23. Goldie
Chapter 23
Goldie
W AKING UP BY myself is bullshit.
I’m mad the second I open my eyes. Mad that all it took was one night of sleeping in the same bed as Matty to ruin me for, well, ever . That asshole.
I roll over and grab my phone, hoping he’s reached out in the time I’ve slept. But other than the good night texts we exchanged, he hasn’t. I figured it was better to let him work his way through the whole “holy crap, it’s my best friend’s little sister” thing, if I had to guess.
It still stings, though.
And hell if I’m going to sit around and moon over it. That’s not how I operate.
But first: coffee.
Once I’m up and showered, fresh cup of coffee in hand, I pull up our thread in the app. I scroll all the way to the top, then skim it through. Reading it now, it’s obvious we’ve been falling for each other the whole time. I know he’s into me. That’s not the issue. The issue is his lack of bravery.
Ooh, damn. I went there, didn’t I?
But something tells me that he won’t react well if I just text him and tell him to quit being a scaredy-cat. I start a new message in the app.
DAWN
I should tell you something.
A few minutes later, he answers.
JAMES
What’s that?
My name isn’t really Dawn.
You don’t say?
It’s Goldie. Goldie Dash.
Nice to meet you, Goldie Dash. I’m Matty Brodigan. But I guess you know that.
I smile and type back.
I do. So…
So.
I take a deep breath and decide to dive right in.
Here’s the thing. I liked you when I thought you were James. And…
I hit send, needing to gather my thoughts on how exactly to say this.
JAMES
Jeez, Goldie. Way to keep a guy hanging
I’m trying to figure out how to say this in a way that isn’t weird
Isn’t this already weird?
I don’t know. Is it?
Well, now that you ask…
See? You don’t know either.
Okay, you win. I’ll wait patiently. But you should know that Killer isn’t nearly as patient as me.
A picture comes through, and it’s Killer, mid-bark, looking far more adorable than any little dog has a right to. The aww that leaves me is high-pitched, and I laugh to myself.
DAWN
I love that dog
Same.
Okay. Here goes. You ready?
I’m ready. Killer is here to comfort me if I need it.
Good.
Shoot.
I’m trying. You keep interrupting me.
This is me being patient, Goldie.
UGH, Matty!
Okay. Here goes.
I take a deep breath and type.
I like you even more, now that I know it’s you. I’m guessing you’ve always known I crushed on you a little, right? But it was always just a little crush. Nothing crazy. I figured you’d never look at me as anything other than Willa’s sister. But now that whatever this is has happened, I think you’re freaked out. And I don’t want you to be. But I don’t know how to make you *not* freak out.
I hit send and groan. I needed to send that, but crap, that was kind of the pits.
Bubbles appear at the bottom of my screen. I jiggle my legs and sip at my coffee. Now who’s the impatient one?
JAMES
You’re right. I’m freaking out. I don’t know what to do.
What is it about us that’s so appalling?
It’s not appalling—not at all.
Because we’re not the first people this has happened to.
I know.
Then what is it?
I…crap, Goldie, I don’t know. I need to process all this. Can you give me that?
His answer is a gut punch. But I nod stiffly to myself and answer him.
Didn’t seem like you needed much processing last night.
You can’t tell, but I just flinched over here.
I don’t respond. What am I supposed to say? I’m not going to comfort him. He’s a big boy. A moment later, his message appears.
JAMES
You’re right. I’m the asshole here. I know enough to know that. But I also know that I have no fucking clue how I feel right now.
Sighing, I type back.
DAWN
I’m not going to say “it’s okay,” but I’m also not going to be mad.
Thank you.
I click my phone off and toss it onto the couch with a thud, then slide down until I’m half off the thing. I’m better than this. I don’t need to be all up in my feels just because a boy isn’t sure if he likes me.
But I am.
And it pisses me off. The whole thing pisses me off. I groan loudly. What am I going to do?
Then I sit up. I need to get to work. Today, I’m heading out to Black Stables, a black-owned horse farm a couple of hours north, to do a profile. Not many people know the history of black-owned stables, and I want to change that.
I jump up and get ready, throwing on jeans and comfortable work boots—which most people wouldn’t believe I actually own, but a girl’s gotta be prepared for anything—and finish the outfit with a soft T-shirt and light flannel button-down. I grab my notebook and camera bag and take off.
