I move to step around him, intending to put space back where it belongs. The stall is narrower than I accounted for, and for a brief second I’m closer to him than I planned. Close enough to catch the scent of leather, sun and something that feels entirely too familiar for comfort.
He doesn’t move out of the way immediately.
Not blocking me.
Not crowding.
Just… there.
And that hesitation, that fraction of a second where neither of us shifts first, stretches longer than it should.
“Careful,” he says quietly, one hand coming up just enough to steady the stall door as I pass, not touching me, but close enough that I feel the intention of it anyway.
I glance up at him without meaning to, and for a second the rest of the barn fades out. The sounds, the movement, even Hadley’s quiet humming as she keeps brushing. All of it pulling back until it’s just that look, steady and focused in a way that has nothing to do with the conversation we just had.
It would be easier if he pushed.
If he argued.
If he gave me something solid to push against.
But he doesn’t.
And that leaves me standing here, trying to ignore the fact that there’s something else threading through all of this, something quieter and far more dangerous than anything we’ve said out loud.
I break eye contact first. I have to, stepping past him and putting that space back between us like it belongs there. Like it’s the only thing keeping everything else from slipping into something I’m not ready to deal with.
“Hadley,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel, “we’re not staying all afternoon.”
She looks up at me, brushing slowing just a little. “Okay,” she says, but there’s a hint of reluctance there that wasn’t there yesterday, and I notice that too.
Everything feels sharper now.
I turn back toward the open side of the barn. Letting the light hit my face as I take a breath that doesn’t quite settle anything. I can feel him behind me, not close, not pushing, just present in a way that doesn’t fade the second I look away.
And that’s the problem.
Not the tension.
Not even the arguments.
But the fact that underneath all of it…
There’s something building that I don’t have control over.
And if I’m not careful…
That’s the part that’s going to change everything.
I don’t let the moment stretch any further. The longer I stand here, the easier it is to forget why I came with boundaries in the first place. I turn back toward them with a decision already set in place, even if it doesn’t feel as solid as it did when I walked in.
“We should head out,” I say, keeping my tone even, like it’s just part of the plan and not something I’m forcing back into control. “She’s got school in the morning, and I don’t want her to be overly tired.”
Hadley’s brush slows, then stops, and she looks up at me with that same open expression that makes everything harder than it needs to be. “Already?” she asks, the disappointment soft but unmistakable.
“Already,” I confirm, gentler this time, stepping closer so she can see I mean it without it feeling like a punishment. “We can come back another day.”
She hesitates, her gaze drifting back to Jace like she’s weighing whether that’s a promise she trusts yet. I feel that shift all over again, the way her attention splits between us in a way it never has before.
