Page 77 of Open Arms

We meandered through the trail, the horses’ hooves clipping a steady rhythm against the dirt. Wildflowers dotted the landscape, a patchwork quilt of blues, yellows, and pinks unfurling under the expansive blue dome above us. I breathed in deeply, the scents of pine and new grass teasing my senses.

“Look, Chloe!” Abigail pointed toward a copse of trees where a deer peeked out, its ears twitching at our presence before it bounded away. “Did you see it?”

“Sure did, sweetie.” My response came out softer than intended, a sense of peace settling over me like a well-worn blanket.

“Nature’s always full of surprises,” Mason added, his gazesweeping the horizon as if he could uncover all its secrets with just a look.

The trail opened up to a wide clearing, rolling fields stretching out to meet the line of mountains in the distance. The world felt grand and endless, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, captivated by the beauty before us.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Mason’s voice cut through my reverie, low and warm.

“Every single time,” I whispered back, though I wasn’t sure if I was talking about the view or the man beside me.

We rode on, the sun climbing higher as we shared stories and laughter, the land revealing its wonders with each turn. This place, these people—Mason and Abigail—they were seeping into the cracks of my guarded heart, filling spaces with light I thought had long dimmed.

“Race you to the old oak!” Mason suddenly challenged, his competitive streak flaring as a wicked grin spread across his face.

“You’re on!” I kicked Honey gently, feeling the rush of wind tangle my hair as we surged forward. Abigail squealed in delight behind us, her giggles trailing like music in the wind.

“Chloe’s gonna win!” Abigail cheered, and I dared to believe she might be right. Not just about the race, but about everything that lay ahead.

We pulled up to the edge of the serene pond, its surface smooth as glass and reflecting the clear blue sky. It had become our special place ever since that day Mason had first shown it to me.

Mason swung his leg over the saddle with that easy grace he seemed to carry everywhere, then reached up to help Abigail down from her pony.

“Picnic time,” he announced, a boyish excitement lighting up his eyes.

“Best part of the day,” I agreed, dismounting and stretching out the kinks from the ride. The smell of wildflowers mingled with the earthy scent of the pond, promising a feast for more than just our stomachs.

Mason fetched a blanket from his saddlebag, spreading it with a flourish on a grassy patch near the water’s edge. We all pitched in, unloading baskets of food—sandwiches, fruit, and something wrapped in foil that had my mouth watering. He caught me eyeing it and winked.

“Got some of my famous barbecue chicken in there,” Mason said, pride evident in his voice.

“Your ‘famous’ chicken?” I teased. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Prepare to be amazed,” he shot back with a chuckle.

Settling down on the blanket, we dug into the feast. Abigail chattered away about the flowers she’d spotted on the trail, pink-cheeked and full of life. It was easy to laugh with her, to let the simplicity of this moment wrap around us like a warm embrace.

“Chloe, try the potato salad. Made it myself,” Mason said, passing me a bowl with a hopeful expression.

“Another secret talent?” I asked before taking a bite. It was creamy, tangy, just the right amount of crunch. “Okay, that’s delicious. You’re full of surprises, Mason Bridges.”

“Wait till dessert,” he replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Abigail clapped her hands, eager and curious. “Is it cupcakes?”

“Maybe,” Mason said, drawing out the word in a playful sing-song.

The laughter came easily, mixing with the sounds of nature around us. Birds singing, insects buzzing, the gentle lapping of water against the shore—it was a symphony of peace, underscored by the hum of connection between us.

“Days like this . . .” I started, looking at Mason and Abigail, feeling an overwhelming sense of contentment. “They’re what life’s all about.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Mason said, raising his sandwich in a mock toast before taking another hearty bite.

“More chicken, Daddy!” Abigail demanded, waving her tiny hands with urgency.

“Coming right up, princess,” he replied, dishing out another generous serving onto her plate.

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