Page 19 of Frosty in Flannel
And yet, underneath, my stomach fluttered. He’d been quiet all morning and I couldn’t tell if it was contentment or the start of him retreating.
And that terrified me.
Because I knew what happened when things felt this good. When you let yourself believe it could last. I’d learned that lesson the hard way—trusted the wrong person, let my guard down, and paid the price.
But Beckett wasn’t like that, was he?
I watched him eat, noted the way he kept glancing at me like he was making sure I was still there. The way his hand had reached for mine across the table without seeming to realize it.
He felt it too. This thing between us.
“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.
I hesitated. “That this feels really good.”
“But?”
“No but.” I squeezed his hand. “Just... it feels really good.”
Something eased in his expression. “Yeah. It does.”
His thumb stroked across my knuckles once—just once—before he pulled his hand back, the gesture small but leaving my skin tingling.
After breakfast, we got dressed and headed to the barn together. It felt natural to walk beside him, our shoulders occasionally brushing, comfortable silence stretching between us.
But every step away from the cabin felt like stepping back into reality, and I could see him armoring up again. By the time we reached the barn his jaw was tight, his shoulders squared.
The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but I said them anyway. “You okay?” I asked.
“Fine.”
But he wasn’t. I could see it in the way he moved, the careful distance he was putting between us now that we were back in public view.
We worked with Wildfire for about an hour, and it should’ve felt the same as before. But it didn’t. Beckett was different. More closed off. He barely looked at me, barely spoke unless it was about the horse.
And when our hands accidentally brushed reaching for the rope, he pulled back like he’d been burned.
Something cold settled in my stomach.
“Beckett—”
“He’s doing good,” Beckett said, his voice flat. “You should document the progress. For your report.”
My report. Right. Because that’s all this was. A job.
Except it wasn’t. Not anymore.
But clearly, he was already regretting last night. This morning.
I tried to push down the hurt rising in my chest. Tried to stay professional. “Okay. I’ll take some notes and—”
“I need to check the other horses,” he said abruptly. “Can you finish up here?”
“Sure. But Beckett—”
He was already walking away.
I stood there watching him go. This morning he’d held me like I was something he couldn’t bear to lose. He’d told me I made him feel like he mattered.
