20-VINCENT
The weight of my father’s death was heavy for me to carry.
It had been five years, but the sense of longevity is something other men got, not me.
For me, I feared dying young is not a lightning strike but an inheritance.
One day I’ll be nose-deep in a horse’s hoof or swinging an axe or running the line with the crew, and my own heart will simply… give out.
I never say it out loud, but it’s the quiet fear that drives me.
It’s why I don’t believe in wasting time pretending that I don’t care about others. Why I don’t play games with mine or others’ emotions, and why I love hard. Because losing the chance with someone scares me more than death itself. So I always give it my all.
My dad died with a lifetime of unspoken stories still trapped in his head and messages tucked in his chest. I refuse to do the same.
That’s why I wear my heart on my sleeve. Why I chose to feel everything so intensely. Why I’m willing—too willing, maybe—to risk looking foolish or vulnerable. Why I spilled how she makes me feel tonight.
Affection is not a luxury to me. It’s a now-or-never thing.
My hand was wrapped around her thigh, and we moved just as slowly back to the main road as when we arrived.
But instead of the intensity driven by lust, the storm and—in some fucked up way—the encounter with her ex, the third passenger was exposure and awareness that she had said too much, and I had shared something deep.
There was no way around pretending this wasn’t real, and it scared me more than Tate ever could.
I enjoyed the view next to me over the last stretch of dirt and rocks. Not sure of what possessed her to keep her bra off, but I was not complaining.
I threw my arm over her shoulder, pulling her into me, and the thought of her at the ranch bore into my mind.
Meeting my mama, grandparents, and everyone.
Seeing the horses and tending to them. She could have her own horse, chickens, and a garden, all if she wanted.
Or if she wanted to do her own thing, that was fine too.
But coming home to her in my new house near the pond, with an apron on, baking something, that would have me taking care of myself just a bit more than my old man. Granite, she didn’t fatten me up.
The truck swayed as we pushed over the asphalt, and I drove us west. I didn’t know if I should make conversation or what, but I was enjoying the silence. And from the way she melted in my arms, she wasn’t bothered by it either.
Her home sat quietly on the street as if Tate had never disturbed it at all. But the smell of urine was unmistakable. The guy should probably drink some more water.
I spotted the hose coiled up beside a bush and decided to rinse the poor plant down.
“Oh, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” Reagan fumbled with her keys under the warm glow of her porch light.
“I don’t mind.” I couldn’t stand the thought of the ammonia and salts giving the plant some form of chemical burn that it didn’t deserve. I gave the wall behind it and the concrete around it a thorough rinse before following Reagan inside.
Her home was filled with warm rustic tones. A sofa faced a bare wall. A few stacks of books with dust on them. The kitchen light spilled through the round archway, and I found the room where the picture from her Forewarning profile was taken.
“Everything looks fine.” She set her bag down on her counter. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”
I did want to but, morning chores were going to pull me away from her at one point or another.
“Do you mind if I change clothes?”
“No. It’s your house.” I can’t help but smile at her.
Reagan trails to a room and disappears behind the door. I’m standing in the middle of her kitchen, not sure what to do. The counters are spotless, except for a picture frame in the corner, flat on the counter. The picture becomes clear as I step towards it.
A wedding picture.
Their wedding picture.
I lift the photo to get a better look. Under a thin layer of flour, Tate’s smiling, not a fiber of desperation in his face, and Reagan’s hair is long.
She looks happy, like I’ve witnessed in person.
For a moment, I feel like I am interfering in their marriage, their home, and their privacy.
Then I remember the way she turned away as he dropped down next to her.
Fuck. I’m already falling for her. Like I did the first time with someone else and watched them walk away like it didn’t mean a thing.
It’s stupid. I know. I barely know her. And Reagan is clawing her way out of a life that won’t let her go.
I didn’t intend to get tangled in her mess, but now I was sinking deeper, cementing into place.
But I didn’t want to be something temporary that she used to erase someone else’s damage, or part of the messy middle before she was cut free.
Suddenly, I think, am I giving her the attention Tate wouldn’t? Am I filling a void and not the spare moments throughout the day that grab her attention, as she does mine?
The urge to slow down washes over me, and her door opens back up. Her short button-up pajama set hangs loosely on her.
I set the photo down like it doesn’t bother me. Like, I don’t have any questions or doubts.
“That’s—I forget it’s there.” She steps closer to me and shrugs. “What do you do with it, you know?”
“So,” I dismiss the thoughts and worry. “You do all your baking in here? Have you ever wanted to have an industrial kitchen and take your baking farther?”
“No, I like how I have it. It’s small, simple, and it works.”
My side hits the counter as I lean up to it. “Did you go to school for it?”
“No, I’ve always enjoyed baking. Over the years, I learned what works and what doesn’t, you know?
When your spouse is supposed to be with you, and instead, he’s out with his friends, I start baking more.
” Her body mirrors mine. “And I started baking for friends’ birthdays and family, and soon enough, word got around.
Now, here I am taking orders online and having a small shop for pickup.