Two hours later, I’m pulling through gates proudly proclaiming WELCOME TO BLACK STABLES , the letters in bright white against the black metal surrounding them. I pull up to a small house, my Jeep’s tires crunching on the gravel drive. A tall, perilously thin older man steps onto the porch, tipping his worn cowboy hat at me in greeting.
I get out and he lopes down the steps, extending his hand in greeting. “Miss Dash.” He grins, his dark skin crinkling beneath the brim of his hat. “I’m Jack Black—not the actor. Nice to meet you.”
I laugh and shake his hand. “Pretty sure you were named that first, right?”
He nods, his smile broadening. “You catch on fast.”
“Thanks so much for letting me visit,” I say as I pull out my camera. “I remember going to Birmingham for a Veterans Day parade when I was a kid and seeing horses from your stable in the parade. Blew my mind.”
He chuckles. “The horses, or the black men and women on them?”
“The horses,” I say honestly. “They were huge to me! Plus, they were spinning and going up on their hind legs, and the riders were all kitted out in sparkles and fancy fringe. I was dazzled.”
“Tell the truth, now.” He slides a teasing glance at me. “Did you want to be a cowgirl after that?”
“Heck yeah, I did,” I laugh. “Sadly, there are precious few opportunities to be a cowgirl when you live in a small beach town. But I’m thrilled to be here today.”
“We’re happy to have you,” he responds, then tips his head toward the stables in the distance. “Ready to get started?”
Jack takes me to a bright red barn situated on a hill, the sky a flawless blue behind it. I snap some pictures as we go, already settling into the visit and tossing questions at him.
When we enter the building, I’m surrounded by the smells. Horse, hay, leather, and the always-present manure, despite an incredibly clean barn. I hear the soft snicker of horses beneath the raucous shouts of folks mucking out the stalls and grooming horses.
Jack waves me farther in. “Welcome to a horse stable, Miss Dash.”
“Call me Goldie, please.”
An hour passes, and then another, and soon it’s lunchtime. I join a huge group of people at a set of picnic tables behind the house, and we dig in to a simple meal of build-your-own sandwiches, fruit, chips, and chocolate chip cookies. With sweet tea and lemonade, obviously.
After lunch, Jack declares it’s time to get me on a horse, and I’m practically vibrating with excitement.
As we approach a different stable than the one we’d been at this morning, he looks over at me. “You been on a horse before, Goldie?”
“Does riding a pony at the fair count?”
He laughs. “It does not. Follow me. I’ve got the perfect horse for you.” He leads me into the building and to one of the farthest stalls. He waves me forward, and I gasp with pleasure. “This is Sweetie Pie. She’s as good as her name.”
Sweetie Pie clops forward a few steps and dips her dappled gray head out of the stall, sniffing at Jack’s pockets for the peppermints I’ve learned he keeps there. He produces one and she takes it, snorting softly.
Jack steps back and I take his place, reaching my hand up to pet Sweetie Pie’s velvety nose. She blinks at me and pushes her nose under my hand, an invitation to pet more. I do. “Aren’t you a sweetie?” I coo at her.
“Exactly,” Jack chuckles.
He gets her out of the stall and walks me through tacking her up. His horse is Biggie, a sleek black stallion with white on his hooves and a haughty attitude. Biggie is all ready to go, so we walk them outside. Jack puts a stool next to Sweetie Pie, then helps me up.
“Whoa,” I breathe. Sweetie Pie shifts beneath me, and I stroke her neck. “You gonna be good for me?”
Jack mounts Biggie in one swift movement, settling in the saddle and looking over at me. “Grab onto the reins and hold onto her with your thighs a bit. Nothing too crazy, but you can’t just hang there. Sweetie Pie will follow Biggie, so just hold onto her reins and don’t fall off.”
I laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”
He grins. “It is.”
We make our way over a hill and onto a well-worn trail through the woods that border the farm. It’s incredibly peaceful, the steady sound of the horses’ hooves against the packed dirt, the sound of birds calling to each other, the slight breeze rustling the late spring leaves. I take a deep breath and let it out, taking the moment to empty my mind and center myself. The last few weeks have been…a lot …and I’m grateful for the silence that Jack’s given me. Riding a horse, it turns out, is incredibly therapeutic.
