‘Not any more.’ Now, I don’t have the brain space to think about the horse. I swing myself down, a little clunky but right down, nevertheless. My shoes land in the gravel with a satisfying crunch. ‘Show me.’
She squints in thought a moment before placing a hand to the brim of her baseball cap. ‘This isn’t technically how we do it. Don’t hold me to this.’
‘To what?’
‘Do you know the cowboy hat rule, Romeo?’ She slides her cap off, taking a step closer to me. The warmth of her body is nearly right against mine as she reaches out and fits the hat on my head, her fingers lingering on my forehead.
‘I’m gonna need to, won’t I?’ I tease her as her hands fall to my shoulders, guiding me closer and closer to her.
‘Wear the hat,’ she says, drawing one side of her bottom lip between her teeth a little. Something in my chest goes feral when her smile turns fully mischievous. ‘Ride the cowboy.’
‘Well, I may not love horses, but that, I can work with.’
‘That was so corny, Rod. So weird. Please take that back.’
‘Absolutely …’ I pull her closer with a hand to her waist. ‘Not.’
The gentle breeze plays at strands of her long hair, and it brushes my cheeks, her eyes narrowing with her smile when Hermes neighs, clopping closer to the fence as if to bring us back to the task at hand.
‘Keep that.’ Her smile only broadens as she pulls away, hoisting herself back up on her horse’s saddle. I hate the way the heat dissipates from my body, registers her absence. ‘I’ll lead them. You follow. Open it!’
With a shake of my head and a laugh, I swing the fence gate open.
Jordan gives the horses a whistle and a ‘C’mere!,’ then a gentle pat to Hermes’s side. As if she’s known this horse all her life, they gallop into the pasture, and I literally can’t do anything but watch, rapt, as she rounds Genny’s horses up, taking Hermes in tight loops that get the rest of them running behind her. She slips through the gate, and at least ten horses follow in a clipped trot across the dirt road, towards the barn. I’m still agape, clambering back onto Tiramisu as the last of the horses leave.Well. Her insane riding abilities definitely explain the mind-blowing sex.
But it’s beyond that. She’s a free spirit, out there with the horses behind her, untamed smile all across her face. It might be the fact that I haven’t felt that way in a long time that does it, but riding alongside her, a whole new wave of emotions stirred in my chest, both so simple and so complex. This is definitely not the way it’s supposed to go. I’m supposed to have my head about myself. Supposed to be unshakable, even when I’m tempted by that free spirit thundering off into the distance.
It takes me a good minute before a creaking behind me captures my attention. The fucking open fence gate.
Tiramisu whinnies something that I know is supposed to be derision.
‘Shit,’ I grumble.
‘We’re taking her boating next.’
Bianca already has a wine glass in hand, deeming four p.m. ‘me time’. She waves it with dangerous enthusiasm as she speaks, her wavy black hair bouncing.
‘You’re not taking her anywhere after this ambush,’ I point my beer in her direction before taking a gulp. ‘That was … whose idea was that, anyway?’
Genny willingly raises her glass. ‘Mine. Fully mine. Bia loved it, though.’
I stare my sisters down so hard I should be melting metal at this point.
‘You need a wing-woman!’ Bia insists. She sets her glass on the counter before grabbing me by the shoulders and giving mea good shake. ‘And who better than us? The tension between you two? Oh, my God, it’s unreal.’
‘Right? I’m telling you,’ Genny chimes in, suddenly no longer ‘whatever helps you sleep at night’ about this. ‘You’re—’
‘It’s a summer fling,’ my voice bites harder than I intend it to. ‘I don’t need wing-women, guys.’
My loud, headstrong sisters go silent. The only sound is of Bia taking another sip from her wine glass, a gentle clink when she sets it down once more.
Genny swallows. She moves to say something, but then nothing. Looks to Bianca.
It’s always been that way, pretty much. We tend to look to Bianca. Bia is the one who stayed back: Boston, with the rest of the family, heading up the restaurant in the North End – Little Italy – after Ma and Dad retired. The responsible one. Married, with two kids, all her ducks in a row. Genny, too. Maybe that’s why our parents didn’t see it coming when everything happened between Charlotte and me.
‘How long are you gonna take it easy, huh?’ Bia’s voice is gentle, but still layered with that firmness we all associate with her. I used to joke it was probably just a combination of her Boston accent and all the time she spends in Little Italy. Whatever it is, it’s comforting, and yet straight to the heart. ‘Deny yourself happiness? Keep putzing around instead of accepting a good thing?’
‘Long as I need,’ I reply bluntly.
