Page 34 of Sparks Still Fly

“Sure.” I hold out my hand, and he takes it gingerly, linking our fingers together.

This is a very, very bad idea.

Neither of us speaks as we approach Arthur.

“Hey, stranger. Haven’t seen your ugly mug around here for a while. What brings you by?” Arthur’s brown skin glistens in the sun, and when he takes off his hat, his hair glistens, too. It’s so black it almost doesn’t look real as the soft waves fall over his forehead. He stretches out a hand toward Owen, who releases me to greet his friend.

Something feels oddly familiar as I watch the two men hug one another. It’s not the kind of hug you often see between men, and something about it warms my chest.

As they step away from one another, Arthur finally looks at me. “I’m Arthur. It’s nice to meet you, finally.”

Finally? Does he know who I am? Did he say that because he knows me from my work or because Owen has talked about me? Is he going to hug me, as well?

Owen interrupts the twenty questions currently floating through my head.

“Art, this is my... This is Ma—She’s my... This is wife. My Maeve.” He lets out a frustrated huff as Arthur, and I take in the spectacle of Owen trying to introduce me. “This is my wife, Maeve.”

Woooooow, that was painfully adorable to witness.

“Never done that before, have ya?” Arthur laughs, looking at Owen, then extends his right hand to me. I take it, holding in my own laughter as Owen shakes his head beside me.

“Pleasure. In case you didn’t catch that, I’m Maeve. His Maeve. His wife.” I hide the complete body shiver that comes over me with a laugh. I meant for that to be funny. Just a little joke at Owen’s expense. But hearing myself say his Maeve and his wife is almost as jarring as hearing Owen say it.

“Want to come meet some horses, Maeve?” Arthur claps Owen on the shoulder, another action that looks oddly familiar.

“Arthur, have we met before?” I don’t think we have. I hardly ever forget a face, even if I’m awful at names. Arthur shakes his head, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Hmm. Something just feels so... familiar about you. The hug with Owen, and now the shoulder clap thing.” That gets a small twitch of the lips from Arthur that slowly grows into a very unexpected smile.

“You know my brother. Rafael. Owen here is still coming to terms with the fact that the Machado men are huggers.” It shocks me how the two relatives look nothing alike, but the mannerisms are all there. That easy affection Raf imposes on everyone he meets in the sweetest of ways. It’s not quite as casual with Arthur, but it’s there.

And now it makes sense that he said finally. Obviously, it was Raf talking about me, not Owen.

“Of course. Goodness, it’s so obvious now that you say that! You two must be close.” The smile that lights up his face falters so slightly it’s almost invisible, but I catch it before he turns around. I look up at Owen, wondering if I said something wrong, but he shrugs, then places his hand on the small of my back to guide me into the stable.

The moment I set foot inside, it’s like I’ve been transported to a time in my childhood when I remember actually feeling happy. The four horses immediately turn to look at us, and though I want to rush to all of them to say hello, I wait for Arthur, who knows these horses best.

“These four are very friendly. The two on the right are sisters. Willow and Scout. And the other two are Billy and Jasper. The ones outside are the rowdy ones. You can meet them another time. They’re being assholes today.” I chuckle as Arthur keeps walking into what I assume is the tack room.

I walk over to Willow first, and she immediately shoves her nose into my hair. I laugh, giving her a pat before heading over to Scout, who’s a little more shy and simply nudges me as I rub the top of her head.

I don’t even feel time pass as I go from horse to horse, asking Arthur questions about them, helping him get them fed and occasionally giving some of the carrots I found in a bucket to my new friends.

It could be minutes or hours later when I hear a throat being cleared next to me. I look up to see Owen leaning on the doorway to the stall I’m in. His arms are crossed in front of him, green eyes anchored on me. “Hi,” he says with a small smile on his face. “Whatcha doing, Maevey?” The smile, paired with the nickname, has me a little weak in the knees, and I’m thankful for the horse I’m currently leaning on.

“Just giving Scout a brush. Want to try?” I pick up a second brush on the ledge behind me and give it to him. The easy, slow movement of his body toward mine makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Owen James is like some sort of Gaelic Greek god, if such a thing existed—and it should. With those green eyes sparkling with golden flecks, he takes the brush from me and gently places it on the mare in front of us.

“Like this?” His eyebrows shoot up on his forehead, and I fight off a giggle.

“A little more pressure,” I say as I place my hand over his to show him how it’s done. “Always in the direction of hair growth. Use long strokes, like this…” My cheeks heat up a little, maybe from the contact, maybe from saying long strokes. Thankfully, Owen keeps his eyes on the horse, but I don’t miss the way his throat bobs.

I move my hand away, opting to work on Scout’s other side. When we’re both just about done, I chance a look at Owen, who’s already looking at me.

“We, uh, should get going soon.” His voice is so low I hardly hear him, but I nod my agreement, turning into the mare in front of me and nuzzling her.

“See you soon, pretty girl,” I whisper, hoping only she can hear me. When I go to walk toward the door, Owen is already there.

I take the brushes we’ve been using and drop them into a bin, then make sure to close the stall door properly.

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