By the time we emerge from the trail and back into the sunlight, I’m more settled and content than I’ve been in weeks.
Which is good, because there, before my very eyes, is Cowboy Matty.
I blink. This is a mirage, right?
Matty is on a brown and white horse in the center of a paddock just to our right, wearing the very same black cowboy hat he had on at the masquerade ball, along with a thin white tee, faded jeans, and the cowboy boots I rarely see him without.
I blink again, then startle as Jack calls out, “Hey, Doc!”
Matty tips his hat, then smirks at me.
Smirks.
Then I realize my jaw has unhinged itself and is practically on Sweetie Pie’s head, so I snap it shut and try to get it together.
Because Cowboy Matty is freaking hot . He kicks the horse into a trot, and that asshole sits in the saddle like he’s done it for years, holding the reins like a natural and leaning down to whisper in the horse’s ear. When he straightens, the horse goes into some kind of complicated dance, reminding me of the long-ago Veterans Day parade in Birmingham that I’d mentioned to Jack.
I finally find my voice. “How do you know Ma—I mean, Dr. Brodigan?”
“He’s our vet,” Jack answers. “Great kid. Figured you’d know him. He’s from your town, isn’t he?”
I nod, unable to keep my eyes off Matty. “How does he know how to do that?”
“Doc ain’t doing anything. That’s all Chuck D. He’s a prancer through and through; loves to show off.”
Someone is showing off, all right, but I don’t think it’s the horse.
And I am not mad about it.
Matty’s biceps flex, and the sun literally glints off them. This is ridiculous. I’ve felt those arms around me. I’ve had those lips on mine. And those hips moving back and forth in the saddle? Yeah, they’ve done that between my legs.
I barely suppress a whimper.
“Chuck D. was limping, so we called Doc in. Seems he’s doing a lot better.” He leads us to the paddock, nodding at the cowboy leaning against the fence in acknowledgment.
Matty trots Chuck D. toward us, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “Hey, Jack. Goldie.”
“Doc,” Jack says. “How’s my main guy?”
“He’s gonna be fine. Pulled a muscle in his foreleg, nothing a little rest won’t fix. I’ve left you some topical salve; I think that’s all he needs.”
Jack nods. “Join us the rest of the way?”
“Be happy to.”
The three of us make our slow way back to the stable. Jack dismounts and helps me down, then leads both horses away without so much as a backward glance. Matty’s horse is also led into the stable by another person, leaving the two of us alone.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
“Working on a story?” Matty asks, glancing at my camera bag and back.
I nod. “Been here all morning. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
He shrugs and smiles sheepishly. “I did. Know that you’d be here, that is.” I must make a face, because he holds his hands up, even as a blush makes its way up his cheeks. “I’m not stalking you, I swear. When they called me this morning, they told me Jack would be busy with a reporter from Lucky. I knew there was only one reporter from Lucky who’d make the trek up here. And when I got here, I saw you and Jack, and then later I saw you at lunch with everyone.”
I tilt my head. “And you didn’t want to say hello either of those times?” I don’t get it.
“No way. You were working. And…” He looks down and kicks the dirt.
I laugh. “It’s hard work coming up with words, isn’t it, cowboy?”
He grins sheepishly. “Hey, I never said I was a cowboy. You did.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Looked just like a cowboy on that stallion a few minutes ago.”
He blushes more. “That was silly of me. I shouldn’t have?—”
“Looked like a damn snack up there, like you were born for a life on the farm? No, you shouldn’t have,” I tease. “But come on, out with it. What’s got you tongue-tied?”
He adjusts the cowboy hat, and I know it’s unintentional on his part, but damn , even that move is stupidly sexy. Maybe I need to read some cowboy romance. He clears his throat and meets my eyes. “I’ve never seen you like this. Working. You’re different. Like, you’re Goldie, but you’re also so… not Goldie.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.”
He smiles. “It’s a compliment, I promise.” After a beat, he says, “Let me take you on a date.”
“Me? Or Dawn?” I probably shouldn’t push him, but I can’t help it.
“You, Goldie. Just you. Tomorrow night.”
“Really?”
He meets my eyes. “Really.”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”