Chapter 13
Harrison
The restaurant door shuts behind us. The noise becomes something distant, like it belongs to another version of the night.
Inside there were speeches and laughter.
We enjoyed a table full of people celebrating a horse that ran better than anyone expected.
Out here, it’s just the parking lot lights and the cold edge of night air. And Nicole.
She walks beside me without hurrying, her flowered dress shifting softly with the breeze.
The hat makes her look like she stepped out of a different world than the one I’m used to seeing her in.
I tell myself I’m escorting Nicole to her car because that’s what a decent man does. True, but also a lie.
Her presence tonight has been … different. Not the trainer in the barn. Not the woman at the rail, entirely in her element. This version is so lovely, but somehow feels risky. Nicole doesn’t have to work to be noticed. She’s gorgeous.
We pass a row of cars. My truck is parked near the exit. Her car is farther in, under a light that flickers slightly like it can’t decide if it wants to stay bright. We should split ways here and say goodnight. Instead, we slow down at the same time, both of us lingering without admitting it.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asks.
“I did. Thanks for inviting me. Most of all, I loved seeing a horse you’ve trained pull out a second place win.”
Nicole turns her head, watching me. She doesn’t smile, but something about her gaze makes me feel like she has more on her mind.
“Thank you, Harrison. Let’s see what happens with Red Ledger.”
She looks at me like a horse she’s reading. Like she’s learned all my responses. I stop walking. The instinct is automatic, like I need the world to hold still while I decide what to do with what she just said. She stops too.
For a moment we face each other in the parking lot light, the distance between us filled with everything we didn’t say over dinner. My hands go into my pockets before I can think better of it.
“Truth is, I don’t go to many social events anymore. I don’t mix work and personal,” I tell her. “Not anymore.”
Her expression doesn’t change, but her eyes sharpen.
“That a rule?” she asks. “Or a scar?”
“A lesson,” I say.
The word tastes like bitterness. Like something I don’t keep in my mouth often. Nicole waits, but she doesn’t push or pry. She just stands there and somehow that makes it harder to hold onto the parts of me that stay locked down.
“I learned the hard way that when you blur lines,” I say, “people start taking what they want.”
Nicole’s gaze softens. It’s not pity or sympathy. It’s something else. Understanding, maybe.
“That’s not the same as you taking what you want,” she says quietly.
I let out a breath. “It becomes the same thing when you stop trusting your own judgment.”
A truck passes on the road beyond the lot. Wind moves between the cars. Her dress flutters at her knees, and I force my attention up, back to her eyes.
“Then why’d you come tonight?” she asks.
Because you asked. Because you looked too good walking beside another horse that wasn’t mine, and I hated the way it hit me. Because I don’t like the idea of you being someone else’s good luck. I don’t tell her any of that — not all at once.
“Because you asked,” I say.
Her mouth curves slightly, like she’s heard the half-truth and decided not to let me hide behind it.
“That’s not the only reason,” she says.
My jaw tightens. She’s right. I hate that she’s right.
I take a step closer, just enough that her perfume reaches me once more. It’s light, clean, with something floral underneath. The scent doesn’t belong in the world of horse barns and yet it fits her like everything else.
“Nicole,” I say, and her name comes out like a warning. She doesn’t retreat.
“You’re allowed to want things, Harrison,” she says. Her voice is soft, but it holds firm. “It doesn’t make you reckless. It makes you human.”
Wanting is easy. It’s what wanting makes me do that I don’t trust.
My gaze drops before I can stop it, just briefly, to her mouth. When I look again into her eyes, something real has changed between us. Nicole’s breath catches.
My hand comes out of my pocket, slow like I’m testing myself. I don’t touch her. I stop just short of her waist, hovering near the side of her dress as if the fabric itself might burn me if I get too close.
Nicole lifts her chin a fraction. Inviting. I step closer. For a single second, I forget the lesson, the scar and my rule. I forget the betrayal, the humiliation, the way love once made me foolish enough to believe in promises.
All I can think about is how she looks tonight. She’s so radiant, alive … and how badly I want to be the reason she keeps looking like that.
My mouth is a breath away from hers when I stop. Not because I don’t want it. I absolutely do. But if I kiss her, I’m not sure I’ll know how to keep it to only that.
I pull back slowly, forcing my hand to return to my pocket as if it belongs there. Nicole doesn’t look embarrassed or offended. She looks like she understands exactly what it cost me to stop.
Her voice is quiet when she says, “Goodnight, Harrison.”
I hold her gaze for one moment longer than I should.
“Goodnight,” I manage.
Then I turn toward my truck before I change my mind.
I walk away with my chest tight and my head clearer than I want it to be. The truth is ugly, yet simple. I can’t take a risk on love any longer. And Nicole is already making me question how long that rule will hold.