Page 28 of A Photo Finish
I feel like a little boy again, one who just fell off the tire swing and winded himself, the thud of my bones against the packed ground rattling through me. My breath is caught somewhere beyond my reach.
Violet doesn’t even look at me though. She doesn’t see my struggle. She just limps over to the front window, pressing a hand to it like a child at the zoo, like she’s never seen a horse before. I watch her body from behind. Her round ass, the taper of her waist, the slender curve of her neck beneath where all that pale hair is piled up on her head in a loose bun.
“What’s the issue?” she asks quietly, on a deep sigh, without looking back at me. Her spaghetti-strap-clad shoulders go from tight and high to slowly dropping, like the tension is melting right off her and flowing away on a warm, gentle current.
And I know.
I know at this moment that I don’t have it in me to make her get rid of the horse. After watching that physical reaction, how could I? I’m not a cruel man—not intentionally, anyway. Everything Violet feels is so plain to the naked eye, particularly to those of a man who’s spent his entire adult life reading people and situations. If there had been something that could soothe me the same way that Violet relaxed at the prospect of having some plain brown horse to play with, I would have done it.
And I would have resented anyone who tried to stop me.
Instead, I just resent myself for being stuck in a rut. Something I don’t want for Violet. Because no matter what she thinks, the days I spent messaging with her were some of my brightest in recent memory.
She turns to look at me over her shoulder, her wide blue eyes full of emotion, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Life courses through her so vividly and almost tangibly—like I could reach out and touch it, bottle it up and drink it, or just keep it. Possess it, knowing I have the option to consume it whenever I want. Money can’t buy this brand of vitality. This is bone deep—soul deep. She shines like the sun, golden and bright.
What a man like me wouldn’t give forthat.
“No issue,” I husk. “I’m just not taking care of it. That job is all yours.”
Violet tilts her head, almost imperceptibly. “Who knows, Cole? You might come around.”
I cross my arms and widen my stance, wanting to make it clear to her that I’m serious. Although, I’m getting the sense I don’t intimidate Violet as much as I thought. She’s tougher than she comes off. More resilient. “I don’t like horses,” I say plainly, pinning her with a serious look, choosing to leave out the part where my most vivid memory of them is watching my father fall to his death beneath their hooves.
Her body jolts ever so slightly, like I’ve just slapped her. And then a gentle smile spreads across her mouth. “We’ll see about that.”
She looks far too knowing for a woman her age. She’s looking at me likeI’mthe project rather than the scrawny horse in the yard.
I’m already dressed for a run, so that’s what I do.
I turn and run.
10
Violet
I’m pretty suremy surly pen pal, Golddigger, has become one of my only friends. We’ve been talking daily for a few months, and I’ve grown accustomed to it. I’d even go so far as to say I look forward to it. Some days I wake up and fire off a message to him saying good morning or something equally chipper. And other mornings he messages me first. Like today.
Golddigger85:Hi.
My lips tip up at the one word note. He’s not a big talker—this much I’ve learned—and yet he’s always there. He always writes me back. If I were annoying him, you’d think he’d stop responding. I think he needs this as much as I do.
The quiet, grumpy vibe is just part of his charm. And I take it to mean he likes me enough to keep me around. So, I always write him back too. Otherwise, all I do is work at Gold Rush Ranch from sunup to sundown. New girl on the farm means no clout, no seniority—grunt worker. And I like it. No one treats me like I need coddling. They throw me in the deep end and expect me to swim.
Pretty_in_Purple:Good morning, Butterface. How was your sleep?
Golddigger85:The usual.
I know what that means. It means he didn’t sleep well. He’s told me he wakes up a lot. He’s also told me he’s a veteran, so I assume those two things connect. I haven’t asked because he hasn’t seemed like he wants me to, and I’ve come to know that Golddigger is an intensely private man. That he likes my . . . Do you call what we have company? I don’t know. He likes my reliability but isn’t about to tell me his deepest, darkest secrets. Which is fine. I don’t expect him to.
But it doesn’t stop me from sharing about myself. I think he likes that too.
Pretty_in_Purple:I had a great sleep. Like a baby. I work outside all day, so by the time I get back to my apartment I’m beat.
Golddigger85:I don’t remember what it feels like to sleep through the night.
I wince. Sounds like my brother when he came back from Afghanistan.
Pretty_in_Purple:I have a brother who had a hard time sleeping for a spell.
