Page 221 of Better When Shared
That hit home. I watched the resistance drain from his shoulders, replaced by resignation. “Fine. But just petting. No riding.”
“No riding,” I agreed, leading him toward where Imogen waited with an amused expression.
“The famous Makai Yamamoto, defeated by a pony named Butterscotch,” she teased as we approached. “If only your adventure clients could see you now.”
“They never will,” Makai said firmly, “because I’ll deny everything.”
I positioned myself between Makai and Butterscotch, placing one hand on the pony’s neck while keeping my other hand on Makai’s lower back. With gentle pressure, I urged him closer.
“Butterscotch is the gentlest creature on the property,” I explained, watching Makai’s face carefully. “He’s been used for children’s riding lessons for years..”
“You never know when they’ll turn bad,” Makai muttered, but he allowed me to guide him within arm’s reach of the pony.
“Just hold your hand out, palm flat,” I instructed, demonstrating with my own hand. “Let him come to you.”
Makai hesitated, then slowly extended his hand, his fingers rigid with tension. Butterscotch, unperturbed by the human dramaunfolding before him, stretched his neck forward to investigate, his velvety muzzle brushing against Makai’s palm.
The moment of contact made Makai gasp. His eyes widened, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face. “He’s so... soft.”
“Softer than you expected?” Imogen asked, her voice gentler now as she held Butterscotch’s halter steady.
Makai nodded, his fingers cautiously unfolding to stroke the pony’s nose. “Like... velvet or something. I thought it would be rougher.”
Butterscotch, sensing a potential new friend (or more likely, a potential source of treats), bumped his head against Makai’s chest in a gesture of affection. Makai staggered back half a step, then tentatively reached up to touch the pony’s forelock.
“Easy there, buddy,” he said, his voice losing some of its tension. “We just met. No need to get handsy.”
I bit my lower lip to suppress a laugh, exchanging a glance with Imogen, who looked equally delighted by the thawing of Makai’s resistance. This was the man who had taught me to embrace risks, now treating a petting session with a pony like a major victory. It was endearing in ways I couldn’t fully articulate.
“His mane feels different,” Makai observed, his fingers combing through the golden strands. “Coarser than his nose.”
Makai stroked along Butterscotch’s neck, his movements becoming more confident with each passing minute. The pony stood patiently, occasionally shifting his weight or turning his head to check if treats might be forthcoming.
“You’re pretty cute,” Makai told Butterscotch, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if admitting a secret. “For a horse, I mean.”
“Pony,” Imogen corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Whatever.” Makai’s hand moved to scratch behind Butterscotch’s ear, earning an appreciative head toss. “So... does he want to be ridden? Is that a thing ponies like?”
I cleared my throat, trying not to smile too broadly at this sudden shift from reluctance to interest. “Butterscotch is way too small for you to ride,” I said, pointing toward one of the thoroughbreds grazing in the adjacent pasture—a bay gelding named Wellington that had made the journey from Dorset with us. “That one would be more your size.”
Makai followed my gesture, his eyes widening as he took in Wellington’s height. “No fucking way.”
“Wellington’s a gentleman,” Imogen insisted, though her eyes danced with amusement. “Very well-mannered.”
“I don’t care if he has a PhD in good behavior,” Makai shook his head vehemently. “Not happening.”
Imogen laughed, her breath creating small clouds in the January air. “I suppose at least we got you near a horse. Maybe by summer, you’ll be able to ride one.”
“Why do I need to ride horses when we have mountain bikes and dirt bikes?” Makai asked, though his hand continued to stroke Butterscotch’s neck. “Bikes don’t need feeding or shitting or whatever else these guys require.”
“Because,” I said, stepping closer to wrap an arm around his waist, “horses are part of our world, just like surfing and mountain biking are part of yours. It’s about sharing experiences.”
Makai’s expression softened, and he leaned into my touch. “Fine. But I make no promises about the bigger ones.”
The moment felt perfect—the three of us standing together in the winter sunlight, our breaths mingling in the cool air, surrounded by the life we were building together. Four months ago, I couldn’t have imagined any of this—leaving London, converting our family estate into a hotel, starting a new life on this island with Imogen and Makai. Yet here we were, merging our worlds in ways that still surprised me daily.
“I love you both,” Imogen said suddenly, as if reading my thoughts. She moved to stand on Makai’s other side, completing our circle. “Even if one of you is a horse-phobic surf bum.”
