“You’re good with him,” Maurice said, stepping closer.
Finn shrugged, but he looked pleased. “I forgot how much I missed this.”
Maurice watched him for a moment—how careful he was, how gentle. “You look like you belong out here,” he said.
Finn glanced over, smiling. “So do you.”
A weight settled low in Maurice’s gut, heavy enough to steal his breath. Out here, with the mountains stretching wide and Finn standing close enough that their shoulders brushed, it was easy to imagine this wasn’t temporary. Easy to imagine Finn riding beside him back home, laughing on the trails, leaning against him by the lake.
He didn’t say any of that. Not yet.
Instead, he reached out and let his fingers graze Finn’s wrist—light, testing. Finn didn’t pull away. He turned his hand, letting Maurice’s fingers slide into his.
And just like that, the entire morning became brighter.
The ranch owner pointed them toward a simple loop trail and left them to it. The morning sun was climbing higher, warming the tops of the grass and throwing long shadows behind the horses as they started down the path.
They rode in comfortable silence for a minute, the only sounds the soft clop of hooves and the distant hum of the city behind them. The mountains loomed near, their rough surfaces almost within reach, and the air carried the dry scent of sage, dust, and warm sunshine.
Finn glanced over. “So… what was it like growing up with two brothers?”
Maurice frowned at all the bad memories. “Loud. Messy. My brothers and I were always outside fighting. My mom used to say she only saw us at dinner and when we needed bandages.”
Finn grinned. “I always wanted a sister or brother.”
“I always wondered what it would be like to be an only child,” Maurice said.
“It was lonely.”
Maurice nodded. “Where I live is on the outskirts of Chatsworth, and I have trails, brooks, and lakes. Great for camping too.”
Finn’s eyes softened. “I wish I could see it.”
“You will.”
Finn looked down at his reins, smiling as if he were trying to hide it. “You say that as if it’s already decided.”
“It is,” Maurice said.
Finn’s breath caught, and Maurice felt the moment settle between them—quiet, certain, like the trail itself had paused to listen.
They continued riding, the horses falling into an easy rhythm. At one point, Finn’s horse drifted closer again, brushing against Maurice’s. Finn didn’t move away. Instead, he let his knee rest lightly against Maurice’s, a small touch turning bigger than it should’ve.
Maurice reached over, fingers brushing Finn’s forearm. “Hot yet?”
Finn shook his head. “No. Just… comfortable.”
Maurice let his hand linger a second longer before pulling back. “Good.”
They reached a small rise overlooking a stretch of open field. The mountains framed the horizon, blue and sharp and impossibly beautiful. Finn stopped his horse and just stared.
“Wow,” he whispered.
Maurice watched him instead of the view. “Yeah,” he said. “Wow.”
Finn turned, catching him looking. “You’re not even pretending to look at the mountains.”
“No,” Maurice said. “I’m not.”
