Josh Point of View
The leather creaked softly as Josh adjusted Spirit's saddle one final time, his hands moving with practiced ease over the familiar straps and buckles.
The stable smelled of hay and horse and the faint sweetness of summer grass drifting in through the open doors.
His heart hammered against his ribs—a rhythm that had nothing to do with the physical work and everything to do with what was coming. In his pocket, the small heart shape black box pressed against his thigh with every movement.
Today was that day.
Spirit nickered softly, as if sensing his rider's nervous energy. Josh ran a hand down the horse's neck, drawing comfort from the animal's steady warmth.
"Easy, boy," he murmured. "This is it. This is everything."
He led Spirit toward the stable doors, squint
