Kaya’s mouth twitched. One millimeter. She caught my eye over Graham’s shoulder and gave me a look that saidyou’re welcomeandI’m never letting you live this downall at once.
I threw a dish towel at her head.
Graham looked between us, confused. “Did I miss something?”
“No,” I said.
“Inside joke,” Kaya said, at the exact same time.
Graham raised an eyebrow but had the good sense not to push it. He took his breakfast to the table, and I spent the next ten minutes pretending to be deeply interested in the booking calendar while Kaya silently radiated smugness from the stove.
Graham caughtup with me on the path between the main house and the barn. The morning was sharp and clear, the kind of October day where the sky looked painted on.
“Got a minute?” he asked.
“For you? Maybe.” The flirtation slipped out before I could catch it. Apparently sex had broken my filter.
He smiled, the real one, not the camera one, and fell into step beside me.
“Our booking ends Friday,” he said.
I knew that. I’d been trying not to think about it since somewhere around three in the morning, when he’d been asleep beside me and I’d been staring at the ceiling doing math I didn’t want to do. Three days. Then he’d pack up his team and fly back to Scotland and I’d go back to being the woman who talked to her horses more than she talked to people.
“I’d like to extend,” he said. “Another two weeks.”
Relief hit me so fast it was embarrassing.
“The content’s working,” he continued. “Jamie’s ranch videos are outperforming everything we’ve done this year. Dex has been talking about a longer series.” He paused. “That’s the professional justification.”
“And the unprofessional one?”
He stopped walking. Turned to face me. Reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing my jaw, and the gentleness of it made my breath catch.
“I’m not ready to leave you,” he said. No strategy. No charm. Just the truth, delivered like it cost him something.
Our eyes met and let myself feel it. The relief, the want, the terrifying realization that I didn’t want him to go either. That somewhere in the last two weeks, this man had gone from intruder to the person I most wanted to see in the morning.
“I’ll have Denise draw up the extension,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Two weeks. Same cabins.” I started walking again before my face could betray how happy I was. “Don’t make me regret it.”
He caught up in two strides. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We walked the rest of the way to the barn close enough that our hands brushed with every step, and neither of us moved away.
The barn door was heavy. I pulled it open one-handed, the familiar creak filling the space between us, and the smell hit me the way it always did—hay, leather, warm animal, home. Afternoon light fell through the high windows in angled columns, turning the dust into something that looked like it belonged in a painting nobody would believe was real.
Graham followed me in. The door swung shut behind him, not latched, just resting closed, and I was aware of that in a way I shouldn’t have been. Aware of how easy it would be for someone to push it open. Kaya. Hank. Anyone.
I didn’t latch it.
That should have been my first warning.
“I need to check Starlight’s water and top off the hay nets,” I said, already moving toward the tack room, already putting tasks between me and the feeling that had been building since ourhands brushed on the path. Since this morning. Since last night, if I was being accurate, which I didn’t want to be.
“I’ll help,” Graham said.
