Page 31 of Three Months Yesterday

“I can’t stop, I’m too excited,” I shout, barely slowing down as the truck pulls to a stop.

Beckett’s laughter rings out and the sound washes over me.

A week since he arrived.

Seven days straight of seeing and talking to him. And now two days of him being in my home.

I have no one to blame but myself. I didn’t have to offer him my piano. He never needed to know about it, but for some reason I opened my mouth and gave up the last bit of solitude I had.

Two days trying to figure out what I was thinking, and I still have absolutely no idea.

What’s worse is I’ve managed to be out of the house any time he’s come over to play, and yet he’s there even when he isn’t. His woodsy, masculine scent lingers hours after he’s gone and little origami flowers are left by the coffee maker every time he leaves.

I tried to throw out the first one after I found it, but I only made it a few steps away from the trash before I had to turn around and retrieve it. Instead they now sit in a pile on top of my dresser, catching my eye every time I’m in my room.

I still get goose bumps when he looks at me…or talks to me…or laughs…or simply breathes in my presence.

It’s unnatural the way I feel around him, but that doesn’t stop me from spending more and more time with Beckett Stone.

I spent ten years with a man I thought I loved with all my heart and after seven days with this one—not having one encounter remotely close to romantic—I’m realizing I couldn’t have been more wrong about my feelings for Mark.

But if I was wrong about ten years with one man, how can I trust anything about what I’m feeling around this one?

And it’s only been seven days! It’s insane I’m thinking about any of this.

Besides, he’s leaving at the start of spring. There’s no point thinking about him as anything other than a friend.

Truthfully, that’s probably for the best.

“I don’t think I realized how excited you were when you talked about the horses arriving earlier this week.” Beckett steps up to my side, his arms banded across his chest.

“I don’t know if I let it show,” I say, glancing up at him. “I’ve learned not to get my hopes up about these things. It’s less of a letdown when they fall through.”

He nods, his eyes tracking the driver as he turns off the truck. “You’ve tried to get horses before?”

“Not horses, no. But other things I was excited to introduce to the inn and started the process but had to stop for one reason or another.”

I know Beckett wants to ask more, but the driver steps out of the truck and our conversation is put on hold.

Something I’m hoping he’ll forget about so we don’t have to continue talking about it.

While I’ve grown to enjoy my talks with Beckett over the last week, I don’t like talking about all the things I’ve failed to implement at the inn. Most of those come down to things my parents decided weren’t the right fit or it wasn’t the right time, and I’m tired of giving those thoughts any of my energy.

I may not have done everything I set out to do when I first started managing the place, but I’ve done a lot and every single thing is something I can be proud of. Something I know my parents are proud of too.

“All right, Mads,” Noah, the owner of the rescue, says as he walks toward Beckett and me, his attention focused on the clipboard in his hand. “Where are these beauties going?”

“I’ve got the stalls set up in the barn behind the house. Do you want to drive the trailer over there?” I ask, wanting to make sure this move is as free of stress as possible for these horses.

Adopting this mama and her three-year-old colt from a rescue may not have been the smartest idea for my first horses to own, but it’s what felt like the best fit for me. I needed to feel like I was giving animals a safe and comforting space, a home worth living in.

The rescue would never let these horses move somewhere new if they weren’t ready. They spend months, sometimes up to a year, working with a horse before they’ll even start looking for a new home for them.

In my bones, I knew I was doing right by these two, and that could never be wrong.

“No, it’ll be good for them to stretch their legs a bit on the walk over.” Noah tosses the clipboard into the truck before moving toward the back of the trailer, and I don’t even try to stop myself from bouncing on my toes.

The chuckle from Beckett doesn’t faze me. I’d probably laugh at him if the roles were reversed. As a matter of fact, the roles were reversed yesterday when his head of security showed up with a couple of his instruments.