“Friends…friends don’t do this kind of thing.”
His eyes gleamed, like he was hurting on the inside but trying to put on a brave face. “We’ve never been just friends, though, have we?”
Before I could answer, the smell of burning butter hit my nostrils.
“Oh, shit!” I pulled away from Hayden, breaking us apart, to run over to the stove.
Laughing, we both looked at the damage in the pot.
“What a waste of butter,” I sighed.
Hayden shrugged. “It was worth it to dance with you one more time.”
I rolled my lips between my teeth, awkwardly shifting on my feet. “I’m gonna start over on this. You should get the dumplings finished.”
Falling back into silence—this time with tension in the air—we finished cooking the meal.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been so stubborn. Maybe I should have held my tongue. This wasn’t what Mae had taught us, cooking silently instead of in a kitchen filled with laughter and love pouring out.
But I couldn’t change the past, a fact that haunted me every day.
We each plated our own food, sitting across from each other at the dining table.
“Thank you for helping.” Hayden smiled, although it was a bit sad.
I poked my fork around my plate. “Of course.”
He nodded, digging in, so I followed suit. Even with a single bite, the flavors bursting on my tongue were able to bring the childhood memories flooding back.
CHAPTER TWELVE
hayden
APRIL, FRESHMAN YEAR
Ithink at this rate, you’ll be able to join the team by next year! You’re picking up everything so fast.” Alyssa, one of the older girls in the high school rodeo association and a cousin of mine, was talking to Sierra in the arena at my family’s place.
A radiant smile flashed across Sierra’s face, though she still seemed a bit shy. “Thanks.”
“Keep working at it. If you ever want to practice with someone there to give you tips, you have my phone number now.” Alyssa spun on her heel to head to her pickup, giving Sierra a quick wave.
“She’s really good,” she whispered as she passed by me.
“I know,” I whispered back.
Sierra was still standing in the arena with her hands in her pockets, staring at the horse my parents let her ride.
“What are you thinking about?”
She turned her head toward me. “Nothing.” Her eyes betrayed her, though, deep, green pools of sadness.
“You sure? You can tell me, you know.”
Sierra sighed, the whoosh of the air leaving her lungspiercing through the silence between us. “My grandparents had horses. That’s where I learned how to ride. I miss them.”
“Are they…” I hesitated asking whether her grandparents were still alive or not.
“Dead? No. They’re still alive. The horses, too, if that’s what you meant.”
