Beneath the Summer Sky - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
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The old gate groaned as I pushed it open, like it was reluctant to welcome me back.
I stepped out of the car, the dry gravel crunching beneath my boots, and for a second, all I could do was stand there and breathe. The air was exactly like I remembered, filled with the smell of earth, horses, faint traces of hay and leather. Familiar. Comforting. A little heavy.
I hadn't been back to the ranch in over five years. Not since college. Not since life got complicated.
The house stood solid and sun-faded in the distance, the barn to its left, surrounded by the wide, open sprawl of fields that made this place feel like its own little world. And it hit me then justing how much I'd missed it, how much I'd missed being here.
I wasn't just here for a visit. I needed the quiet. The space. After the breakup and the chaos of trying to untangle my life from someone else's, I needed something real again. Something steady.
But I hadn't expected the nerves to hit me so hard.
Especially not at the thought of seeing him.
"Thought I heard someone pull in."
That voice, rough, low, unbothered, wrapped around me like a lasso, pulling every nerve in my body tight. I turned toward the barn, heart thudding in a way that felt stupid.
Graham Hawke stood in the shadow of the open barn doors, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag like he hadn't just upended something inside me by existing.
God, he looked... older. In a good way. More lines around his eyes, more gray in his hair and beard. Solid as ever. Taller than I remembered, though I knew that wasn't possible. Just broader, maybe. Or maybe I was finally seeing him without the safety of childhood nostalgia.
He looked at me, and his gaze didn't just skim, it landed. Heavy. Assessing. Like he was trying to place me somewhere between who I was and who I'd become.
I lifted a hand, awkwardly. "Hey."
"You're taller," he said after a beat, like it was the only thing worth saying.
I huffed a laugh. "Yeah, well. I'm not eleven anymore."
His eyes flicked down my body and back up. Quick, but not quick enough that I didn't notice. My skin flushed warm beneath my jacket.
He gave a short nod. "No. You're not."
He turned before I could respond, heading back toward the barn like we hadn't just had the weirdest ten-second reunion of all time. I hesitated, then followed.
God, what was wrong with me? This was Graham. Grace's dad. The man who taught me how to drive stick, how to ride bareback, how to hammer a nail straight. He used to pack me and Grace lunch in a cooler and drop us off by the creek like some grumpy cowboy babysitter.
He wasn't supposed to look like that. Or look at me like that.
Inside the barn, the heat clung to the air, thick with dust and old memories. Graham picked up a wrench from the bench like my return didn't mean anything at all.
"You plan on staying long?" he asked, not looking at me.
I shifted my weight. "A few weeks, maybe? I'm... figuring things out." I hesitated. "Needed a reset."
He grunted. "You'll have space here."
Something about the way he said it calmed me. He didn't ask for details. Didn't press. Just offered me the exact thing I needed without making me explain why I needed it.
"Thanks," I said softly.
He didn't answer, just kept working on whatever engine was laid out on the bench. But I caught the way his jaw ticked, like he was thinking harder than he wanted to let on.
"So," I said, searching for something normal, "you still got Buster around?"
He gave the smallest smile, barely there, but it made something flicker in my chest.
"Old boy's half-blind, but still stomps around like he owns the place."
I grinned. "He always did."
"Reminds me of someone," he said, glancing at me with a flicker of amusement.
I rolled my eyes. "If you're calling me stubborn, I take that as a compliment."
"I didn't say anything," he muttered, but the ghost of a smile lingered.
For a moment, we just stood there. Him working. Me watching. The barn quiet except for the occasional chirp of birds outside and the soft clink of metal. It should've felt awkward, but it didn't.
I leaned back against the workbench, arms crossed, heart still beating just a little too fast.
Everything felt familiar. But he didn't.
Not anymore.
I stepped out of the car, the dry gravel crunching beneath my boots, and for a second, all I could do was stand there and breathe. The air was exactly like I remembered, filled with the smell of earth, horses, faint traces of hay and leather. Familiar. Comforting. A little heavy.
I hadn't been back to the ranch in over five years. Not since college. Not since life got complicated.
The house stood solid and sun-faded in the distance, the barn to its left, surrounded by the wide, open sprawl of fields that made this place feel like its own little world. And it hit me then justing how much I'd missed it, how much I'd missed being here.
I wasn't just here for a visit. I needed the quiet. The space. After the breakup and the chaos of trying to untangle my life from someone else's, I needed something real again. Something steady.
But I hadn't expected the nerves to hit me so hard.
Especially not at the thought of seeing him.
"Thought I heard someone pull in."
That voice, rough, low, unbothered, wrapped around me like a lasso, pulling every nerve in my body tight. I turned toward the barn, heart thudding in a way that felt stupid.
Graham Hawke stood in the shadow of the open barn doors, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag like he hadn't just upended something inside me by existing.
God, he looked... older. In a good way. More lines around his eyes, more gray in his hair and beard. Solid as ever. Taller than I remembered, though I knew that wasn't possible. Just broader, maybe. Or maybe I was finally seeing him without the safety of childhood nostalgia.
He looked at me, and his gaze didn't just skim, it landed. Heavy. Assessing. Like he was trying to place me somewhere between who I was and who I'd become.
I lifted a hand, awkwardly. "Hey."
"You're taller," he said after a beat, like it was the only thing worth saying.
I huffed a laugh. "Yeah, well. I'm not eleven anymore."
His eyes flicked down my body and back up. Quick, but not quick enough that I didn't notice. My skin flushed warm beneath my jacket.
He gave a short nod. "No. You're not."
He turned before I could respond, heading back toward the barn like we hadn't just had the weirdest ten-second reunion of all time. I hesitated, then followed.
God, what was wrong with me? This was Graham. Grace's dad. The man who taught me how to drive stick, how to ride bareback, how to hammer a nail straight. He used to pack me and Grace lunch in a cooler and drop us off by the creek like some grumpy cowboy babysitter.
He wasn't supposed to look like that. Or look at me like that.
Inside the barn, the heat clung to the air, thick with dust and old memories. Graham picked up a wrench from the bench like my return didn't mean anything at all.
"You plan on staying long?" he asked, not looking at me.
I shifted my weight. "A few weeks, maybe? I'm... figuring things out." I hesitated. "Needed a reset."
He grunted. "You'll have space here."
Something about the way he said it calmed me. He didn't ask for details. Didn't press. Just offered me the exact thing I needed without making me explain why I needed it.
"Thanks," I said softly.
He didn't answer, just kept working on whatever engine was laid out on the bench. But I caught the way his jaw ticked, like he was thinking harder than he wanted to let on.
"So," I said, searching for something normal, "you still got Buster around?"
He gave the smallest smile, barely there, but it made something flicker in my chest.
"Old boy's half-blind, but still stomps around like he owns the place."
I grinned. "He always did."
"Reminds me of someone," he said, glancing at me with a flicker of amusement.
I rolled my eyes. "If you're calling me stubborn, I take that as a compliment."
"I didn't say anything," he muttered, but the ghost of a smile lingered.
For a moment, we just stood there. Him working. Me watching. The barn quiet except for the occasional chirp of birds outside and the soft clink of metal. It should've felt awkward, but it didn't.
I leaned back against the workbench, arms crossed, heart still beating just a little too fast.
Everything felt familiar. But he didn't.
Not anymore.
End of Beneath the Summer Sky Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to Beneath the Summer Sky book page.