But it also lingered.
Her hand hesitated for a fraction of a second before settling against me, her eyes flicking to mine first, searching, like she needed to know she was welcome.
I didn’t pull away, didn’t even think about it. I just let it happen.
“You made good time,” she said as she stepped back.
“Didn’t hit traffic.”
What I didn’t say was that I’d driven faster than I should have, that I’d spent most of the drive thinking about this house, about hearing her voice in my kitchen, about the way Harper had said she looked sad. About how none of it had sat right with me until I was back here.
Later, after Harper crashed hard from a mix of sugar and excitement, the house settled into something quieter, more familiar. Dani and I ended up on opposite ends of the couch, the space between us still there, although not as deliberate as it had been before. Not as necessary.
She handed me a beer, her fingers brushing mine just long enough to register. It wasn’t accidental. But it wasn’t something either of us acknowledged, either.
“You mentioned something,” she said after a moment, her tone casual in a way that told me she’d been thinking about it. “About Buck.”
I leaned back, taking a sip. “My horse.”
She nodded, tucking one leg beneath her. “You don’t say much. So when you do, I remember.”
Most people didn’t catch the small things. I didn’t make it easy for them to, but she did. Without effort. Without asking.
For a second, I thought about brushing it off. But instead, I held her gaze and let her see that I knew.
“You miss it?” she asked.
I shrugged, keeping it simple. “Sometimes.” Even that felt like more than I usually gave.
She didn’t push.
Didn’t ask for more than I offered.
Just let the silence settle, easy and unforced, like she understood that not everything needed to be explained.
“You said you used to ride all the time,” she added after a beat.
“Every chance I got.”
“You ever take Harper somewhere like that?”
“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended, cutting through the quiet, and I felt it immediately. But Dani didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat.
She just watched me, tentatively, like she wasn’t afraid of whatever edge I’d let slip.
“What if you did?” she asked, softer now.
There was no expectation in it. No pressure. Just the kind of suggestion that didn’t demand anything back.
“What are you planning, Counselor?” I asked, narrowing my eyes slightly.
The corner of her mouth lifted, mischief settling in her eyes like she was lining something up and enjoying every second of it.
“Nothing illegal,” she said, deadpan. “Relax.”
???
The next morning, she handed me coffee and my hat and told me to put on boots.
