Chapter Thirty
Jacob
As the sun streams through my window and the roosters herald the morning with their calls, I awaken with a sense of anticipation. Today feels different, special, because Anya is here. I'm eager to spend the day with her, to make her feel cherished and valued.
Ever since she opened up to me about her past with Paul and the struggles she endured for nearly two years, I've been determined to show her just how important she is. Despite the pain she's experienced and the doubts others may have planted in her mind, I want her to know that she is beautiful and deserving of love in every way imaginable.
Anya has brought a light into my life that I never knew was missing. She has the power to uplift those around her and make everything brighter. I want to show her that her presence has made my life and the lives of those around her infinitely better.
Today, I hope to show her that despite the hardships she's faced, there is hope for a brighter future. And most importantly, I want her to know that she's not alone in this journey. I've had my fair share of relationships in the past, but none have ever made me feel the way she does. She's truly one of a kind, and I'm grateful every day to have her in my life.
With that, I make my way downstairs, making sure not to disturb Anya. She could definitely use some more rest. As I enter the kitchen, I find Marissa chatting with Mom.
"Morning," I greet them, heading towards the kitchen island.
"Morning," they chime back in unison. I reach for a piece of bacon, but Mom playfully swats my hand away. "Jacob, you know the rules," she admonishes me with a smile.
I chuckle. "Yes, ma'am," I reply. Marissa joins in the laughter. "I tried that too and got swatted," she confesses.
Mom shakes her head with a grin. "We need to wait for Anya. If you two start snacking now, there won't be enough food left for breakfast."
Marissa and I exchange a glance, then raise our hands in surrender. "Fair point," I concede. Mom isn't finished though. "If you're looking for something to do, why not lend a hand to your stepdad with the morning chores instead of picking at the breakfast food?" she suggests.
Both Marissa and I head out towards the chicken coop, the morning sunlight casting a golden hue over the farm.
“How's Anya holding up?” Marissa asks, her tone filled with concern.
“As good as she can be, I guess,” I reply, feeling a weight on my shoulders.
Marissa nods understandingly. “Yeah, I get that. And how are you holding up?” she inquires, her gaze probing.
I furrow my brows in confusion. “What do you mean?” I ask, unsure of where she's going with this.
She offers me a sympathetic smile. “Anya has been through quite an ordeal, and you weren’t there. If I know you like I do, you're probably beating yourself up for not being able to protect her.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand, silencing me. “From what Mom told me, Anya had a really rough night, and she was alone,” Marissa continues. I nod, feeling a knot form in my stomach. “She was alone, and you were miles away, feeling helpless. But Jacob, her getting hurt was not your fault. You did the only thing you could at the moment and called the authorities. It may have been a misunderstanding, but at the time, you didn’t know that.”
I take in her words, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt swirling inside me. “Yeah, but it gets me thinking, you know? Anya has a past, and I’ll let her tell you if she wants, but all I can say is that she has been through a lot of rough times. When I leave for the Army, who's going to protect her? There are going to be times where I won’t hear from her for days,” I admit, my voice tinged with worry.
Marissa stops and looks at me, her eyes full of conviction. “From what both you and Mom have told me, I believe Anya is strong. She would not be out here with you if she wasn’t. You say that she has a hard past, but yet she is still here. She is strong, and there will be times where she forgets that about herself. But that’s why she has you. Because you are strong too. The universe, fate, or whatever you want to call it, would not have brought you two together if you both weren’t strong enough to handle all that life throws at you,” she says, her words ringing with truth.
With a newfound sense of reassurance, I nod, grateful for Marissa's wisdom. We resume our walk, the weight on my shoulders feeling a little lighter.
We return from feeding the animals, and I quickly hop in the shower. When I come back downstairs, Anya is sitting at the table, engaged in conversation with Mom and Marissa. Her smile lights up the room when she sees me, and I can't help but feel a surge of warmth.
“Good morning, beautiful,” I greet her with a hug.
“Good morning,” she replies, blushing slightly.
“Did you sleep okay?” I inquire, concerned for her well-being.
“Yeah, surprisingly it was the best sleep I’ve had in a while,” she answers, pausing for a moment. “I think it’s because it's so serene and peaceful here.”
“Yeah, it's definitely a different scene compared to New Jersey, especially around this time of year when everyone flocks to the shore for vacation,” I remark.
Anya laughs, nodding in agreement. “Oh, you have no idea how crazy it really gets!”
“Oh, I'm aware. I was there for the Fourth of July, remember?” I tease, recalling the chaos of the beach during the holiday.
Anya chuckles, her eyes glimmering with memories of beachside chaos. "Yeah, that’s pretty much how it is every weekend at the beach. And since I live so close to it, the roads are always packed, and the nightlife near the beach is even crazier.”
“I think that’s why I love it here,” she adds thoughtfully. “Here, it feels like the world stops, and you have time to enjoy the simple things of life. Like, don’t get me wrong, I will always be a beach girl, but it's nice to enjoy some peace and quiet every now and then,” she concludes, her tone carrying a hint of nostalgia.
We all nod in agreement, savoring the quiet moment before diving into our breakfast and continuing our conversation, cherishing the simplicity of the morning.
After breakfast, we all chip in to tidy up. Despite my protests, Anya insists on tackling the dishes, saying it’s the least she could do for making breakfast. As she finishes the last dish, I sneak up behind her and plant a kiss on her cheek.
