"Sounds perfect." I lean back on my elbows, studying her profile as she looks out over the valley.
"What's your schedule look like?" she asks, turning back to me.
"Flying to Washington tomorrow morning, then it's a blur of venues for the next couple weeks." The reality of it sits heavy in my chest—airports and hotel rooms and the kind of loneliness that comes from being surrounded by people who know your name but not your heart. "Spokane, then up to Calgary, and then back again. I wish you could come with me," I confess.
Her smile is soft. "Me too. But there's too much to do in the next three and a half weeks."
The temperature drops as the sun disappears behind the peaks, and Kinsley shivers beside me. I pull her closer, tucking her against my side where she fits just right.
"We should head back," I say reluctantly,though every instinct I have is screaming at me to find a way to make this moment last forever. "Gets cold fast up here once the sun goes down."
"Five more minutes," she says, her voice muffled against my shoulder. "Please."
Five more minutes turns into ten, then fifteen, as we sit wrapped in each other's warmth while the stars emerge one by one in the darkening sky. The colt shifts restlessly nearby.
"Time to go." I say finally, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
We reluctantly pack up the picnic. The horses are eager to move, sensing the change in temperature and the promise of warm stalls and hay waiting at home.
By the time we reach the cottage, full darkness has settled over the valley like a blanket. Lights glow warm and yellow in the windows of the main house, and a silhouette—probably Mom—moves around in the kitchen.
Home. This is home, in a way it's never been before.
"Thank you," Kinsley says as we pull the horses to a stop beside the cottage. "For tonight. For the necklace."
"Thank you for letting me," I reply, swinging down from the colt's back and moving to help her dismount. She doesn't need the assistance, but I need the excuse to touch her, to hold her for just a moment longer.
Her hands rest on my shoulders as I lift her down from Ace’s back, and for a heartbeat we stand frozen in each other’s space, starlight reflected in her eyes.
I frame her face with my hands, taking a moment to memorize every detail—the way the moonlight catches in her eyes, the soft curve of her mouth, the way she's looking at me like I'm her entire world. I lean down slowly, savoringthe anticipation, the way her breath catches as our lips finally meet.
She sighs into me, her hands sliding down to grab my belt loops, holding on like she's anchoring herself to me. I don't ever want her to let go. I've never struggled to leave the ranch before, and I wouldn't if I could pack her up and take her with me.
"You're changing me," I whisper against her lips, unable to pull away even for the words.
Her smile brushes against my mouth, and I can't help but trace a line of kisses along her jaw, tasting the sweetness of her skin. My lips find the silver chain at her throat, pressing gentle kisses against the turquoise stones that rest there, and she shivers beneath my touch, her grip on my belt loops tightening.
"Wyatt," she breathes, and the sound of my name on her lips makes something fierce unfurl in my chest.
I trail kisses up to her temple, holding her so close I can feel every curve of her body against mine, my hand sliding down her back to pull her nearer. She responds molding her body to me like we're dancing a slow two-step of mouths and hands and whispered breaths.
Every kiss carries the weight of goodbye, the need to memorize each other before distance steals these moments away.
Three weeks have never seemed so impossibly long.
Twenty-Five
I CHOOSE HOW MUCH OF MY HEART TO RISK.
KINSLEY
Two days without Wyatt, and I'm coming apart at the seams—which is exactly what I swore I wouldn't let happen.
My fingers find the turquoise stones at my throat—again. Two days since Wyatt left for the circuit, and I can't stop touching the reminder that he's real. That we're real.
Jessica's truck turns into the drive like salvation on four wheels. I hurry out to the porch to meet her. I need a sounding board and Jessica is the best.
She climbs out wearing faded jeans and an oversized cream sweater that hangs off one shoulder, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun. "I come bearing gifts," she calls, hauling a canvas tote from the passenger seat. "Chinese food and zero judgment while you’re in crisis mode."
