“People don’t usually stay,” I say before I can stop myself.
She stills for half a second. “Here?”
“Anywhere.”
It comes out rougher than I mean it to. Too close to something I don’t talk about. Raised a foster kid. Too many people in and out of my life to count.
Stopped counting on others at all… after a point.
I reach for the lead rope, adjusting it just to have something to do with my hands.
“Animals are simpler,” I add. “They either trust you or they don’t.”
“And people?”
I let out a breath through my nose. “They make you think they do.”
Silence settles. Not uncomfortable. Just… full.
I feel her looking at me. I don’t return it. Can’t. Not without giving something away.
The horse shifts again, calmer now. Head lower. Muscles less tight. I step closer to check the halter. She doesn’t move.
So now we’re standing there, too close, both pretending we don’t notice. Her shoulder brushes mine.
An accident. Probably. Only it doesn’t feel like one.
My hand stills on the strap.
There’s a second—one sharp, suspended second—where I’m aware of everything.
The warmth of her. The quiet in the barn. The way my body reacts before my head can shut it down.
I step back. Too fast.
“That’s enough,” I say.
Her hand drops, brush lowering to her side.
“That’s it?”
“For today.”
Her brow furrows slightly. “We just got started.”
“That’s how you keep from pushing too far.”
Her gaze holds mine. “You’re not talking about the horse.”
I don’t answer. Don’t need to. She already knows.
That’s the problem.
I turn away, grabbing a rag off the hook, wiping my hands even though they’re not dirty.
“You said you wanted to learn,” I say. “That’s lesson one.”
She steps closer again. Deliberate.
