Page 45 of Run for the Money

“We’d have to find a way to do Thanksgiving on the road if the kids are serious about competing,” she says slowly. Cautiously.

Thewerings in my ears like fucking wedding bells. It takes everything in me not to turn the horse trailer around and head for the nearest courthouse for a marriage license.

“Or we could reschedule it,” I offer, my pulse going a million miles an hour. “It’s a mess of a holiday anyway. Who says we can’t have a big, ludicrous meal together a week after everyone else in the country?”

“Good point. Our family, our rules,” she says.

The warm, buoyant sensation in my chest is unfamiliar, but context clues suggest this what it feels like to be happy—really, truly happy—and in love.

“Our family,” I repeat quietly.

She gets second place in North Platte. Not only is it the highest she’s placed since her return, it’s also the most relaxed I’ve ever seen Melanie during a competition. She manages to watch the entire thing, two days in a row, while inflicting minimal nerve damage to my hands. She only tells me she needs to vomit three times, which is down from the eight times she said it in Pueblo.

We find a bar with turkey sandwiches on the menu for a two-day delayed Thanksgiving. It’s a sticky-floor, loud music, low-lighting type of place, but Melanie doesn’t seem to mind. She sits next to me in a booth in the back of the bar, her thigh pressed to mine while we pick over a basket of fries and our turkey sandwiches. This isn’t like any Thanksgiving I’ve ever had—it’s infinitely better.

Halfway through our meal, people start dancing in the middle of the bar. There doesn’t seem to be an official dance floor, but none of the employees bat an eye. Melanie’s gaze flits over to the dancing more than once. She doesn’t ask if I want to dance, but I know her well enough at this point to fill in the blanks.

“What d’you say, Miss Manners—should we dance?” I ask.

“Oh, we don’t have to.”

I fix her with a challenging stare and her cheeks flush.

“Okay, fine, I want to,” she says.

I stand up and offer her my hand. “I’ll give you anything you want, Melanie, so long as I know you want it.”

“Careful, or you’ll wind up with a few more horses in those stables of yours,” she warns.

Her tone is light and playful, but I see that hope in her eyes again as she takes my hand. I pull her to the dance floor right as the song changes from a bland, unmemorable pop tune to a slow country ballad. It’s a little heavy on the drum machine and light on the guitar for my taste, but I’ll take any excuse to slow dance with Melanie. She winds her arms around my neck while I wrap mine around her waist. I can feel the warmth of her skin through her sweater as we sway together. Her exhales are soft against my collarbone, hitting just above where my heart is pounding. We could be anywhere—the stables, her parents’ living room, the top of an active volcano—and I’d still be happy, simply because she’s holding me, and looking at me like she’s as thrilled about our present circumstances as I am.

I don’t care if it’s too soon, or too risky. I’d rather lay everything out now and lose her than wait a few months and lose her when I’m even deeper in this feeling.

“Melanie—”

“Don’t say it,” she whispers. “If you don’t mean it, don’t you dare say it. If it’s just the music, or the win, don’t even think it. Please.”

“Melanie.” I wait a moment, to make sure she knows I’m serious. “I love you.”

Her eyes swim.

“You don’t have to say it back,” I whisper. “But I mean it, more than I’ve ever meant anything in my whole sorry life. I know it’s fast, but—”

“I love you, too.”

Her words suck all the air out of my lungs.

“Don’t look so shocked,” she says through a giggle. “After I talked about what horse-related extra-curricular our kids are going to do, I figured you knew.”

“Hoped,” I answer. “Hoped, but didn’t know.”

She pulls my head down towards her and kisses me. For the first time since I met her, I stop worrying. I don’t worry about Paul coming to his senses and realizing he walked away from the greatest woman on earth, or about her parents stomping all over her dreams, or about GT realizing mid-race that he has free will and doesn’t have to keep jumping overall those poles if he doesn’t want to, or even about whether or not my dad is going to quit his gambling addict program and try to ruin my life again. None of that seems possible anymore, because I’m living in a world where Melanie Archer loves me.

We kiss long enough for the song to change, and only break so she can catch her breath. I rest my forehead against hers, enjoying the way she’s pressed against me. But I’m beyond ready to get out of this bar, then get her out of her sweater, and into our bed in our mid-tier Nebraska hotel.

“Hey Nick,” she whispers. “Take me back to the hotel. I’ve got more plans for our future, and none of them involve pants.”

I kiss her again, my heart light. “Whatever you want, Miss Manners.”

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