Page 25 of Sunrise Arrows

“We can’t get too excited,” I warn.

Her hands move to my shoulders as she steps back. Staring me down, she demands, “And why not?”

“Because, it was one moment on the bathroom floor,” I explain, building sandwiches and wrapping them in paper for Briar to put in the basket. “In the light of day, it could mean absolutely nothing to him, and I need to keep that in mind.”

“Or,” she counters. “It could mean as much to him as it does to you.”

“Then why did he never call? Why did he move on so easily?” I mumble, my lip threatening to tremble. “Why wasn’t I worth waiting for or coming after?”

Briar turns me around, pulling my shoulders back to fix my slumping posture, and unties my apron.

“All things that need to be asked and discussed. But Tinsley,” she says sternly, turning me back, “Don’t let your insecurities win. You’re allowed to have hope and be excited. You have a second chance with your muse.” She says it incredibly exaggerated and with the goofiest face “See it through. Otherwise, songs of what could have been and holding your breath through the self-inflicted heartbreak are all you’ll have when we leave. And if that’s the case, I’m going to be incredibly pissed that we skipped over Paris for Green Acres, Tennessee. Please, make my time in Hell worth it.”

“And then I’ll never hear the end of it,” I tease, accepting the basket.

“Not even when we’re old and gray,” she confirms. “Now go give Lover Boy a sweet, afternoon treat—and maybe after, give him the lunch you made too.”

“BRIAR!”

“What?” she laughs, ruining her attempt at looking innocent.

She walks me to the door where her purse and the keys to the SUV we’re renting are waiting on a white antique finished, wood entry table.

“Umm, Briar?” I ask.

Already eating her no bacon BLT, she hums, “Hmm?”

“I haven’t driven in eight years and never bothered to renew my license after it expired.”

“Oh shit, that’s right.” Swallowing her bite of food, she grabs her keys and purse and says, “Come on, Miss Daisy; Hoke’s got you.”

“Thanks, babe,” I laugh, following her out of the house.

* * *

We slowly pullup to the open gate of Emerald Lake Ranch—its 1,000 acre expanse along a peninsula of Berry Lake even further away from town than our rental—Briar’s mouth gaping as she looks up at the nearly 225 year old wooden arch with the ranch’s name carved in.

She turns in her seat and very seriously asks, “Tinsley, when you said Archer’s family was in the horse business, did you by chance mean theracehorse business?”

I don’t meet her eye as I play with my fingers and quickly confirm with a jerky nod of my head.

“Is your ex ArcherHayes?!” she shrieks. “As in, Hayes Breeding and Training? The multi-billiondollar ranch? Their studs’ sperm is worth millions. They’ve trained horses that have won the Belmont Stakes, the Breeders’ Cup Classic, the fucking Kentucky Derby. Jay Gatsby was one of theirs!” She looks at me like I’m insane and she no longer recognizes me as she demands, “What the hell were you thinking leaving him? He’s abillionaire, Tinsley—with a B!”

I finally remove my gaze from the spot on my jeans I’ve been steadfastly giving my attention to and look up at the old, historic arch that once greeted me every single day. The landmark of what became my home when I stopped returning to my parents’ condo every night and moved in with Archer.

I elect to believe her question is rhetorical—a teasing poke at me more than anything else. A whisper of relief leaves me when the SUV begins moving again and Briar’s astonishment turns to jest.

“Then again, all the money in the world isn’t worth having Hunter as a brother-in-law. Jesus, he’s an ass.”

“He wasn’t always.”

“Yeah, okay,” she scoffs in dismissal.

We follow the unpaved road as it bends and curves along the property until the main offices come into view.

Operations for the ranch are run out of an old, converted stable. The siding is dove gray and the roof slate—the hues of blue in the darker shade coming through with the sun high in the sky. A small, rectangular clock tower reaches up with matte black face clocks and brass hands displaying the time in Roman numerals on every side. The sloped roof of the artificial tower is capped off with a point extending up into a galloping horse adorned weathervane. Where stalls once were are picture windows framed in the same slate gray paint as the roof. Reclaimed wood makes up a new set of massive barn doors which are pulled open, showing off rustic herringbone patterned floors and giving a clear line of sight to the other end where matching doors are also open, allowing a glimpse beyond at the paddocks, tracks, hot walkers, and active stables.

Being here is like watching a movie of my past play out. I can see myself fling into Archer’s arms. My legs wrap around his waist as he catches and kisses me like we haven’t seen each other in a year and not just for a night. Breathless and shy laughter echoes inside my head from when we pulled back just enough to catch our breath. I can almost feel the tight embrace of his arms. It’s easy to recall the cool taste of spearmint from his toothpaste on my tongue and the smell of hay, leather, and morning dew.

---