14. Chapter 14 Fucket List #2
The city blurs into fields, and for the first time in a while, I leave my worries, fears, and expectations behind on the dusty road.
As we slow down, we pull up beside a sprawling countryside stable. Rolling hills with scattered autumn leaves stretch endlessly, and horses graze in open fields. It looks like something out of a movie. How have I never been here before?
“It’s my family’s ranch,” he says, helping me off his bike. “But my dad’s getting older, and my sisters wouldn’t know the first thing about running it. So, I’ve been thinking about selling.”
“Don’t,” I blurt out, taking off my helmet. “This place is magic. I grew up on a farm with horses, goats, cats—you name it. I never even realized how much I missed it… until now.”
His eyes flicker with curiosity. “You ever think about leaving the city?”
I hesitate, taking in the view again. “Not really,” I admit. “I moved a lot as a kid. Nashville was the first place I didn’t have to leave. I guess I needed stability, and it kinda just… stuck.”
Dylan walks toward the fence, and leans against it, watching me. “Is that what you want? To be stuck?”
The question hovers, heavy and confusing as I imagine a life out here. I don’t remember the last time I felt real peace. I miss the girl who found comfort in the quiet countryside, and somehow, he brings her back to life.
His fingers trail over the rough wood, his voice soft and steady. “It's peaceful out here.”
“You read my mind,” I say, smiling, wishing I could be inside his mind.
There’s a stillness out here I haven’t felt in forever. I used to hate the quiet. Hated being alone with my thoughts. But standing here with him, it doesn’t feel so terrible. It feels more like… home.
And I wonder—what if peace is a person?
The thought rattles me. I’d built a life in the city. I’m not about to throw it away. So why can't I shake the feeling that maybe I’ve been wrong?
Dylan nudges me toward the stables. “Ride with me?”
I glance at the horses nearby, admiring their majestic presence. “Ride what?” I blurt, biting my lip.
His smirk deepens. “Me, if you’re lucky.”
My heart jumps.
“My horses, Jenna,” he corrects, teasing.
“I’m not sure,” I mutter, my heartbeat racing. “I’m… a little nervous. Of the horses—and you, maybe even more.”
His smile shifts from teasing to something softer.
“You scare me the hell out of me,” I admit, the words spilling out quickly. “How you make me feel scares me. Being here with you when I know I shouldn’t scares me.”
He studies me for a beat. “When’s the last time you did anything that scared you?”
I pause to think but come up blank. “I don’t know,” I say, unsure. “I used to be more daring. Freer. Then I became a wife, had kids, and…” I shrug, feeling the fall breeze as he leads me towards the horses. “Things changed. I changed.”
He brushes my hair from my face, barely touching my skin. But it makes my whole damn body tingle with need. A moment of quiet settles between us. Easy. Unforced. Melting away the last of my nerves.
“Then let’s fix that.” His voice is warm, coaxing.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. I think I’d say yes to him for just about anything.
“Come on.” He grins, guiding me to the mounting block.
He takes my hand. “Place your left foot here.” His other hand settles at my waist, steady and sure. “Now push up and swing your right leg over… that’s it.”
I climb onto the saddle, grateful I wore jeans today. His hand settles on my side, lingering far too long. But I don’t mind. My body clearly doesn’t either.
“You look good on a horse… really good,” he murmurs, stepping back, his eyes never leaving me. “Ready to ride with me?”
I nod, my pulse pounding for a million different reasons. “Yes.”
“Don't worry, Dutchess is slow and steady. Perfect for someone your age.” His smirk deepens and those dimples wreck me.
I scoff, breathless. “Are you calling me old?”
“Not old…” He winks, mounting on his own horse effortlessly as if he were born to ride. “Just older than me.”
We trot through the open fields, beauty surrounding us.
Wildflowers, tall green grass, the wind on our cheeks.
Dylan rides next to me, calm and relaxed.
Conversation flows easy. We talk about childhood memories, unfiltered dreams, the pieces of ourselves we rarely share with anyone else.
He tells me about the first time he rode a horse, how he fell flat on his ass in front of his first crush.
And I laugh… really, really laugh, and it feels so damn good.
At some point, Dylan closes his eyes mid-ride, lifting his face toward the sky.
“Ummm… what are you doing?” I ask, watching him.
He exhales, his voice softer. “Committing this to memory.”
“What?” I tug on the reins.
“This.” His eyes flick back open, locking onto mine. “You.”
Heat spreads through my chest.
“I want to remember how good this feels. How beautiful you look on a horse.” His voice drops, low and commanding. “Now, close your eyes. Trust me. It’s better this way.”
I hesitate, then close my eyes.
The world fades. Only the rhythmic sound of hooves and the wind against my face remain.
“What if you ride into a tree?” I laugh nervously.
