Not the moment itself.
The way it feels like it could keep happening.
I push off the stall door and take a step closer, not interrupting, but not staying on the outside of it either, needing to be part of the space instead of watching it from a distance I can’t hold onto much longer.
“You do this with all the kids?” I ask, keeping my tone light, but there’s a sharp edge under it that I don’t bother smoothing out completely.
Jace glances at me, one brow lifting slightly like he hears it, like he understands exactly what I’m asking without me saying it outright. “Plenty of kids around here,” he replies, glancing toward the house. “My nieces and nephews all live on this ranch. I know my way around kids.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say.
“I know,” he answers, and there’s no defensiveness in it, no irritation, just a steady acknowledgment that somehow makes it harder to keep my guard exactly where I want it.
Hadley looks between us again, sensing something without understanding it, and I force myself to ease back just enough that she doesn’t feel it the way I do.
“I’m just saying,” I add, softer now, but no less firm. “She gets attached quickly.”
Jace’s gaze shifts back to Hadley, watching her for a second before he answers, his voice quieter this time. “Then we don’t give her a reason to regret it.”
That lands deeper than I expect, cutting straight through the argument I was lining up in my head, and I don’t have an immediate response for it, which irritates me more than anything else he’s done so far.
I don’t like not having something to push back with.
I don’t like that part of me that wants to believe him.
And I definitely don’t like that I’m standing here trying to figure out which version of him is real.
So I fall back on the only thing I can control.
Distance.
Even standing a few feet away, even watching every move, I start rebuilding it piece by piece, reminding myself that a couple of good moments don’t rewrite five years, that this is all new for him as much as it is for me, and that consistency isn’t proven in a day.
But as Hadley laughs softly and the horse shifts closer into her touch, and Jace adjusts again without making a big deal out of it, that distance feels thinner than it did when I walked in.
And that’s what unsettles me most.
Not him.
Not even this situation.
But the fact that, without meaning to…
I’m starting to question my own certainty.
I don’t let that thought sit long enough to take root. The second it does, it starts pulling everything else with it, and I’m not about to let a few minutes in a barn rewrite five years of decisions that kept her safe and steady.
“We need to be clear about what this is,” I say, pushing off the stall and stepping fully into the space instead of hovering at the edges, my tone even but firm in a way that doesn’t leave room for misinterpretation.
Jace straightens slightly, not pulling away from Hadley but shifting just enough to give me his full attention, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that he already knows where this is going.
“This isn’t drop-in whenever you feel like it,” I continue, keeping my voice controlled even though there’s a tightness sitting just under it that I can’t quite smooth out. “She doesn’t need someone who shows up when it’s convenient and disappears when it isn’t.”
He doesn’t interrupt, which somehow makes it harder. There’s no easy argument to push against, no reaction I can use to justify digging in deeper, just that steady focus that makes me feel like I actually have to say what I mean.
“I know you didn’t know about her,” I add, that matters whether I like it or not, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. “I’m not blaming you for that. But now you do, and that changes things.”
“It does,” he agrees, simple and direct, and there’s no hesitation in it.
