Bright, Broken Things, page 17
He didn’t speak, and she felt as if she was holding her breath. Claire nudged her, like she was reminding Liv to inhale. She admitted she’d miss him — or the idea of him — if he left.
“I’d like to finish what I’ve started.”
She nodded, surprised by the relief that washed over her. “Good. You fit, Miller.”
For a split second, she felt they were a perfect match, because they would never be. He would eventually go his own way — on to ride — and she would go hers. They would travel divergent paths. And part of her was sad about that; a very small part. A part of her lost long ago. But it passed.
“I don’t know why anyone would want to go to Florida anyway,” he said.
Liv grinned. “I agree. The spiders are massive. And the fire ants could kill you.”
“Not to mention gators that eat small dogs.”
“And children.”
“I’m told there are wild boar at Payson Park. Rumour, or fact?” he asked.
“It could be true.”
“Not to mention spending afternoons on the beach burning our pale Canadian hides,” he added.
“Boring,” she agreed.
“And going to the races at Gulfstream.”
“Then there’s Wellington. So pretentious.” She rolled her eyes.
“I hear polo’s a drag too.”
She turned back to the filly at her shoulder, her smile fading. “Claire’s going.”
His expression sobered. “I’m sorry. Next year.”
She caught his smile, his wistful eyes, and returned them. “Next year.”
Nate went back to the apartment — his apartment. He had work to do. It would take time to build Geai’s trust, prove his loyalty, develop the belief that he’d stay. Liv though? That was beyond him. He thought he saw some of himself reflected in her; a distant dream, a taste of something he wanted but couldn’t quite have. It was hard to put a finger on it.
He didn’t know her well enough to speculate what was under her wall. On the surface, she seemed straightforward. It was simple: she liked horses better than people. She liked her privacy. He could respect that, even relate to it. They might just be kindred spirits. A ghost of a good thing. That made him smile.
With the whole Fort Erie fiasco — that was how he’d always think of that morning — he’d fallen victim to the fear of missing out. Did he want to ride? Sure. In time. It was that patience thing again. Good things come to those who wait. He still felt he had too much stuff to fix. He had to do it right. He’d messed up enough.
He turned on the lamp resting on top of the piano, its light bathing the keys he’d so far left untouched. That photo of him, and her, and his brothers was safely in the shadow.
The bench was hard, but his fingers ached to play. He stretched them over the white and black pattern hovering for a moment like he’d done every time he’d tried sitting here, but this time they connected, and the notes came, building to a melody, the music making it clear he was exactly where he needed to be.
* * *
THE END
Linda Shantz, Bright, Broken Things
