Page 70 of Prime Time Romance

But I may never forgive myself if I don’t do it.

I scrawl down Luce’s name on the other sheet, doing my best to disguise my handwriting because although I’m having a crisis of conscience, I’m still slightly terrified of Poppy.

My stomach instantly settles.

The meeting goes on for another hour.

Sixty full minutes on the appropriate way to wear our hair and select our evening wear. There’s even a suggested meal plan for the coming week. It pretty much cuts out all carbs, sugar, and joy.

Rehearsal attendance is mandatory.

Listening to all of it is twice as exhausting as my unplanned hike this morning, so when Poppy picks up her megaphone and proclaims in what I’ve come to realize is an unnaturally grating voice, “You are dismissed,” I bolt from the town hall before she has the chance to find me.

I decide to walk the beach home.

Mostly to avoid Poppy tracking me down, but also because it’s another banner day.

The rest of Carson’s Cove may be showing its flaws, but the sun is warm, and the sound of the waves is soothing. I find myself stopping to close my eyes and turn my face to the sun, enjoying the warmth and this sense of serenity.

Until I open my eyes and find a pair of familiar brown ones staring back at me.

“Ahhhhh,” I yell as I recognize the horse from this morning.

It doesn’t rear this time.

Or run away.

It just stares back at me, ears twitching, nostrils flaring until it lets out a horse-sized snort, covering me in horse boogers.

I wipe my face on my sleeve. “Okay. I get it. I probably deserved that.”

The horse turns its head, and I see Luce riding up the beach on the black-and-white-spotted horse. “Sorry about Buttercup there,” Luce calls to me. “She’s a curious girl with no sense of personal space.” Luce sidles up next to Buttercup, whispers a soft “Whoa, boy” to her own horse, then reaches down to retrieve Buttercup’s reins.

“Need a ride?”

“On the horse?”

Luce rolls her eyes. “No, I’m offering you a piggyback. Of course, the horse. I’m headed right past your house.”

This is not a good idea. Not only do I have a spotty history with this horse, but I’m still not sure if Luce knows I was at her farm this morning.

“It’s okay, I’m good. I was really looking forward to the walk.”

Luce looks down the beach, off in the direction of Sloan’s house. “You sure? Your place is a good six miles.”

She’s right. And I can feel the blisters already forming on my feet.

I eye the horse. “How do you feel about this?”

I don’t know how I expect the horse to answer, but I am surprised when she nudges my hand with her nose. I’m equally surprised with myself as I stroke her coat with the palm of my hand and find that I’m definitely not hating the way Buttercup’s ears flick, as if she’s also okay with this new corner we’ve turned.

“You know what? Why not?” I tell both the horse and Luce. “A ride home would be great.”

It takes several attempts to get into the saddle. Luce is surprisingly kind, showing me where to place my feet and how to hold the reins. Once I’m set, we start to move slowly down the beach.

“You’ve never struck me as much of a horse girl,” Luce says as Buttercup starts to pick up speed. “But look at you go. You’re a natural.”

I don’t need to be; Buttercup is a horse with an opinion. She ignores my heel clicks and “whoa, girls” and proceeds to slowly clop her way down the beach at her pace and on the path she chooses.