EMILY
The stable smelled like… well, a stable. Hay, horseshit, and damp wood. I sighed, brushing my hand down the glossy coat of the black stallion like he was my emotional support animal.
“You know, Prince,” I murmured, resting my forehead against his neck, “you can never really know what men want. It’s just basic logic.”
He huffed through his nose like he agreed with me, or maybe he was just annoyed I interrupted his snack.
“I mean, maybe it’s a sign, right? Maybe we weren’t meant to be.” I paused. “Or maybe something happened. That’s what happened last time. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
My voice grew softer. “Maybe he’s hurt. Maybe he didn’t mean to leave me on read.”
So many maybes. Prince continued munching on hay, blissfully uninterested in my downward spiral.
“You’re rig
