me. I feel an unfamiliar sensation in my right hand; one that is sending scream-like signals to my haze-filled brain to reach for Tristan’s hand, but I refuse to make him uncomfortable. Besides, I don’t want to push him away by alerting him of my strange feelings or conflicting thoughts… being his friend is better than nothing, so I’m content with just being by his side.
To my shock, I feel warm f ingers caressing mine, teasing and testing. He’s seeing if I’m okay with him holding my hand, and my body responds before I have time to consider the consequences. I lock my fingers with his, smiling as I feel his palm press against my own. From the corner of my eye, I see his lips lift in a discreet smile.
We walk down the front stairs, reveling in the beautiful scenery. T ristan was probably used to the beauty, but I still find myself stunned by the picturesque terrain. Not wanting to break the silence, I let him lead me in the opposite direction of the road.
“Where are we going?” I ask after a few moments of peaceful silence, unable to control my curiosity any longer.
He looks at me with a mischievous gleam in his light eyes, a look I haven’t seen before. “For a ride,” is all he says.
My footsteps halt, stopping Tristan as well. “I don’t know how to ride a horse! Isn’t there something less … adventurous that would appeal to you?” I say, attempting to joke, but the serious undertone is obvious.
Tristan just continues to walk, pulling me with him by my hand. Our fingers have stayed locked since we left the house, and I’m in no rush to move them. If riding a horse would force us to separate, I refuse to go along with his plan.
About ten minutes later, we climb over a hill and I see the barn, the closest I’d come to it since I’ve been here. Suddenly, a question pops into my mind. “How did you know Rachel has horses?”
He raises his eyebrows and slows our pace slightly. “She’s never menti oned me?” he asks, voice laced with shock and worry.
Tristan keeps his gaze centered on the ground in front of us, probably trying to avoid any tumbles onto the ground. “No, she hasn’t,” I answer slowly.
I hear a sound that seems like a grunt, but more like a hum, coming from Tristan. “Well, I’ve ridden one of her horses- Dino- before. Quite a lot actu ally. I’m kind of surprised she has never mentioned me,” he says, disbelieving.
Suddenly irritated with my aunt for not bringing up the beautiful boy that rides her horses, I force the frustration down and try to enjoy the moment, which isn’t difficult to do.
“Her and I are still… coping, with living together,” is all I reply. I’d give details if he asked me to; hell, I’d tell him my whole story if I didn’t think he’d run for the hills.
He nods, looking deep in thought. “I don’t know much about you, Kat herine . I get the sense that you don’t want to open your life up to everyone, but I’m not everyone. You know you can trust me, right?” I feel him squeeze my hand.
I attempt to smile slightly, but can’t. He pulls me closer to his side, so close that our shoulders touch and our legs almost brush together as we walk. I feel instantly calm, ready to tell him anything he wants to know.
The old me would’ve been mortified to be walking hand in hand with a boy like Tristan; a boy who is not only beautiful, but dangerously compelling. I no longer refer to my ancient happy-self as the “old me”; I refer to the closed off, suicidal, and miserable girl as the old me. Something inside me sings at this revelation, and I’m stunned I have made such progress. I send a silent “thanks” up to the man who made it all possible.
After ten more minutes of leisurely walking, we stand at the open door of the large red barn. The smell is immediate, but I find it oddly homey instead of being repulsed. Tristan pulls m e into the structure behind him as he turns his
To my shock, I feel warm f ingers caressing mine, teasing and testing. He’s seeing if I’m okay with him holding my hand, and my body responds before I have time to consider the consequences. I lock my fingers with his, smiling as I feel his palm press against my own. From the corner of my eye, I see his lips lift in a discreet smile.
We walk down the front stairs, reveling in the beautiful scenery. T ristan was probably used to the beauty, but I still find myself stunned by the picturesque terrain. Not wanting to break the silence, I let him lead me in the opposite direction of the road.
“Where are we going?” I ask after a few moments of peaceful silence, unable to control my curiosity any longer.
He looks at me with a mischievous gleam in his light eyes, a look I haven’t seen before. “For a ride,” is all he says.
My footsteps halt, stopping Tristan as well. “I don’t know how to ride a horse! Isn’t there something less … adventurous that would appeal to you?” I say, attempting to joke, but the serious undertone is obvious.
Tristan just continues to walk, pulling me with him by my hand. Our fingers have stayed locked since we left the house, and I’m in no rush to move them. If riding a horse would force us to separate, I refuse to go along with his plan.
About ten minutes later, we climb over a hill and I see the barn, the closest I’d come to it since I’ve been here. Suddenly, a question pops into my mind. “How did you know Rachel has horses?”
He raises his eyebrows and slows our pace slightly. “She’s never menti oned me?” he asks, voice laced with shock and worry.
Tristan keeps his gaze centered on the ground in front of us, probably trying to avoid any tumbles onto the ground. “No, she hasn’t,” I answer slowly.
I hear a sound that seems like a grunt, but more like a hum, coming from Tristan. “Well, I’ve ridden one of her horses- Dino- before. Quite a lot actu ally. I’m kind of surprised she has never mentioned me,” he says, disbelieving.
Suddenly irritated with my aunt for not bringing up the beautiful boy that rides her horses, I force the frustration down and try to enjoy the moment, which isn’t difficult to do.
“Her and I are still… coping, with living together,” is all I reply. I’d give details if he asked me to; hell, I’d tell him my whole story if I didn’t think he’d run for the hills.
He nods, looking deep in thought. “I don’t know much about you, Kat herine . I get the sense that you don’t want to open your life up to everyone, but I’m not everyone. You know you can trust me, right?” I feel him squeeze my hand.
I attempt to smile slightly, but can’t. He pulls me closer to his side, so close that our shoulders touch and our legs almost brush together as we walk. I feel instantly calm, ready to tell him anything he wants to know.
The old me would’ve been mortified to be walking hand in hand with a boy like Tristan; a boy who is not only beautiful, but dangerously compelling. I no longer refer to my ancient happy-self as the “old me”; I refer to the closed off, suicidal, and miserable girl as the old me. Something inside me sings at this revelation, and I’m stunned I have made such progress. I send a silent “thanks” up to the man who made it all possible.
After ten more minutes of leisurely walking, we stand at the open door of the large red barn. The smell is immediate, but I find it oddly homey instead of being repulsed. Tristan pulls m e into the structure behind him as he turns his
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