She reaches up to stroke the space between Monty’s eyes, her touch tentative but sure, like muscle memory.
“Perfect,” Emmett says, clapping his hands once. He gives Monty another pat before moving on to get his own horse ready.
I mount my horse, Falcon, and head to the start of the trail. The sun is beginning to rise behind the mountains, spilling orange light across the sky.
When I glance over my shoulder, Emmett’s seated on Maximus, reins in hand. Behind him, I catch Sadie climbing onto the saddle with practiced ease—posture straight, hands steady and confident, taking control like it’s nothing.
My mouth twitches before I can stop it, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner. Dangerous. I look away, pushing away the warmth in my chest.
I can’t afford that. Not with her.
Falcon shifts beneath me, and I guide him forward, keeping my eyes locked on the horizon instead of the girl behind me.
We’realmostbacktothe main house when I veer us off the usual path.
If Emmett notices, he doesn’t say anything. He usually doesn’t. Which means he probably already knows exactly where I’m headed.
That, or he’s too busy watching her.
He’s not subtle about it, either.
Every time I glance back, his attention is fixed on Sadie like she’s going to disappear if he looks away. It’s careless. He’s going to make her uncomfortable if he keeps it up.
Or maybe she’s used to it.
I don’t know why that thought irritates me.
They’ve kept a decent distance behind me, far enough that I don’t have to acknowledge either of them. The climb steepens as we crest the hill, and I hear it then—the sharp intake of breath behind me.
I don’t turn right away.
I already know what she’s seeing.
When I finally give in and glance over, I instantly regret it.
The sun is a whisper over the horizon, casting a pink-orange glow and bathing the field of wildflowers in color.
Her mouth parts slightly, and those big green eyes go wide, like she’s trying to take it all in at once.
It’s not just that she’s beautiful—because she is. But not in a poetic way. Just in a way that makes it harder to breathe. Harder to think.
But that’s not the problem.
The problem isme—and that pisses me off even more.
It’s quiet out here. Always has been.
It’s my favorite place. I’ve been coming out here to escape for as long as I can remember. When things got loud. When I needed space. When I didn’t want to explain myself to anyone.
I thought maybe if I brought her here, she could feel it, too. But now I feel completely fucking stupid for thinking that.
My eyes choose that exact moment to risk sliding over to her once more. She hasn’t moved, still staring out into the seemingly endless sea of florals.
She hasn’t mentioned anything specific, but she doesn’t have to. There’s a permanent tension about her—like she’s braced for impact, even when nothing is happening.
I don’t know what broke her, but I can see the jagged edges of it every time I look at her. And baggage just means more trouble in my life that I don’t need.
She glances over then, her eyes catching mine before I can look away again. For a split second, it feels like she sees straight through me and the wall I’ve built between us.
