I was never a horse person before I came here. Mom made sure both Diana and I took lessons for a few years, if only to say that her girls took riding lessons at one of more prestigious barns in Greenwich. Everything was done for show. I didn’t get it then like I do now.
Horses are big and heavy, with four feet that end in solid hooves. They could kill you in seconds if they wanted to. Putting your faith and trust into an animal this powerful seems like a death wish, doesn’t it? But they trust you back.
And that bond is something I still can’t explain, yet here I am, drinking wine from the bottle while talking to Sundance. People on the east coast would pay good money for this kind of therapy.
“Telling Mom I was engaged was stupid. I can’t hire an escort, and I’m pretty sure they’re going think I want sex, and I don’t. Not even from Stephan and his perfect abs that I’m pretty sure were photoshopped into that photo.” I take another drink of wine. “And the one guy that might have agreed to play the part doesn’t want anything to do with me right now.”
I let out a sigh and rest my head against the wooden stall. “I’m going to have to tell Mom that I either made up the fiancé thing, pretend like we had a very dramatic break-up, or try to convince everyone he wasn’t able to get off work.”
I let out a breath and swat away mosquitos.
“I think I get it now. I’m still trying. Trying to fit in. Trying to follow their rules. Well, fuck their rules.” I raise the bottle of wine, toasting myself.
Sundance sticks his head over the stall guard and noses for the wine again. I get up and get him a treat, which of course makes the others want treats too. I toss a treat in everyone’s food buckets and then give Sundance a hug goodnight. I lock up the barn and go back inside, feeling a bit lighter.
Quietly, I sneak through the house and up to my room. I change into PJs and climb into bed, trying to tell myself it’ll be all right in the morning. I don’t work tomorrow, and by the time I see Logan again, enough time will have passed that things won’t be awkward anymore.
It has to.
Going against my better judgment, I grab my phone and send Logan one of the better Game of Thrones memes I’ve been saving. There’s a chance he’s sleeping, but then the text goes from delivered to read, and I hate that he never disabled that feature on his phone. Because now I’m going to stare at my phone for the rest of the night waiting for him to reply.
I exit out of my texts and check my email. This time, there really is another job rejection letter in there, telling me that while my resumé is impressive, I lack the experience the company is looking for.
How the heck am I supposed to get experience when no one will hire me? Though, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m glad I didn’t get that job. The office is down in Indianapolis, and the thought of leaving Eastwood makes me a little sad.
I black out the screen of my phone and set it on the nightstand. Orange Cat paws at my door, and I throw back the covers to let him in. He runs away as soon as the door is open.
“Jerk,” I grumble and fall back into bed. Closing my eyes, I think of Grandpa’s words: how lucky you that you get to fail.
I’m still trying to feel lucky.* * *
I climb up the basement stairs and emerge into the narrow hall that runs behind the kitchen at Getaway. It’s Monday, about an hour before we open, and I just finished inventorying our hard liquor supply. I haven’t seen Logan since Friday, and he never responded to my text.
The air is different now, and it’s slowly eating away at me. I would give anything to go back to that moment in the fridge and kiss him instead of waiting for him to kiss me.
“I got everything counted,” I say and extend the clipboard, heart in my throat.
“Thanks.” He takes the clipboard from me and sets it on the desk. “Now I can see how much to take out of Owen’s paycheck.”
I smile, just wanting things to go back to normal between us. “I’m pretty sure you can take out at least two bottles of Patron and a handful of beers.”
Logan chuckles and plants his feet on the ground, pushing the rolling chair back to the printer, grabbing the paper that it spits out. He spins the chair around and looks at me, really looks at me. My lips part and my pulse speeds up, getting a flash of his body against mine, the heat of his skin contrasting with the cold metal of the fridge.