Emily’s gaze moved over my features for a moment, confusion clear in her expression and the tilt of her head. Then she took a step closer, my breath halting as she leaned in. My heart skipped a beat as she came closer, closer, her eyes closing. For several breathless moments, time stilled, the background fading so that it was only her and nothing else. Velvety skin. Flushed cheeks. Lips that looked as soft as a rose petal. A strange prickle of panic jumped inside my chest as though I had only this one chance, only now, to memorize the details of her before she moved away. As though she’d sensed my sudden turmoil, her eyes fluttered open just as her lips grazed mine and for two heartbeats…three, they lingered there, our gazes locked. And when her lips left mine, I felt a groan of disappointment move up my throat but swallowed it down. Don’t stop.

“Thank you,” she whispered when she finally stepped back. I brought my hand to the place where her lips had been as she turned and walked to the door and slipped out of the stable. My heart kicked back into rhythm, a slow grin spreading across my face. I stood there for a few minutes, reliving the kiss before I practically skipped over to the fresh bales of hay, picking one up as though it weighed nothing, and hefting it over to one of the clean stalls.

I heard the door behind me once more and dropped the bale, turning to see my mom walking toward me holding a sports bottle. “It looks good,” she said, peering into the stall and then turning her head toward the others. “Was that Emily I saw heading away from here?” She held the bottle out to me.

I brushed my gloves together, a small explosion of dust creating a cloud around my hands, bits of hay and debris drifting to the floor. “Yeah,” I answered, because it wasn’t like I could say anything else. I accepted the bottle and lifted it to my mouth, grateful for the clean, cold water, though the hose would have quenched my thirst too, even if that water had a slight metallic tang.

“It sure was nice of her to help you out for no reason whatsoever.”

I took another sip, deciding it was in my best interest not to provide a comment. I’d lied enough for one day. A small smile played around my mother’s lips as she walked with me, helping to carry a second bale of hay to another cleaned-out stall.

“I went with Phil to surveille the damage to the Thunderbird,” she said as we lifted a third bale of hay. “The interior is fine, which is lucky because that glass could have cut the seat.”

“That’s good,” I said as we set the hay down and returned for the fourth and final one.