By the third day, I no longer counted the bruises on my thighs.
They were there—faint reminders of early mornings at the stables, of clumsy starts and near-misses, of Nathan’s quiet instructions and steady hands guiding mine. Horseback riding had become part of our routine, woven gently into the rhythm of the holidays.
“Relax your shoulders,” Nathan reminded me as we moved along the familiar trail near the cliffs. “You fight the saddle when you tense up.”
“I’m not tense,” I said, adjusting my posture anyway.
He rode closer, his knee brushing mine. “You say that every time.”
“And every time you’re right,” I admitted with a sigh.
He smiled, pleased—but not smug. That was the thing about him. He never made me feel small for learning. Just… supported.
The mare beneath me responded smoot
