Well. We’d had something—a sliver of it, anyway. And, as usual, I’d managed to let it slip.
“I didn’t mean—” she started, then stopped. “This isn’t just a job anymore.”
For a second, I believed she meant I wasn’t just a project or a problem she had to fix. That I was more to her than just a promise she made to her brother.
She’d just lit up the entire room—and now here she was, looking like someone had pulled the plug.
Her mouth opened again. I saw the words sitting there, waiting.
But she didn’t say them.
And I didn’t ask.
Maybe that’s what I always get wrong.
Chapter nine
Riley: Fear and Feels
Morning light filtered through the high windows of the rescue barn in slanted streaks. It caught the dust I kicked up as I moved from task to task like a woman possessed.
By the time I reached for the third bale of straw, I’d already reorganized the supply shelf, swept the side kennel twice, and scrubbed two perfectly clean water bowls. Again.
I am being productive, right? If I am productive, I can’t be avoiding anything. But the truth buzzed louder in my head than the fluorescent lights humming overhead.
I paused for a moment, resting my chin on the top of the broom. I loved how it felt to have his arms around me when we danced.
If we had been on a date instead of attending a gala, I would have wanted him to kiss me after that hug. Who am I kidding? I still want him to kiss me.
But then Vanessa had to open her perfectly glossed mouth and lace the whole night in doubt.
Now, I can’t stop running the moment through a different filter. What if none of it had been real? What if I’d imagined the way he looked at me?
Why am I such a mess?
I heaved the bale down by the back kennel with more force than necessary. Dust exploded around my boots, catching in the beam of light like glitter made of grit.
"You always throw hay like it's personal, or is that just a today thing?"
I froze.
Colton’s smooth and familiar voice echoed across the quiet barn aisle.
I didn’t turn. Maybe if I ignored him long enough, he’d vanish like my coffee's last bit of warmth.
"No cameras," he added, as if reading my mind. "No entourage. Just me."
I muttered something that might’ve been a greeting and busied myself with the latch on the feed bin.
He was walking toward me now—I could hear the crunch of his boots, slower than usual, careful. Cautious.
"Need a hand?"
"Nope."
"Are you sure? Because from here, it looks like that latch is winning."
I yanked it open with a satisfying clang. "Got it."
