She stared down at it. “What’s that for?”
“You seem jealous that I’m bringing another lady treats and not you.”
“I am not jealous of a horse.”
“Then why are you complaining about me bringing her peppermints?”
“That’s not jealousy. That’s legitimate concern about the ethics of veterinary bribery.”
“Take the peppermint, Tessa.”
She took it. Their fingers brushed and she told herself the warmth that shot up her arm was a perfectly normal neurological response to brief physical contact and had nothing whatsoever to do with the person touching her or the way he was looking at her.
She unwrapped the sweet, popped it in her mouth, and batted her eyelashes at him with exaggerated slowness.
He stared at her, jaw slack, and for one deeply satisfying second, the unflappable Dr. Steele had absolutely nothing to say.
“It’s the peppermint,” she said innocently. “They have that effect on all females.”
A laugh transformed his whole face and made his eyes crinkle at the corners in a way she was not going to think about later. She was definitely not going to think about it.
“I think you’re spending too much time with the livestock,” he managed.
“You’re the one who taught her the trick. I’m just a quick study. Your words.”
“I retract my words.”
“Too late. They’ve been heard and can’t be unheard.”
He was laughing more quietly now, and she laughed too, caught off guard by how much she enjoyed sparring with him. Their laughter faded, leaving them standing close in the barn aisle with June beside them. Dillon’s gazed fondly at her in the dusty light, and she didn’t look away.
The moment held. Longer than a vet visit justified. Long enough that the air between them changed quality and Tessa became aware of the specific distance between his hand on June’s halter and hers—six inches, maybe less—and the fact that not moving her hand those six inches was a deliberate, increasingly difficult choice.
June stuck her tongue out, rolled like a human’s and sucked blissfully, undoubtedly enjoying the last of the peppermint fragments stuck between her teeth. Two sparrows argued in the rafters. The morning light came through gaps in the old board siding in narrow gold stripes.
Tessa looked away first. She busied herself putting June back in the stall with Biscuit and hanging the mare’s huge halter on the hook mounted on the stall door. Her hands were steady, but her heart was not.
“Same time Wednesday?” she asked, as if she hadn’t memorized his schedule weeks ago.
“Same time Wednesday.” He tipped his hat to her the way he always did, an old-fashioned and strangely gallant gesture, and left with a quiet spit of gravel from his tires.
She stood in the barn with June, the peppermint still sharp on her tongue, and thought about how he’d looked when she batted her eyelashes at him. His whole face had opened up, surprised and delighted and completely defenseless. She didn’t move for a long time.
Sunday afternoon, Tessa sat on the porch and did nothing.
She didn’t check her email. Didn’t review gown photographs. Didn’t call Charlotte to discuss the boutique timeline or check on her store’s inventory. She didn’t organize, plan, schedule, or strategize a single thing.
She sat in an old wicker chair she’d hauled downstairs from the guest bedroom and watched the light change on the mountains while Hamlet slept at her feet and Chairman Meow, who had recently begun tolerating her with something approaching neutrality, sat on the porch railing and groomed himself meticulously.
The peace was extraordinary. No one needed her to be anywhere. No one was evaluating her performance. No one was watching to see if she did it right.
Here on this porch, nobody was watching her, and no performance was required of her. But without a role to play, she had no idea who she was. She wanted to find out, though.
Her phone rang.
She almost didn’t answer. The screen read Mother, and every muscle in her body tensed. She’d spent her entire life bracing for criticism from Judith. But her mother rarely called, which meant something major had happened, and Tessa couldn’t afford not to know what.
“Hello, Mother.”