Page 52 of How to Say I Do
“Down the hall, on your left, past the stairs.” Wyatt still wouldn’t look at me.
The inside of Wyatt’s home was as gorgeous as the outside: an open floorplan, farmhouse chic decor, big bay windows. I saw a large kitchen drenched in sunlight, a single chair askew at the dining room table.
I froze in front of a wall of pictures opposite the stairs. There was Wyatt. There were him and Liam, him and Jason, Jason, Liam, and Savannah. Some of the photos were even from Cancun. I recognized the moments that I had been a part of. There, rightthere, I had been with them. And that picture— I’d taken that one of Liam and Wyatt with their arms around each other and their feet in the surf.
I wasn’t anywhere in Wyatt’s photos. Whatever we’d had, and whatever we’d been to each other, was over. No, worse. It was like we had never existed at all.
I darted into the bathroom and snapped the door shut. My hands fumbled for the spigot as I shoved my face into the sink and croaked up my vodka martinis. Sour alcohol, bile, bitter regret— It all ran down the drain. I cupped my hands and held them to my face like I could drown myself in his bathroom.
Why did this hurt so fucking badly? IknewWyatt and I were over. I’d been the one who left. I’d left him, and he’d never tried to find me. He hadn’t shown up in Murray Hill with a boombox over his head playing cheesy love songs, had he? Of course not. So what had I expected today, that Wyatt would behappyto see me? Give me a fucking break. Something had snapped between us, and now we were falling away from each other and picking up speed the farther apart we got.
Boots strode slowly down the hall. “Noël?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and fumbled with the taps. The world was still in turmoil. Vodka vapors still ran through my veins. I bit down on my tongue until I tasted copper.Bury it. Bury it like you always do.
I dried my face and smoothed my hair.
Wyatt was right there when I opened the door, his hat in his hands. He was playing with the brim, fingers circling the dove-gray felt, and his eyes were as wide as the sky. “You all right?”
I flashed him my best New York smile. “I’m fine.”
Wyatt didn’t move or say a word as I edged past him.
Chin high, Noël. Back straight. Don’t let anyone see you down.
Especially not him.
After Tessa and Tyler finished their tasting, Wyatt took us on a tour of his property, which he insisted was best viewed by horseback.
Horses were a vague animal to me, limited to backdrops on movie sets and photo shoots and handled exclusively by odd women who seemed to speak a separate language with them. The closest I came to horses in New York was dodging their manure around Central Park.
The idea of riding a horse out here, where there weren’t any ambulances or hospitals, seemed unfathomable. What would happen if Tessa Yarborough was thrown and trampled? Shouldn’t she be concerned about that?
But Tessa and Tyler merrily followed Wyatt down the flower-lined path to his barn and paddock, where his horses were turned out and grazing. Wyatt whistled at the fence, and Tessa climbed the crossbeam like she was a five-year-old. Tyler kept his hand on the small of her back.
Horse met rider and fell in love. Tessa and Tyler cooed over their chestnut steeds, carefully listening to Wyatt’s instructions on how and where to scratch and stroke long noses and muscular necks. True love abounded, with selfies snapped and horses snuffling along jaws and cheeks. I looked away, trying not to imagine ears getting bitten off.
Wyatt helped Tessa and Tyler into their riding helmets—thankGod—and showed them how to saddle and mount their new best friends. He taught them how to hold the reins and how to guide their horses, and then—
Fuck, it was my turn.
Wyatt told them to take a turn around the paddock and get a feel for riding, and Tessa and Tyler happily trotted off, leaving me and Wyatt and the last of his horses, a chestnut mare with a big white star on her forehead,alone. She turned to me and blew out a huff. I flinched.
“Aww, stop that, Peanut. Be nice to Noël.”
Swear to God, Peanut rolled her eyes. She tossed her head and huffed again, giving Wyatt a look that very clearly said,Do I have to?
Wyatt scratched the sides of her face and rested his forehead against hers. They shared a tender, complicated look, something that could have beendon’t kill him, he’s the fixer for the ones that are going to spend money here, or,I know you’re trying to protect me, but don’t throw him off and stomp on his head like a watermelon.
“Peanut puts up a front, but she’s a gentle soul. She won’t let anything happen to you.” He scratched behind her ears, and she rolled her head into his palm. “’Specially since I’m the one putting you on her. Peanut is my sweet girl. Dad got her for me when I was four. She and I have grown up together.”
“Peanut? I’m surprised you didn’t name her Grape.”
Wyatt tied and retied the same knot in his lead rope. “Well.”
I tugged on my helmet while Wyatt studied my outfit. I was in head-to-toe Prada, and I wasn’t dressed for this. Gallivanting on horseback wasn’t part of today’s agenda. Not that Wyatt and I had spent any more time than minimally necessary over email to confirm the details, but still. This seemed like something I should have known was an option.
“Here.” Wyatt passed me a jacket, a canvas-and-plaid monstrosity that looked like it had been trampled on and thrown in the mud for a few years and forgotten. It was hideous, so rich with filth and unidentifiable stains that it looked like a twisted Jackson Pollack.
