After we walk out, Kris and Grigoriy and Aleks offer to take me to any other store I want, but my leg’s throbbing. I shrug. “We got a lot.”

“Shoes, at least,” Kris says. “You’ll want some decent shoes.”

I begrudgingly nod. “But one pair is fine. You bought me way too much back there.”

“I bought it,” Grigoriy says.

Aleks laughs. “I think my credit card will beg to differ.”

“I’ll pay you back,” he says. “I’m the one who insisted on buying all of that.”

Aleks laughs. “It’s fine. I told you.”

Grigoriy shakes his head, apparently as stubborn as I am. “I’ll reimburse you.”

“Let’s go to Rossita,” Kris says. “Their window display had the most gorgeous boots.”

“Or that A.S. 98 place was pretty nice,” Aleks says.

Kris shrugs. “They’re practically next door.”

It’s a car ride away, but when we get out, Aleks has parked right by an equine outfitter. I can’t help the pang in my heart at seeing it. I’m surrounded by horse stuff day in and day out, but I never bother paying for expensive riding pants or boots. What’s the point? I can’t wear any of it for its intended purpose.

Something about seeing it all on display still pains me.

Even now, a decade later, I can smell the sharp new leather smell of the nicest boots. I can feel the tacky, grippy sensation of running my hands over the full seat pants. I can remember the way the best gloves grip your fingers, making them better able to hold the reins, even when they get sweaty inside.

I heave a small sigh.

“Let’s step in here for a moment,” Kris says.

I shake my head. “Can you go later?”

“I can,” Kris says. “But you should come now.”

“You know I can’t,” I say.

“But you can, now,” she insists. “Weren’t you on a horse this morning?”

I roll my eyes. “Only because I had no choice.”

“You can’t ride because a horse might spook or buck and you might fall, right?” Kris has a twinkle in her eyes.

“Right, and it’s uncomfortable for me to even grip with my leg.”

“But you’re having a surgery soon, and on top of that, you have a horse that won’t spook or buck, now. You have a horse you can trust to keep you safe.”

What is she talking about?

“Me.” Grigoriy smiles and starts toward the store.

“Wait.” But I can’t catch him. He’s striding in way too fast, and he knows my size, and I wouldn’t put it past him to just buy whatever he thinks looks nice, without even waiting for my permission.

I follow Kris inside, and the smell of boot leather and tack hits me like a fan to the face. I pause for a moment and breathe it in.

“—your most expensive pair of women’s boots?” Grigoriy’s asking the saleswoman. “And your nicest pants, jacket, whatever she will need. A few of each.”

“Stop.” It’s embarrassing having him ask for me, like having my mom cut my sandwich.