I didn’t say anything as I retrieved a pack of cigarettes from my bag, tapped one out, and put it in my mouth. I fished out a lighter—the Zippo—as Mom’s hand jerked in an attempt to snatch the cigarette from my lips. I yanked my head out of her range, my lips crushing down so fast and hard I was surprised the cigarette didn’t snap in two.

“Serena! Smoking? No!”

I let the cigarette taunt her by bouncing loosely along with the words. “Serena. Smoking. Yes.” I cupped my hands around the flame as I leaned into it. I kept eye contact with her as the cigarette lit.

It was no wonder she couldn’t formulate a sentence, the way her face contorted, showing all of the thousand horrors swirling around in her brain. My daughter is a smoker! She couldn’t figure out whether to rush down to the hospital and put my name on the lung transplant waiting list or to kill me herself.

She opted to bite her tongue for a change.

I snapped the Zippo shut victoriously and took a drag.

“You know, at least Doc’s single.” Mom’s expression was a mixture of things, most of which were unreadable. But my smoking suddenly didn’t seem to be her biggest concern anymore.

On Sunday, I stood in the barn’s opening watching as Shay saddled the horses at the other end. I reminded myself for the millionth-point-five time this wasn’t a date. I was here because of Kori and I should keep my focus on that. And maybe not so much on his abs.

Even from the distance, his movements appeared jerky and anxious. He kept holding out the leather straps dangling from the saddle and staring at them like he had no idea where they went.

I grinned, recognizing the behavior. This morning I had spilled coffee on myself. At breakfast my stomach had protested both eating and not eating. It’d been like that ever since he invited me to go riding. Like my mind was stuck on the spin cycle or something.

“Looks like you could use some help.” My voice startled him and I grimaced apologetically. “Hey.”

“Hey, didn’t hear you come up.” He rubbed his palms on his jeans, hunching his shoulders sheepishly. An endearing look on a guy whose chest strained his T-shirt. “So, yeah, I figured you’d want to ride Stargazer.” He hooked his thumb toward the black horse.

“I’m not choosy, but yeah, he’s perfect.”

“Here, I’ll let you do this … ,” he said as he handed me a bridle. I pretended to ignore the way his fingers knocked gently with mine as the thin leather straps changed hands, even though my heart did fish-on-a-dock flip-flops as I fumbled with the buckles.

Outside the barn, the air was crisp. Refreshing, considering my body was sweating like a marathon runner’s.