And for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel the need to brace for it disappearing
The weeks that followed blurred together in the best possible way.
Mia rode Honey now with a confidence that made my chest ache. She'd graduated from the round pen to the pasture, trotting circuits around the fence line while Liam called instructions from the rail. The mare who wouldn't let anyone near her six months ago now nickered when she heard Mia's voice, nosing at her pockets for the apple slices she'd learned to expect.
“She’s a natural.”
Liam leaned on the rail, forearms crossed, eyes tracking the easy rise and fall of Mia in the saddle. The corner of his mouth lifted, pride slipping through before he bothered to hide it.
“Better seat than you, that’s for sure.”
Mia grinned from the rail, legs swinging, dust on her jeans like a badge of honor.
“I have a great seat.”
Liam didn’t even look offended. He stayed relaxed against the fence, eyes still on the pasture.
“You fell off twice yesterday.”
I shot her a look. She didn’t flinch.
“The horse moved unexpectedly.”
She tipped her head, considering that for half a second.
“The horse was standing still.”
I reached for Liam’s shoulder, more reflex than intention. He caught my hand easily, fingers closing around mine, pulling me in before I could decide if I meant it.
He kissed me there by the fence, easy and unguarded, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I let him.
Didn’t even think about pulling away.
That was new too.
The casual affection.
The way he touched me like we’d been doing this for years instead of weeks. A hand settling at my back as we passed in thehallway. His fingers finding mine across the dinner table, brief and absentminded, like muscle memory. The way he’d come up behind me while I was washing dishes, arms wrapping around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder—no agenda, no rush. Just there.
I was still getting used to that. To being held without having to earn it.
Riding, on the other hand, was a disaster.
I was terrible at it. Genuinely, embarrassingly bad. My body couldn’t find the rhythm no matter how many times he explained it, and I bounced in the saddle like a sack of potatoes while the horse carried on, patient and unimpressed.
Liam tried very hard not to laugh.
He failed about as badly as I did.
“Relax your hips,” he said, walking alongside the horse, one hand light on the bridle.
“My hips are relaxed.”
He glanced at me, lips twitching.
“Your hips are the opposite of relaxed. Your hips are staging a protest.”
