,” she whispers, her lips a centimeter from mine.
“It sounds like the wind is beginning to ease. We’ll check soon.”
A voice from outside breaks our moment alone. “Looks like the funnel cloud passed south. We’re in the clear.”
Nicole and I don’t move right away. The danger is gone, but something else has taken its place. I release her slowly.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah.”
Her eyes stay on mine for a few seconds, even after we stop touching.
I take a deep breath as we step outside into damp air. The world feels sharper now, like everything’s been reset.
As I watch her walk toward the barn, one truth anchors itself deep in my chest. I didn’t just break one of my own rules. I proved to myself exactly why I made it. And that’s the problem. I don’t know how we’re supposed to pretend this didn’t change everything.
Chapter 15
Nicole
The house feels extra quiet when I finally get home. That storm felt like it tore through the air and left everything scrubbed clean. The windows are dark. The wind has softened to a low whisper in the trees.
I kick off my shoes by the door and stand there for a moment, breathing it in. Relief.
The storm passed without damage. No injuries. No horses hurt or panicked beyond what we could manage. The barns held. The fences held. Everyone made it through.
I move through the house slowly, switching on lamps, letting the soft light replace the sharp edges of the day. I pour a glass of wine and lean against the counter, staring out into the dark like I expect the sky to offer answers.
It doesn’t.
What it offers is memory. The crack of thunder. His hand steadying me before I even realized I needed it. And then the kisses. That’s the part that won’t let me rest.
Harrison didn’t lose control because of the storm. He lost it because he wanted to. For a moment, he let himself forget the rule he’s built his life around since his break-up.
I’ve seen this before. Not with him, but with horses like Red Ledger. Creatures that learned the hard way that trust costs something. Who mistake restraint for safety and control for strength.
Harrison holds himself the same way. He’s careful and watchful — always bracing for loss.
The difference is, Red Ledger doesn’t know better yet. Harrison does.
That realization settles inside my mind. I miss him already. The thought startles me not because it feels wrong, but because it feels fast.
If I wait … if I let him dictate the pace through avoidance and rules, this will stall. He’ll retreat. He’ll convince himself the kiss was a lapse in judgment instead of a truth finally spoken. I’ll be left pretending it didn’t matter. I won’t do that.
The storm stripped away his defenses long enough for him to show me what he wants. What he’s afraid of. He held back last night after the dinner. Today, he didn’t during the storm.
The question isn’t whether Harrison wants me. It’s whether trusting me will be harder than earning trust from his own horse. I can’t chase him. But I also won’t stand still and wait for him to decide whether I’m worth the risk.
