Page 32 of Three Months Yesterday

I wasn’t close enough to hear the exchange, but it was hard to miss the joy on his face, even from where I was by the paddock.

“Have you owned horses before?” Beckett asks, laughter coating his voice.

“No, but I worked at the rescue these horses came from a few towns over one summer and fell in love with them.”

There’s so much more I could say about that summer, but my words are trapped in my throat at the sight of the speckled Appaloosa that steps out of the trailer. She’s everything I remember from when I visited the rescue last month and I can’t wait to get her and her son settled.

“You want to guide Meadow and I’ll take care of Oakley,” Noah asks, a smile stretching across his lips when he sees my excitement.

It’s a conscious effort not to rush over to Noah and the beautiful mare. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves before gently making my way over to the two of them.

I extend my hand, waiting for Meadow to make the next move, and the moment she nudges her hand against mine, tears well in my eyes.

“Whoa,” Noah blurts. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry.” His words are soft, but that doesn’t stop the tears from slipping free.

The thing is, Noah’s not wrong.

I may have only spent one summer working with him at the rescue, but I never stopped visiting the place, not when it was the only way I got to interact with horses. And over that summer and all those subsequent visits, Noah and I became good friends.

He’s probably one of the very few people who know me as well as my family does. One of the few people who’ve stayed in my life through my obsession with my family’s land.

Noah’s never seen me cry because I don’t cry. It’s one of the things I both love and hate about myself—my inability to show my emotions freely. I still wonder if I were more open if Mark and I would still be together. Or would the friends I made in college still be in my life. Would I be more open to leaving this land and this town.

But then again…five days ago, I was crying in front of Beckett, a man I barely know. Something that normally would have me running in the other direction, but not only did I stay and learn more about him, I invited him farther into my space.

“I don’t know what’s going on with me lately,” I whisper, wiping at my cheeks.

The smile that stretches across my lips isn’t necessarily forced—I’m ecstatic about Meadow’s reaction to me and I can’t wait to build more of a bond with her, but I hate that the tears showed up so easily.

When did I become so emotional?

“Hey.” Beckett’s gentle voice sounds from behind me before his hand brushes the small of my back. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” It takes effort not to melt into Beckett’s touch. Instead of pulling away, upset with myself for wanting his comfort, I turn to make sure he can see the honesty in my eyes and the appreciation for his concern.

When I look back at Noah, his gaze bounces between Beckett and me, shock and curiosity etched across his features. I’m not a mind reader, but I imagine he’s wondering how the hell Beckett Stone ended up here in Stonebridge Hollow and how the two of us are connected. But Noah being the good friend he is doesn’t voice any of the thoughts in his mind. He doesn’t even address the fact that The Beckett Stone is standing next to me.

Giving Noah an out, I introduce the two men. “Beckett, this is Noah, the owner of the horse rescue.”

“Nice to meet you, Noah. I’m Beckett Stone.” He extends his hand, a warm smile stretched across his lips.

“Yeah, I was going to pretend I didn’t know that, but…” His words trail off with a sheepish shrug, and I don’t try to stop the small laugh that escapes.

“I swear, I’m the only person who doesn’t know you,” I murmur in mock annoyance. At this point, I find it more comical than anything else.

Of course I would have this unexplainable attraction to a man the majority of the world knows. A man who could have anyone and anything he wants.

“You don’t know who he is?” Noah’s shock grows tenfold at the question and I know I should really stop being surprised by people’s reaction to the news.

“Well, I mean, obviously I know him, he’s standing right here and has been staying in Millie’s Cottage for the last week.”

“Mads, I know you don’t really pay attention to newer stuff, but this one seriously surprises me. Beckett’s music is right up your alley.”

“Is it?” Beckett asks. “Madison made it out to sound like she only listens to the oldies.”

“Oh, she does, but some of her favorites are Johnny Cash, James Taylor, and Simon and Garfunkel. And you can’t deny you have a very similar sound to them. I’m pretty sure I saw an interview where you said you were heavily inspired by Cash and Taylor.”

“You’d be right about my inspiration, but I don’t know if I’d go so far to say I’m anywhere close to sounding like them, but I appreciate the comparison.” Beckett squeezes the back of his neck, a slight blush coloring his cheeks.