It works perfectly. I don’t have to face the customer.
I don’t have to wait around for them. I don’t have to sit in a kitchen, stuck inside a brick-and-mortar building.
If I want to wake up at 2 AM and work on an order or make a batch of cookies. I can.”
“How often are you waking up at 2 AM?”
“Not as often as I used to. Not since I came to terms with my failed marriage. And I am ready to move on. Everybody thinks life is going to turn out one way, and you don’t really think divorce would happen to you.
But as I continued to grow, Tate didn’t.
I couldn’t always be five steps ahead of him.
I couldn’t always be waiting for him.” She pops open an old wooden bread box, exposing a bag of chocolate chip cookies inside.
“Do you want one?” She asks me as she’s unzipping the bag.
I can smell them before she even finishes her sentence.
“Yes, please.” I sputter out. She hands me one, leaving the bag open.
I take a bite, and within a moment, I realize it’s the best chocolate chip cookie I have ever had.
It’s chewy. It’s salty. It’s sweet. It has the perfect amount of bitterness in the chocolate.
Everything about this cookie is so evenly balanced.
I reconsider every thought I had a moment ago about slowing down.
“What do you think?” She covers her mouth while asking me.
“These are fucking good.”
“Help yourself to another one if you want.” I accept her invitation and have a second cookie in my hand before the first one is even finished.
“Is this what you wanted to be when you grew up?”
“No. I always thought a veterinarian would be nice. But then I decided I wouldn’t like checking their temperature and I met Tate. His family employed me for a few years, and then my bakery business took off. What about you? You always want to be a horse-boy.”
“I guess. Unfortunately, it’s ingrained in my DNA to be part of the ranch.
I watched my Grandpa work on horses and picked it up quickly and easily, until it became my role.
And when I’m gone in the summer, we have to hire help.
It’s nice pay, but it also helps me reset and get away for a minute. So I can focus better in the winter.”
I’m already onto my second cookie, and Reagan twiddles her fingers over her empty sink, removing the crumbs stuck to her fingers. “Do you always need to get away?”
“I don’t need to; it just helps with burnout. Doing the same thing day in and day out with your family can wear on you.”
Her eyes flicker as they dart between mine, and her lip twitches just enough for me to notice. “What’s the ranch like?”
“Well, we board, breed, and train horses. I think we have thirty-two of them right now.”
“And you just work on their feet?”
“No, I also help with troubled horses. Ones with attitude. That’s why you were no problem in the woods.”
“Every girl dreams of the day a man calls her a troubled horse.”
I find her waist, drawing her to me with a smile. “You know it.” Reagan’s lips are soft against mine for a moment before breaking apart.
“This is silly. You don’t have to stay.”
I grip onto her hips. “I don’t mind. We could watch a baking show or something. Maybe watch you bake. I could place another order for two dozen of those cookies.”
“I don’t think I have it in me right now. I can write you an I.O.U.”
“I’m just giving you a hard time. You don’t need to.” I turn towards the living room, ready to lead the way. “Let’s watch something on that big, huge television we walked past.”
“Hm, Vincent, I think you’re seeing things.”
I took the spot closest to the door on her couch. “I know I am. I just wanted to get away from those cookies before they tempted me again.” Not wasting the moment, she sat under my arm with her feet curled under herself. “I didn’t think it would be appropriate to invite myself into your bedroom.”
Reagan fiddled with the blanket that was meticulously tossed over the back until it covered her lower half. “After everything we have been through, and now you’re the gentleman?”
My palm turned upward for a second. “What can I say?” Planted there, I questioned what I should say. What should I ask? It was too soon to ask about what we were doing or what we were. The simple questions that you ask on a first date are long behind us.
As her breathing steadied, she melted into me. The tick of the clock and the quiet hum of the heat flowing through the house filled the air. With that—and the gentle pull of exhaustion—I was right behind her. Falling asleep like we had done this a thousand times before.
?
“Hey.” I gently slid my arm from behind Reagan. “I should go.” I would be pulling up to the ranch just in time to start the day. Although it was the weekend, horses still needed to be fed and let out. As nice as it would be, the stalls didn’t clean themselves.
I could text Vance or Mark’s daughter, Abby, and ask them to help me out. But there was no need for me to prolong my time here.
“Mm?” She groaned in confusion.
“I’ve got to go,” I whispered. “My day should be starting, and I’ve got work to do.”
“Vincent?” Her brow knit together before her eyes slivered open, and she became fully awake. “You’re still here?”
“Yeah. It’s just past five. I’ll be getting back after six. A couple of mares won’t forgive me if I wait any longer.”
“Alright.” She leaned close to the end of the cushion and draped the blanket over her shoulders. “Let me lock the door behind you.”
Before opening the door and letting the cold air drift in, I pulled Reagan into a goodbye kiss. “I’ll see you soon.” Not so much a question, but a promise.
“Yeah. Drive safe.” Her bare feet shuffled against the hardwood, and I quickly made my exit. Outside, I stood there long enough to hear the deadbolt slide into place and headed home.