“Just no idea what existed out in the world. Maybe you're right. Maybe I've been cooped up in my city life for too long, and this is what I need. Time in the outdoors. Time on the back of a horse, time with a nice guy.”
“Is that how you see me? A nice guy?” He leans toward me with a smirk, his tone half teasing, half serious, and I wonder how he wants me to characterize him. Or how he’d characterize himself.
“Yep. You’re pretty darn nice,” I say, but I’m lying. “Nice” only scratches the surface of how I’m beginning to feel about him. He makes me feel brave. Daring. A capable cowgirl riding a horse up a mountain.
And the way he takes care of every detail—takes care of me—is a sweet, addictive balm for someone who’s always the responsible adult in the room. Not to mention his protective instincts, his dry wit, his hardworking nature, and that lone wolf thing he has going. All of that, plus the way he takes care of the people in Willow Springs, makes him far more than handsome.
He takes a step closer to me and points at an eagle circling over the valley. His proximity ramps up my pulse and heats my skin.
I look out at the view, and for the first time in my life, I understand what it means to be speechless. There's nothing I can say that could possibly sum up the beauty that lies in front of me.
“This—this is…” I stutter and stumble, trying to put into words what I am looking at. It's better than the view I first had when I climbed up the berm and looked out over Fitz's property. Thinking back to that day, I want to laugh at myself. After living in Los Angeles for my entire life and spending ample time staring at the Pacific Ocean, I thought I knew the extent of natural beauty.
That first glimpse of lush, flowering greenery on Fitz’s land looked like Mother Earth had given birth right there, her crowning achievement. I feel pride on her behalf.
And now that I know Fitz was responsible for the vision for the place, I appreciate him for the quiet way he makes things happen without fanfare. Like this ride, which he made sound like an idle idea that might be fun to explore. It’s so much more.
I don’t tell him any of this because I need to respect his boundaries. He will always live two hours away from me and have his own life. It is enough that we’re bound as co-parents. It has to be enough.
We stand there so long that eventually the sun dips behind a mountain covered in sheets of tall green grasses that blow in the breeze like a wave. I watch the wind catch one end of a field and take the tips of the stalks with it as it shimmers across. Over and over.
It's mesmerizing. The same feeling I have when I look at the ocean, its powerful churn kissing the sand on the shoreline, pulling seashells into the tide and washing them back onto the beach.
My eyes travel upward to where the green meadows meld with the trunks of trees stretching to the sky. Some of the leavesare evergreen, and some are starting to turn a golden brown. The weather is still warm this time of year because this is California after all, and even for a place with normally temperate weather, it's an unseasonably sunny day.
It's so still and quiet where we are, with only the slight churn of water from a brook somewhere nearby, which only serves to amplify the chirping of birds in trees I can't even see.
Sounds of nature are all I hear, other than my own heartbeat, which flutters at the sheer beauty of the place. But also in the presence of this man, who’s able to push me and reassure me in the same moment.
“I know,” Fitz says. “It's the best place in this whole damn valley. I used to come up here once a day just to let my thoughts roam and enjoy the peace and quiet. But lately, I’ve been too swamped to get here as much.”
“When's the last time you were here?” I ask.
He thinks about it, letting out a long, slow breath. “It's probably been a month, easy.”
It surprises me. If I had access to this view, I’d make a point of coming once a week. Then again, I have access to hikes in the Santa Monica Mountains with incredible ocean views, and I can’t think of the last time I put on my trail shoes. Maybe it’s the same living out here. We take too many things for granted. For months, sometimes. Years.
“Really? You went from coming daily to not coming for a month?”
“You know how it is. When you get busy on a project and work takes its toll, even the important things in life start to fall away.”
“True. I can’t remember the last time I left work in time to see the sunset, and lately, I don’t even know why I’m working so hard. Somehow, I jumped into the race and forgot that maybe it’s not a race I want to win. I think I got caught up in the noise.”
It feels good to admit my dissatisfaction with my job out loud, but I have no idea what to do about it. “Anyway, it shouldn't be like that,” I say.
“But that’s life. The times when you need the peace and quiet are the times you convince yourself you’re good with the noise. Even when there’s a place like this a couple of miles away. Our brains know what we need, but that doesn’t mean they’re good at listening to what's right.”
I cling to this small reveal, wondering about the noise he lives with.
He stares out, and his chest expands as he breathes in the cool air. I know how good his muscular torso looks under his chambray shirt, but I’m more interested in watching him breathe right now. Seems like he needs it as much as I do.
“Talk to me, cowboy.” I hope my voice sounds soft, nonthreatening. My sisters tell me that I use my lawyer voice way too much, the one that makes people jump to attention and worry they’ve done something wrong even when they haven’t. It’s never felt like a liability until this moment when I want Fitz to feel comfortable opening up. “What has you stressed?”
He shrugs. “Just this and that.”
I nudge him with my shoulder. “Come on. You can do better. Use your words.”
He flinches and shoots me a side-eye, and I worry I’ve pushed too hard. Gingerly, I reach for his hand, half-expecting him to jerk it away when our fingers touch. But he closes his palm around mine and my pulse jumps like I’ve been wired to a defibrillator.