“Then you’ll have to be my nurse.” He smirks, but there’s something tender beneath it. “And make me all better.”
The day feels like a dream I don’t want to wake up from.
Until I slow my horse and reach into my pocket to check the time. My lock screen lights up—my daughter's smiling faces staring back at me. And missed calls. From Jacob. Shit. It’s my turn to take them to dance.
The dream shatters. My stomach drops, weighed down by guilt and longing. I’ve been gone too long.
Dylan knows and meets my gaze. “Time to go.” Because we both know what this is. What it can’t be.
“Yes. And Dylan…” My voice cracks. “Thank you for today. But I can’t come back here again. It’s too far from home. Too risky. Too careless.”
He nods slowly, and without another word, we turn back.
Riding quietly, the silence stretches between us, heavy with everything left unspoken. Because I know the truth. I’m playing with fire. And Dylan’s the flame that lit my whole damned soul on fire. One that might burn everything to the ground.
Izzy sits across from me, chopsticks in one hand, wine in the other. I poke at my noodles, eyeing the bold artwork in her kitchen. A blurred naked photo of a woman, sprawled on a table, holding a glass of wine with her toes. Same untamed curls. Same smirk. Definitely Izzy.
“Can I ask you something?” I blurt before I lose my nerve.
“Shoot,” she says, leaning back with a lazy grin.
“Do you ever wonder… is this it? Is this the rest of my life?” I mumble while eating a spring roll. “Like something’s missing. Or I took a wrong turn and got stuck.”
Izzy gives me a look. “You’ve been through a lot.
I’m sure it’s normal to question things.
Hell, I still don’t know what I want from life.
Some days, I throw out my socks and underwear just so I don’t have to do more laundry.
” She grins. “Because it’s easier to ditch the hard stuff than figure out what to do with it, you know? ”
That makes me chuckle. “I should try that. I keep telling Lily that sorting socks is fun, but she won’t buy it.
” My smile starts to fade. “Seriously, Izzy, my life’s a mess, and ‘normal’ sometimes sounds boring, maybe even wrong.
But when it gets quiet at night, my insides are screaming for something.
More peace. Less pain. Something I can’t even name. ”
Izzy sips her drink. “You know what I say? Screw happiness.”
I blink at her. “Come again?”
“Happiness is overrated. It’s like trying to hold sand. Impossible to keep it all there. So why chase something that won’t last? Passion, fear, surprises, the unknown—that's real. That's life. You need a ‘Fucket List.’”
“A what?”
“A Fucket List,” she says, smiling. “It’s the opposite of a bucket list. Instead of listing goals, you dump everything you need to stop giving a shit about into a bucket and say, ‘Fuck it.’ And happiness should go straight in that bucket—I mean, Fucket.”
I laugh, the tension in my chest easing. “I love it! Can I throw in my perfectionism? My people-pleasing? Jacob’s hideous Christmas sweater?”
“Hell yes!” Izzy grabs a napkin and starts scribbling. “Here, start dumping.”
One by one, I write my frustrations onto napkins and toss them into an empty takeout container. By the time we’re done, my stomach hurts from laughing. Everyone needs an Izzy in their lives.
I lean out of my chair, grab her face, and plant a sloppy kiss. “I. LOVE. You. Izzy.”
She giggles and waves her hand at me. “I know, I know. What would you do without me?”
I flop back down with a sigh. “Still nothing.”
Her smile disappears. “Nothing?” she asks, brows furrowed.
“Remember when you kissed me at our first sleepover?” I grin, sipping wine. “I was hoping I'd realize I was into girls so I could marry you and never date another shitty man again. Too bad, I still feel nothing.”
Izzy smiles. “Oh my God, I remember that night. You were high as hell, fell into my rose bush, and started singing I Will Survive while I pulled thorns out of your cute ass!”
We lose it, full belly laughs, tears in our eyes.
“But let’s get one thing straight.” Izzy pauses dramatically, flipping her blonde hair. “If I kissed you—like really kissed you—you’d forget all about my brother… and your jinxed name.” She wraps her arms around me in a bear hug so tight, she nearly crushes the spring rolls out of me.
“I might ask you to prove that,” I tease, grabbing my leftovers and Fucket container.
“I fuggen love you, Jinx!” Izzy calls out as I head for the door.
“Thanks for the wine and life talks,” I say, putting on my jacket. “Gotta go. Don’t want to miss the girls’ bedtime.”
Outside, digging for my keys in my purse, my fingers touch something crinkly. My forgotten fortune cookie. Let me guess— Great things are coming.
Sure, maybe when I’m eighty-nine.
I crack it open anyway. Seize the day. You won’t get it back. Groundbreaking. Truly. We can’t go back in time?
But then I wonder—what if I did? What if I seized the day?
What if I just said… Fuck it ?