Brighter. Louder without sound. Goddamned distracting.
“You’re early,” I say, peonies and jasmine filling the air. It puts a hint of warmth behind my sternum. I clench my jaw, trying to ignore it…. andher.
“I thought you said same time.” I glance at the clock nailed crooked above the tack wall. She’s five minutes early.
Her throat works, mouth coming open. But I don’t need to hear her silky voice.
“Close enough,” I mutter before she can speak.
I finish the strap and turn.
She’s dressed for it today. Boots, jeans, her auburn hair pulled back in something that won’t get in her way. Still too clean. Still too soft for this place.
But she tried.
Whatever that means.
Buddy shifts in his stall when I approach. Wouldn’t class him calm. Not yet. But he doesn’t slam himself into the boards this time either.
Progress.
“Come here,” I tell her.
She does. Without hesitation.
“Same as yesterday,” I say. “Slow. Let him see you.”
She steps in beside me, close enough I feel the heat of her through the thin space between us. Close enough that if I moved my arm an inch, I’d brush her.
I don’t move.
She lifts the brush and starts, steady, patient.
The horse watches her. Then—after a second—lets her.
I exhale quietly. “Good.”
She glances up at me, quick, like she wasn’t expecting the praise. Blue-green sparkles, the sapphire in her gaze.
It hits me harder than it should. That look. Like it matters.
I clear my throat and shift my focus back to the horse. “Keep your hand low,” I add. “He’ll spook if you come in too high.”
She adjusts without question. Learns fast. Too fast.
“You said you haven’t done this before,” I say.
“I haven’t.”
“Then how’d you know not to push him?”
She shrugs. “I know what it feels like to be cornered.”
That stops me. I don’t look at her right away. Don’t ask. But something in my chest tightens anyway.
The kind of answer you don’t get from someone who’s had it easy. Maybe I shouldn’t let her fancy clothes and sweet perfume do all the talking for her.
The horse flicks an ear, leaning slightly into the brush. Trust, in small pieces. That’s how it always comes.
