“I’m okay.” I think about everything… Cam’s lies, his fame, and his ties to these women I love so much. Oh, geez. I love them. When did this happen? I roll my head back and look at the ceiling, trying to find the right words. “You know I love you both, right?”
Bree’s cheeks turn pink as Izzy’s eyes become glassy. “We love you, too.” They both say this in sync, and we all laugh.
Bree fiddles with the piping on the sofa. “I wanted to tell you, but he had his reasons for being here. It wasn’t my place—” she turns to her sister, “—well, really our place, to share that with anyone. It had nothing to do with either of you.”
“And we made it clear we would tell you both on the trip home.”
Kate isn’t having it. “A little heads-up would’ve been nice before my sister started making out with the guy!”
“We didn’t know!” That’s Bree, flailing arms and all.
“I just thought he was kind of into you.” Izzy regards me thoughtfully. “I didn’t think you’d give him the time of day.”
“I tried that. Then I sketched his silhouette by the pond early one morning while he was playing guitar. We sort of clicked.”
“Is that what they call it these days?”
Kate throws a pillow at Bree, rolling her eyes as she tries not to laugh.
I digest their words, knowing it must have been hard for them to not say anything.
“This isn’t the end of the world, ladies. We’ve all had flings. We know how it goes.” But the looks on everyone’s faces tells me they’re not buying the act I’m putting on. Which is just as well. I don’t have the energy to keep up the facade.
Lucinda is on the phone when I walk into the main office, one finger raised in a just a moment gesture. I set my copy of our check-in receipt and keys on the counter and wait, my tote strap digging into my shoulder, the folded paper already in my hand.
When she hangs up, she pulls up our reservation without me having to say anything, the easy efficiency of someone who has done this ten thousand times.
“You’re checking out early?” Her kind eyes search mine. “Everything okay with your stay?”
“It was fantastic. I’m bringing my boys back next spring for toddler days.”
She brightens instantly. “I’m so glad.”
I sign where she indicates on the signature pad then slide my sketch across the counter while she’s emailing me the receipt.
She picks it up with both hands, and I watch her take it in. Cam’s silhouette, the guitar, the water in front of him. And I know the moment she understands what she’s looking at because her expression does something small and certain, theway people look when a thing they suspected turns out to be true.
“No note for Cam?” she asks.
“No note.”
She nods once, setting it carefully to the side as if it’s precious. “Safe travels, sweetheart.”
I’m out the door before she finishes the sentence.
The trail ride group is still filtering back when I reach the stables, horses and guests moving in that unhurried post-ride way, everybody a little sunburned and looser than they were this morning. I keep to the edge of it, hands in my hoodie pocket, until I find her.
Cinnamon is already in her stall, untacked, pulling at her hay net.
She hears me coming and turns, ears forward, nose over the stall door.
Nothing startles her. Not the sudden crack of a branch or a door swinging hard on its hinges. She just absorbs it and trusts that things are okay, which is something that took me the better part of a decade to learn how to do.
I pull out the apple slice and she takes it immediately, none of her usual ceremony, just hungry and glad to see me. I laugh a little at that, surprised by it, and scratch along her jaw while she chews.
“No manners today,” I tell her.
She leans her whole face into my hand, showing that she does have manners.
