For a second, we freeze. I swear, his eyes flick to my mouth.
This is almost a moment. A proper romcom moment. The kind that comes with a soundtrack and soft lighting. And then I remember that we have an audience again.
‘Sorry,’ I blurt, pulling back too quickly.
He loosens his grip but doesn’t let go completely, probably making sure I don’t fall again. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ he says quietly.
‘I think I’ve hurt my ankle,’ I say, as though it weren’t obvious.
‘You want help gettin’ back to the main house?’ he asks.
‘Erm, please,’ I reply, with no other options, although it’s a long way to limp, even with help.
I take a step and the pain shoots again.
‘Ow, ow, ow,’ I cry out.
‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to walk,’ he insists.
I narrow my eyes.
‘Are you going to carry me?’ I joke.
Carrying me out of the fountain was one thing, but it really is a long way back to the house.
‘I’m not going to carry you,’ he replies. ‘Not all the way.’
Then, without warning, he bends forward, scoops me up under my knees with one arm, supports my back with the other, and lifts me like I weigh absolutely nothing.
I notice a few of the onlookers audibly react – little gasps, claps, cheers, even. Everyone loves a hero, I guess.
He only carries me for a few steps, to where Biscuits is dutifully waiting.
‘You ever ridden before?’ he asks.
‘A horse?’ I reply.
Obviously a fucking horse. Why the fuck did I ask that?
He smiles and nods.
‘No,’ I say.
He lifts me up and settles me onto Biscuits’ back, side-saddle, with the ease of a man who probably does dreamy hero shit like this all the time. I think it probably comes with the territory, having a face and a body like that.
I clutch the saddle (or whatever is there) like my life depends on it.
The cowboy takes the reins, his hand resting lightly on the horse’s neck.
‘It’s okay, she likes you,’ he reassures me.
‘How do you know?’
‘She didn’t bite you,’ he replies.
‘Wow,’ I blurt.
‘She’s a horse,’ he says. ‘They’re honest creatures. Loyal though. If you’re okay by me, you’ll be okay by her.’
