2. Bliss
Bliss
My phone rings shrilly around six in the morning. The sun is just now rising, and I can’t believe someone would call at this time. I set down my cup of coffee and answer the call before the ringing wakes up Mom. I learned long ago that waking up my mother is a horrible idea.
“Hello?” My voice is raspy since it’s the first word I’ve said all morning. Not a very smooth greeting, considering who is calling me at this time.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Zane greets me with a laugh.
“Morning,” I grumble back. Mornings are not my time to shine.
I glance at my Grandpa, who’s sitting at the kitchen table, clutching a cup of black coffee in one hand and an upside-down newspaper in the other. I come by my anti-morning personality genetically.
“Been sleeping in?” Zane asks. He’s not usually cheerful in the mornings either.
Ever since his botched wedding, we’ve started a pseudo friendship. One where he thinks we’re friends, and I build a carefully constructed crush that I will never admit to having on him. It’s called balance.
“Zane, how much caffeine have you had?”
“I drank a whole pot of coffee,” he admits with a cackle.
I’m still delusionally hopeful that Zane will someday realize he’s attracted to me as well. Unfortunately, that day isn’t here yet.
“Did you add some crack to it? Because you seem extra energetic today.” I yawn as I add a splash of creamer to my coffee cup. I’m glad I already got my horse Ginger ready for the day. Now I can just fix my coffee and drink it warm on the way to the roundup.
“Max said you were coming to ride with him today, and I’ll be driving right by your place. Want me to pick you up?” Zane asks.
Ride with Zane? It’s at least a thirty-minute drive. And I’ll be sitting in a truck with him. More time to talk with him.
“I guess that will work.” I do my best not to sound too excited.
“Good, because I’m halfway down your driveway.”
“It’s a good thing I have pants on.”
Grandpa looks at me from where he’s sitting at the kitchen table. “It’s a real concern,” he says loudly enough that Zane can hear him.
Zane chuckles. “Your grandpa doesn’t want to come ride, does he?”
Grandpa smiles at that and I wonder just how loud my phone volume is that he can hear every word Zane is saying.
“No, he doesn’t. Mom made him promise that he wouldn’t do more than an hour of riding at a time. And before you ask, Dad is heading to the sale today, so you’re stuck with me as help.”
Grandpa glares at me, then shakes his newspaper loudly just to annoy me.
Zane sighs. “I guess you’ll have to do.”
“I’ll have you know I’m a national treasure,” I remind him.
“Well, national treasure, I’m already parked outside the barn. Want me to load your horse into my trailer?”
I mutter under my breath, refill my coffee cup, and rush to the door. The barn is far enough from the house that if you’re not paying attention, you won’t hear someone pull in.
I hang up the phone and realize, as I shut the front door, that I haven’t answered his question. Hustling down the driveway, I nearly trip at least three times before I reach the barn.
Zane has my horse Ginger’s lead rope and is walking her into the trailer by the time I reach them. I’d already run down to the barn to saddle her and have her ready to go before I went back to the house for my coffee and jacket.
Zane ties off Ginger, pats her shoulder, then steps out of the trailer and swings the door shut.
“G’morning,” I say. “Thanks.”
He turns and smiles at me. That thousand-watt smile that I feel in my toes. “If it isn’t, Miss Sunshine. Ready?”
“Thanks for loading up Ginger.”
He shrugs and walks toward the pickup. “I didn’t grab her bridle yet. I wasn’t sure which was hers.”
I nod and walk into the barn and grab the bridle from one of the hooks by the door. There are at least fifteen different bridles hanging there. No wonder he wasn’t sure which to grab. It was sweet of him to try to find it, though.
I adjust my hold on my jacket, coffee, and water bottle so that I can drape the leather over my shoulder. Nothing smells better than horses and tack. Maybe it makes me strange, but I think it’s one of the happiest smells in the world.
When I reach the passenger side of the truck, the door swings open before I can reach for it. Zane has reached across the middle seat to pop the latch for me.
“Thank you,” I say as I climb in.
My cowboy hat bumps the headrest and tumbles forward. Zane catches it for me and sets it on the middle seat. “Thanks,” I say as I set the bridle down on the floorboards.