“So, are you ready to learn how to ride a horse?” I ask, excitement evident in my voice. Anya's face lights up, and she nods eagerly.
“Absolutely!” she exclaims.
“Okay, as much as I absolutely love seeing you in your shorts—and believe me, I could ogle those beautiful, thick legs all day,” I say with a playful grin, glancing down at her attire, “you'll need to wear loose fitting pants to avoid saddle chafing. Plus, it will help you keep your legs at the side to give you more control.”
Anya laughs. “Got it! Jeans it is then?”
“Yes, the thicker, the better,” I reply with a grin of my own.
Anya emerged a short while later, clad in blue jeans and a short-sleeve button-down shirt. The jeans fit her loosely, Anya following our recommendations to the letter. Their dark wash, almost navy hue, gave them a subtle sheen under the sunlight, while the rugged denim material hinted at her readiness for outdoor activities.
Her short-sleeve button-down shirt, in a complementary light blue shade, offered a striking contrast against the dark jeans. Tailored to perfection, it hugged her figure in all the right places, emphasizing her curves and showcasing her smooth arms. Together, the ensemble exuded effortless charm and understated elegance, perfectly complementing Anya's natural beauty.
As she stepped out, she pulls her hair up in a low ponytail, there was a certain ease in her demeanor, a sense of belonging that seemed to blend seamlessly with the rustic charm of the countryside. She looked every bit like she belonged here, amidst the sprawling fields and rustic landscapes, embodying the spirit of adventure and outdoor living.
"Is this okay?" Anya asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty as she adjusts her attire.
I smile warmly and nod, unable to resist teasing her gently. "You look beautiful in anything, Anya," I reassure her, leaning in closer to whisper in her ear. "And you also look beautiful in nothing at all," I add playfully, watching as a faint blush colors her cheeks and she returns my smile coyly.
As we begin to make our way toward the stables, I notice her choice of footwear and pause. "Umm, do you happen to have high boots of some sort?" I inquire, realizing the importance of proper riding attire.
Anya's playful demeanor resurfaces as she responds, "I have loads of boots back home in New Jersey, in the fall storage bins." Her playful tone brings a grin to my face, and I'm reminded once again of her quick wit and charming personality.
I laugh, “okay let me see if Marissa may have an extra pair of riding boots for you” and I walk back into the house.
A few moments later, I hand Anya the riding boots that my mom had tucked away, relics of past memories and moments. It's one of those instances where I'm grateful for my mom's sentimentality, preserving items that find new purpose. Anya eagerly takes the boots and slips them on, to both our surprise, they fit her perfectly, as if they were meant for her all along.
Finally arriving at the stables, Anya's eyes light up as she stands before the majestic black horse we encountered the night before. "Can I ride him?" she asks, her excitement palpable. I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm, but I gently shake my head. "No, he's not ideal for beginners; he tends to have a mind of his own," I explain. Her disappointment flickers briefly across her face, but she quickly recovers, understanding my reasoning.
Leading her over to a more seasoned horse, one known for its gentle nature and patience with novice riders, I assure her that this horse will be perfect for her first riding experience.
I secure the horse, ensuring he remains calm as Anya approaches. Handing her a brush, I explain, "Now we need to brush him first, that way he gets to know you, it keeps the area where the saddle will be clean so he is comfortable and nothing is stuck there pushing into him, and besides, he loves being pampered." Demonstrating the proper technique, I watch as Anya quickly picks up the routine. Her soft voice and gentle touch as she talks to the horse are endearing, like watching a nurturing mother with her child.
After grooming the horse, I prepare him for the saddle. Once everything is in place, I help Anya onto the saddle, setting up the step stool for her. As she settles into the saddle, she looks remarkably comfortable, as though she's been riding horses her whole life. The smile on her face as she pets the horse fills me with so much joy. She looks up at me smiling from ear to ear and it is the most adorable sight to see.
After unlocking the lines holding the horse, I use the lead to guide him out to one of the paddocks. Taking it slow, I lead the horse in a gentle walk, letting Anya get used to the feeling of being in the saddle. She smiles and then asks, “Do you think I could do this without you leading?” I nod and detach the lead rope. Watching her take control, Anya starts walking the horse in circles, looking like she's having a blast.
“Hey, do you think I'm ready to go faster?” she eagerly asks. I chuckle at her enthusiasm. Normally, I’d hesitate, but with this horse, I nod. “Sure, we can give him a trot,” I agree, explaining how to cue the horse and maintain control with the reins. As the horse picks up speed, I shout out instructions on how to steady her bouncing and how to properly post on a trot, explaining how its most comfortable for the horse. Anya laughs with each bounce, and after a few minutes, she wants to return to a walk. Over the next hour or so, I help her transition between a slow walk and a trot, until she's ready to call it a day.
Exhausted but exhilarated, we lead the horse back to the stables. I take off the saddle, and then I hand Anya a brush, letting her pamper the horse. Throughout it all, she’s grinning from ear to ear. After putting the horse back in his stall, we head back to the house.
“Thanks for teaching me, I had such a blast, even though my butt and thighs are killing me,” Anya says with a chuckle.
Pulling her close, I offer, “I'll give you a massage if you want.” I wink, and she playfully pushes me. We both laugh as we walk inside the house.