I can understand doing right by your kid. My parents always put us kids first, and I've never been so grateful.
Me:How old is your daughter?
Kassi:Seven going on thirty.
Me:She sounds like a handful. You got any time for yourself?
She replies with a picture of a glass of wine and a single lit candle next to a stack of paperwork.
Kassi:This is about as glamorous as it gets.
I laugh and type back.
Me:You're living the dream.
I walk the barn making sure everything is put away for the night, my boots thud against the dry earth, and a hawk circles above. The day's work still hums in my shoulders, but my mind's not on ranch chores. It's on her.
Kassi:You know it.
Another pause. Then.
Kassi:What about you? What do you do when you're not charming strangers?
Me:Ranch work. Early mornings. Long days. Broken things to fix and animals to feed. Not a lot of mystery there.
Kassi:That sounds exhausting. And kind of wonderful.
Me:It is.
I glance up at the sky again. That last stretch of gold light is just about gone.
Me:You like horses?
Kassi:I do. My daughter's obsessed. We've been watching barrel racing videos all week.
Before I think twice, I type back.
Me:I might know a horse who needs a new friend.
I watch the dots on the screen bounce for a second.
Kassi:That sounds suspiciously like an invitation.
Me:Maybe it is.
She doesn't answer right away.
My phone buzzes again just as I finish stacking the tools in the back of the truck.
Kassi:You seem familiar.
My stomach tightens. I stare at those three words as if they might rearrange themselves. But they don't.
Me:Do I?
Kassi:Yeah. Have we met?
Right now, I should tell her. Go ahead and confess, then brace for the fallout. But I'm not ready to stop talking to her with no walls between us.