Page 44 of Open Arms

“Go take a shower, stinky,” Abby commanded, scrunching up her nose dramatically.

“Right you are, commander.” He straightened up, chuckling, and shot me another glance. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“Sure, no rush.” But as he disappeared upstairs, my heart did a little tap dance against my ribs. What was that look about?

I focused back on the pot, the steam fogging up the windows a little, creating a cozy sort of seclusion from the world outside. Still, all I could think about was the water that would soon be cascading over him, the way his hair would cling to his forehead afterward, those gray eyes of his coming back downstairs with whatever secrets they held shimmering behind them.

Anticipation and curiosity swirled in my stomach like the steam rising from the pot. I gave the sauce another stir, reminding myself to breathe. After a while, I realized I’d been daydreaming and didn’t know how long I’d been standing there stirring. Hot cowboys did that to you, sometimes, I guess. I turned off the burner.

“Okay, Abs, your dad will be down soon, so go wash up for dinner.”

“But my horsie isn’t finished.”

“Then you’ll have something to look forward to later.”

“Fiiiine.” She slumped her way to the downstairs bathroom to wash her hands and I chuckled.

The clink of cutlery against the ceramic bowls filled the kitchen as I plated dinner, trying to ignore how the butterflies in my stomach were doing somersaults. The sound of footsteps descending the stairs snapped me back to the present, and I glanced over to see Mason re-entering the room.

“This looks amazing,” he said, a towel draped casually around his neck, his damp hair tousled in that just-showered look that somehow made him look both more put together and entirely too tempting.

“I hope you like it,” I replied, my voice betraying none of the chaos he stirred within me. There was a new strength in his posture, a certain squareness to his shoulders that wasn’t there before.

“I always like it.” His grin was infectious, the corners of his eyes crinkling with genuine warmth.

“Everyone likes spaghetti night,” I teased, setting the table. Abby beamed up at her dad, her coloring forgotten as she surveyed the feast before her.

“Best night of the week!” She bounced in her chair, excitement shimmering around her like a halo.

We settled into our seats, the domesticity a comforting blanket, albeit one laced with electric currents every time Mason’s gaze met mine. Dinner unfolded with a rhythm we had mastered over countless Fridays—forks scraping, Abby’s chattering about her day at school, laughter punctuating the air.

“Did you see the new horse, Abby?” I asked, watching her face light up. Mason had me drop her off at the ranch yesterday after her piano lesson so he could introduce her to a new mare they’d bought for the Therapy Division. Apparently, she was the gentlest soul.

“Uh-huh! Daddy lifted me up so I could pet her nose!” Shedemonstrated the height with her hands, stretching them as far as they’d go.

“Sounds like you’ve got a future horse whisperer on your hands,” I said to Mason, who watched his daughter with unabashed pride.

“Reckon I do,” he agreed, his gray eyes flickering to mine with an intensity that sent a thrill racing through me.

There it was again, that magnetic pull tugging at the space between us. I focused on my plate, willing my cheeks not to betray the heat I felt creeping into them.

“Chloe’s really good with Sunshine, too,” Abby chimed in, referring to Eryn’s prize mare. “Sunshine always does what she says.”

“Well, I’m learning. Sunshine is an easy horse to learn on.”

“Sounds like Chloe’s pretty special, huh?” Mason’s voice was soft, for my ears only, and I dared to look up. Our eyes locked, and for a heartbeat, the world fell away. It was just us, understanding passing silently between us.

“Can we watch my show after dinner?” Abby’s voice cut through the tension.

“Only after you’ve picked up your room, munchkin.” Mason’s gaze was affectionate but firm, and he nodded toward the stairs. “You left quite the toy army all over your floor up there.”

Abby groaned, a playful pout forming. “Okay,” she sighed dramatically, though the twinkle in her eye told me she didn’t mind too much.

“Then it’s dessert,” he promised, and her grin returned full force.

“Chocolate pudding!” she squealed, and I couldn’t help but join in her excitement.

“Chocolate pudding,” I echoed, smiling across the table at Mason as I started to clear the table.

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