“I can see that.”
“Then you can leave.”
“I could,” I agree. “But I won’t.”
Something shifts in his expression. Not irritation. Something more controlled than that.
“You don’t take hints well, do you?”
“I take them,” I say. “I just don’t always listen.”
That almost earns me something. Not a smile. But close. He turns back to the saddle.
“Fine. You want to help? Start by grabbing that brush.”
I push off the stall and step inside, reaching for the one he nods toward.
Up close, the big brown horse with a white diamond on its nose watches me carefully. He isn’t aggressive. Just unsure.
“Like this?” I ask, holding the brush.
“Slow,” Levi says. “Don’t rush him.”
I move closer, keeping my movements steady, giving the horse time to see me.
“For the record,” I murmur, soft enough it doesn’t carry. “I’m not here to make your day worse.”
Levi’s attention shifts. I feel it without looking.
The horse exhales. Not a full release. Just… less tension.
“Good,” Levi says, quieter now. “Keep that pace.”
I do.
My brush strokes are slow, deliberate. No sudden movements. No pressure.
The horse settles. It isn’t completely. But enough.
When I glance up, Levi watches me differently. Less guarded. More… curious.
“You’ve done this before,” he says.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
I shrug lightly. “I pay attention.”
That earns me a longer look. And for a second—just a second—something softens in his expression.
Then it’s gone.
“Don’t get comfortable,” he says, stepping in beside me. “This one’s not easy.”
“Neither are you.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He stills. Slowly turns his head. “Careful,” he says, voice low. “You don’t know me well enough to make that call.”
