Page 40 of Broken Trails
She shifts her weight onto one foot. “Already regretting it.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Did you enjoy the race?”
She shrugs, eyes skimming over my shoulder. “It was okay.”
Okay.
That word rattles around in my chest louder than it should. She’s downplaying it, I know she is. She never gives anything away unless she means to, and even then, it’s laced in sarcasm or wrapped in ice. “Just okay?”
“Well, you did come second, didn’t you?”
“Touché.” I huff a laugh, and she lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug that’s not quite apologetic. I study her for a moment.The way her arms hug her frame. The tightness in her mouth. “Thanks for coming anyway.”
“I didn’t come for you.” She tilts her head. “Figured I should make use of my time while I’m here.”
I smile, and this time, I’m sure it meets my eyes. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s just so damn her. Of course she’d say that.
“Well, I’m still glad you did.” I nod toward the food stall. “You eaten yet?”
She shakes her head, and before she can say more, Imogen sidles in with a grin. “I’ve tried everything to get her to eat, but she won’t touch a thing,” she says lightly, though her glance toward Zoe carries a flicker of concern.
Zoe just shrugs, folding her arms across her middle like she’s trying to make herself smaller. She’s not one for the spotlight—that much is obvious. But it’s more than shyness. I see it in the way she flinches at quick movements, the way her eyes dart away when attention lands on her. Like she’s always half-preparing for something that doesn’t come. I can’t pretend to understand it. But I can’t shake the feeling that, for her, comfort’s never been a safe place to land.
The group shifts around us. Conversation picks back up, though Zoe remains quiet. Her hand rubs absently up and down her arm, her gaze skimming past everyone.
“I think I’m gonna head home,” she says, almost too casually. “Check on the kitten and all that.” She offers the others a soft wave. “Thanks, Imogen.”
Her eyes flick to mine, and I’m already moving to follow. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“No need.” Her reply is instant, curt. “I think I’ll be just fine.”
I nod once. “I’m sure you will be. But I’m gonna do it anyway.”
Her eyes narrow.
“It’s what friends do, right?”
She gives me the full, dramatic eyeroll treatment before turning on her heel. She doesn’t wait up, but I trail after her anyway—not that she can move fast in those shoes. Heels? Whatever they are, my strides eat up the ground easily, but I hang back just enough to keep a sliver of space between us. I’ve never met a woman so determined to keep me at arm’s length. And I don’t mean that in some arrogant I get all the girls way . It’s just… strange. I’m used to women leaning in, not stepping back. Smiling wider, not ducking away. Not her, though. Zoe’s an entirely different playbook, and I haven’t worked out the rules yet.
We walk in silence. Gravel crunches under our shoes, and the air is cooler now, carrying the smell of eucalyptus and dust. Somewhere in the distance, a kid laughs loud enough to carry in the air. She keeps a half-step ahead, arms folded tight, chin down.
I could tell her I rode the best I have in months. That seeing her in the crowd threw me off in a way I didn’t hate. That I’ve been reading every shrug and sidestep like it’s a code I might crack if I just stare long enough.
But I don’t.
Instead, I just walk beside her, like some idiot with more to say than he knows what to do with. At her car, she unlocks it without a word, hand already on the door.
“You know,” I say, scratching the back of my neck, “you don’t have to look so ready to bolt all the time.”
Her glance is quick, but I catch the tiredness behind it. “I’m not. I’m just tired,” she says quietly. “And I should check on the kitten.”
That’s the second time she’s used that line tonight. I smirk. “You two getting along that well already?”
She doesn’t answer at first, but her lips twitch like they’re fighting a smile. “Mhm.”
It’s soft. Almost fond.
I bump my shoulder lightly into hers. “Told you she’d grow on you.”
