He's watching our trailer.
Our eyes meet across the distance.
Everything stops.
He doesn't wave. Doesn't smile. His shoulders tense, barely visible from here, but I see it. His weight shifts forward half an inch, like his body wants to move before his brain can stop it.
My hand lifts without permission. Just a fraction.
For three seconds, we're frozen there. Pulled toward each other by something neither of us is willing to name.
Then his expression shutters.
He looks away, pushes off the truck with deliberate force, and walks toward the registration building like he just passed a stranger.
My stomach drops so hard I have to grip the trailer rail to stay standing.
Addie's voice cuts in beside me. "Is Eli here?"
I can't look away from where he disappeared. "Yeah," I manage. "Just saw him walking in."
We move fast after that, momentum carrying us forward whether I'm ready or not. Through the gate. Toward the barns. Toward the warm-up ring.
I help Addie tack up in silence, hands working from muscle memory while my pulse hammers. Saddle pad straight. Girth snug. Bridle adjusted just so. My fingers tremble slightly when I tighten the last strap, and I curl them into the leather until they steady.
The colt stands perfectly still, ears flicking back toward my voice when I murmur to him. Calm. Ready. Everything we hoped for.
Addie swings into the saddle and heads toward the warm-up ring.
Eli takes his place at the rail, eyes tracking the colt's movement with practiced focus.
I stop ten feet away on the opposite side of the ring.
I keep my eyes on Addie, on the colt, on anything but him. But after a minute I can't help it—I glance over.
He's watching the horse, arms crossed, jaw tight. But his body is angled just slightly toward me. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough that I notice.
Then he looks at me.
We both freeze.
For three seconds, everything else disappears. Just him and me and ten feet that might as well be miles.
Then he snaps his attention back to Addie so fast it might as well be a wall slamming between us.
My chest aches.
Addie circles past on the colt, oblivious, calling out, "How's he look?"
"Perfect," Eli and I say at the exact same time.
Our voices overlap, tangle, fall apart.
We still don't look at each other.
The announcer's voice crackles over the loudspeaker. "Rider thirty-two, fifteen minutes out."
Addie rides toward the gate for her final check-in, leaving me standing alone at the rail.