“No problem. Thanks for keeping me company on the drive.”
I glance around the inside of his truck. I’ve never been in here before. Usually, if we’re riding somewhere together, I’m the one who’s driving. “Your pickup is actually clean.”
He looks at me with a sheepish grin. “I cleaned it out for you.”
My heart thumps excitedly. He was thinking of me. He wanted it to be nice for me.
There is so much I could say right now but instead, I just say, “Thanks for driving.”
He shifts the truck into first and drives the loop around the barn, then heads down the driveway towards the road.
I lean my head back against the headrest and lift the coffee cup to my lips as the truck and trailer crunch down the driveway.
It sounds different first thing in the morning.
The gravel is crunchier before the sun has time to bake it.
Or maybe my brain isn’t awake enough to process sounds correctly first thing in the morning. I’ll never know.
Zane breaks the silence. “Did you just do all that running around with an open cup in your hand?”
Glancing down at the cup, I pick a horse hair out of it—it must have fallen from the bridle, then take a sip. “I don’t like travel mugs.”
“And why not?” he asks as he reaches for his own travel coffee in his cupholder. He picks it up and flips open the latch with his thumb, then takes a long drink.
“I spill more with a travel cup than an open cup.”
“Now that…that doesn’t even make sense.” He eyes me skeptically.
I shrug. “I don’t understand it myself. But if I run around with an open cup, I can drink all of it without spilling and without burning my tongue on too hot coffee.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it.” He shakes his head and tips the coffee cup up for another sip. As if it had been listening in on our conversation, the lid pops off and coffee sloshes down the front of Zane’s shirt.
“What the—” He slows the truck down as we’re coming to the end of the driveway.
It takes everything in me not to laugh at his predicament, and he seems to know it. He looks at me sharply. “Not a single word.”
I mime locking my lips and throwing the key away.
He glances around the truck. “Dang. I think I took everything useful out of the pickup.”
“Here.” I lean over and try to dry some of the coffee off the front of his shirt with my jacket.
He grabs my hand and helps guide me to the worst of the spill.
Somewhere between patting his left rib cage and down to his abs, I realize that he’s holding my hand, and I’m rubbing a very thin piece of fabric all over him.
I glance at his face, but he’s still focused on the spill and hasn’t clocked this weird little moment.
I swallow the lump in my throat as he presses my hand—and in turn my jacket against his hard stomach for another pass. I can feel his abdominal muscles through his shirt. I can count them.
My breath catches and I realize that I am in way over my head with this crush.
Because Zane isn’t even remotely affected by what’s going on right now.
“I think that’s most of it,” he finally says and I jerk back, yanking my hand and sweatshirt away.
Only this time, I spill coffee all over my leg.
Zane looks at me sharply. “What was that you said about never spilling?”
“Er, I, well—”
He laughs and grabs the jacket, pressing it against my leg. “See? You shouldn’t have been laughing at me spilling my coffee. Look what happened.”
“I wasn’t laughing—” I try to say, but trail off when I realize my explanation is worse than him thinking I was laughing at him. Because it’s not like I can tell him I was mesmerized by him holding my hand. Or the feeling of his abs beneath my palm.
Then there’s the part where his hand is wrapping around my leg right now, vigorously drying up the coffee spill.
“You know what? You and I are probably some of the most inept help Max could have asked for today,” Zane says with a laugh. “He’s hoping for some good quality riders, and you and I can’t even drink a cup of coffee.”
I stare at that tan hand that’s stopped rubbing my leg and is now clutching the jacket as he tosses it onto the middle seat between us.
“Sorry about your coat. You’re welcome to borrow one of mine.” He tilts his head toward the back seat. “I brought a couple of sweatshirts. You might drown in it, but at least it won’t be sticky with coffee.”
Zane pulls out on the road, heading toward our friend Max’s ranch. He chatters away as though the whole interaction had zero effect on him.
That’s when I realize he isn’t affected by me. I’m his ‘good friend Bliss.’ Why would a little thing like mopping up spilled coffee affect him?
Yet here I am, the woman pining after a man who only sees me as a good work companion.