Page 71 of Forever To Me

The pencil moves without hesitation, words flowing, melodies humming under my breath.

I don’t even realize I’m singing out loud until I hear a quiet shift near the door.

I freeze and look up.

And there he is.

Walker leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with an unreadable expression on his face.

“You were listening?” I ask, voice hoarse.

He doesn’t look guilty in the slightest. He doesn’t even pretend he wasn’t.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low, honest. “You’re really good.”

My throat goes dry. My palms feel sweaty. I’m so nervous.

I never meant for anyone to hear them. Not yet. Not like this.

“Thanks,” I murmur, looking down, pretending to fiddle with my pencil even though my hands are suddenly too unsteady to hold it properly.

He doesn’t leave, and he doesn’t say anything else.

I glance up, meeting his gaze. “Ready to talk about that guitar yet?”

And I see it.

The warning in his eyes. The walls slamming back up.

He doesn’t want to talk about it.

His jaw tightens, just slightly.

Then—a shift. A change of subject.

“Come on,” he says, voice gruff. “Let’s go for a ride.”

I tilt my head at his invitation and think,you know what, why not? I set the notebook and guitar aside and stand.

“What kind of ride?” I ask Walker with a smirk.

He grins at me. “A horseback ride.”

Excitement fills me when I think about riding again. It’s been such a long time. I’m giddy thinking about the stirrups under my feet, the weight of the reins in my hand, and the wind in my hair as I ride. I am here for this.

I follow Walker out to the barn, Pickles chasing after us, clumsily tripping over her own feet. She’s still in that awkward puppy stage.

I know he’s busy and probably has a million other things to take care of, but he’s making time for this. And for that, I love it. I’ll treasure this.

The barn is warm and familiar, the scent of hay and leather grounding me as I step inside.

Walker moves easily through the space, hands brushing over bridles and saddles, boots scuffing against the old wooden floor.

“How long has it been since you’ve ridden?” he asks, grabbing a saddle.

I smile. “I grew up on a farm. It’s been a long time since I left home, though. I was a city girl for pretty much the past decade.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t give me the satisfaction of an actual smile.

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