Chapter 17
Olivia
My date was… fine.
And Christ, that’s the worst word in the English language. Fine. The polite coffin we bury dead chemistry in. Honestly, it’s the worst verdict you can hand someone who held the door, paid without making a show of it, and asked me questions like he actually wanted to know the answers.
Evan was nice. Too nice, maybe. He took us to The Loose Lasso, held the door for me, and we sat near the window that overlooks the car park and two tired gum trees.
He asked about my day like he actually cared, and I answered like I actually wanted to talk about it.
He talked about his job at the council, and I tried to follow, I really did.
But halfway through his story about an invoice dispute, my brain packed up and went to a certain infuriating man in uniform who can’t go three sentences without bossing me around.
Evan laughed in all the right places. I laughed too, mostly out of habit.
His eyes drifted more than once to the TV showing footy highlights, and to the door every time it opened.
Mine drifted too, to the clock above the bar.
At eight-thirty, he offered me another drink, but I’d politely declined and wrapped it up for the night.
He’s a good guy, truly. Just not my guy. I agreed to another date anyway, because it’s easier than admitting that lately, every man I meet gets held up next to someone I shouldn’t even be thinking about.
When I got home, I kicked off my boots, wiped away my cherry gloss, and stared at the ceiling.
My room felt too quiet, my thoughts too loud.
And maybe that’s the scariest part—realising I’d rather be in a kitchen with a brooding single dad who barely looks at me than sitting across from a perfectly decent man who actually wants to. So, yeah. The date was fine.
And I’m officially in trouble.
By morning, I’ve made up my mind. If Sebastian wants to stew in silence, fine.
I’m not tiptoeing around him or his moods anymore.
Let him glower; I’ll just shine brighter.
I’ve been here an hour already. Early, yes, but he hasn’t said a single word.
Not his usual formal greeting, not even a grunt. Just a nod. Typical.
Diesel sits like a statue by the back screen door, massive head tilted, those amber eyes locked right on me. I pause at the top step and lift my hands in mock surrender.
“Morning, handsome,” I murmur, voice sweet as honey.
He doesn’t growl, which honestly feels like a personal win. His tail gives one slow, suspicious thump before he rises, all muscle and judgement. Sebastian’s voice comes up from behind me. Deep, gravelly, still scratchy from sleep.
“I wouldn’t,” Sebastian warns from somewhere behind me, sending goosebumps across my skin. “He’s been temperamental lately.”
I glance over my shoulder, just enough to see the broad shape of him. His navy shirt hugs his arms like it was tailored to drive women insane.
“Like father, like son, then?” I deadpan.
Diesel sniffs me out, breath warm against my palm.
I hold still, because I’m not an idiot, and when I scratch behind his ear, he lets out this low, contented huff and leans his entire weight into my leg.
I look up at Sebastian, deadpan still in place.
“I think the only one around here who’s actually temperamental…
is you.” I tilt my head and mutter, “Grumpy.”
He makes a low sound that isn’t quite a laugh, but it rumbles in his chest, and it’s close enough to make my insides buzz with satisfaction. “Lunch is packed,” he says simply. “It’s library day today, and don’t forget his hat and sunscreen.”
“Yes, boss.” I grin at him just to be annoying, but I get nothing in return.
The man’s immune system to flirting is some next-level nonsense.
No one gets that tense for no reason. He was jealous last night.
And now, I have proof. Which makes pushing his buttons the best part of my morning.
So I start humming quietly, just to see what it’ll do, as I walk back inside to meet Teddy in the lounge.
He pretends not to look, but I catch him watching my hands as I reach for Teddy’s drink bottle, then my mouth, then straight back down like the surface of the fridge is suddenly fascinating. Every glance is a spark I probably shouldn’t enjoy. Too bad.
“You know,” I say, voice low and casual, “you should just take a picture.”
He blinks at me confusedly. “Pardon?”
“You’re staring.” I grin. “I should start charging.”
He lets out a long, dramatic sigh that’s pure exasperation. “Keep pushing, Mitchell.”
“Oh, I plan to.”
At that, he grabs his keys, mutters something I don’t catch, and walks out the door without another word, leaving just me and Teddy.
I hand him his hat, and he slides it into his backpack with quiet precision—exactly three fingers to the left of his lunchbox.
If I didn’t know him, I’d miss it. But I know him better now. I know what every movement means now.
We’re just about to head out when something catches my eye, taped to the fridge, slightly crooked.
Try not to cause any trouble today.
His handwriting, on a sticky note. Neat, all block letters. Of course. I huff a laugh, peel it off, and fold the note once before slipping it into my back pocket. I most definitely will be.
I swing open the gate that leads to our open paddock and let out a sharp whistle. Blue lifts his head from the grass, ears twitching forward before he pushes into a trot, all muscle and easy grace.
I’d be lying if I said my head hadn’t been in scrambles all morning, full of things I’m unsure of.
But if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this—when I’m on a horse, I’m at ease.
Out here, I’m untouchable. Just me, the wind, and the rhythm of hooves on dirt.
On the next rise, I let Blue stretch out, and he surges forward, hooves drumming a steady thunder under me.
It clears more than just my head. It clears the overthinking, the spirals, the weight.
Out here, it’s simple again. But even here—free and high and fast—it’s not the horizon I see when I close my eyes.
It’s him. That stare. Hazel-green, cut with blue.
I’m still chewing on that thought when I spot movement near the lower fence. A flash of white. Then another. Then three little goats, smug as hell, trotting along the wrong side of the pen. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I pull Blue to a halt and narrow my eyes. “How the hell did you guys get out?”
A tiny black goat pauses to look at me, chewing something with theatrical innocence.
“At least it’s not Kevin,” I mutter, already steering Blue down toward the chaos.
I dismount, snap the reins over the post, and stomp toward the escapees.
“Come on, you lot. Back in the pen. Don’t give me that look. ”
One of them darts left. I curse, swing around, and cut her off before she can bolt down the field. Nope. Not today. I clap sharply, raising my arms wide, herding them in.
“Let’s go. March it back. You’ve had your fun.” Miraculously, they listen, or maybe they’re just bored. Either way, I manage to wrangle the trio through the gate, slam it shut, and double-check the latch this time.
“Honestly,” I breathe out, brushing dirt off my hands.
“You’re all lucky you’re cute.” I swing back into the saddle and nudge Blue forward.
He responds instantly, galloping down the slope.
We head for the barn, and wind tugs at my shirt, everything behind me blurring into nothing.
I cool Blue down slowly, walking wide lazy circles until his chest isn’t heaving, before I slide off.
The smell of dust, horse, and hay fills my lungs.
But underneath that, there’s something else.
Something I only smell when I’m here. The version of me that doesn’t care what people think.
The girl who never had to ask if she was enough.
I shut the gate behind me, pat his flank once, and head toward the driveway where Sebastian’s ute is still parked.
Just as I reach for my keys, my phone buzzes.
Sebastian: Big accident on Willow Road. Traffic’s backed up heading into town.
Sebastian: Take the back way.
I stare at the messages a moment longer than I should.
They’re short. Simple. Informative. He didn’t need to send it.
He thought about where I was going. When I’d leave.
How long it would take me to get there. It’s thoughtful.
Too thoughtful. But no doubt, it’s just to make sure I’m on time to pick up his son.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway. Not because he cares where I am.
Or how my morning’s going. Nope. I shove the phone into my back pocket and climb into the driver’s seat, biting back the stupid smile that still tries to creep up anyway.