Beneath the Summer Sky - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading Beneath the Summer Sky, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of Beneath the Summer Sky.
She doesn't belong here anymore.
That's what I keep telling myself every time I see her walking across the yard, sunlight catching in her hair like it used to when she was fifteen. Except she's not a kid now. Not even close.
She's got this presence, unapologetic, full of fire, like she's daring the world to underestimate her. And it's screwing with my head.
This morning, she met me at the barn before I could even finish my coffee, gloves already on, that determined look on her face.
"You need help fixing the troughs today?" she asked, like she hadn't been gone for six years.
I should've said no.
Should've told her to go inside, take it easy, sleep in. But the truth? I didn't want her to go anywhere.
So now here we are, side by side, elbows deep in muck and water, clearing out the old animal troughs like it's just another chore. Like this isn't some twisted test of how much I can ignore the way her laugh hits me square in the chest.
"Remember when Grace dared me to jump into the pond from the hayloft?" she says, scrubbing the metal with way too much energy. "You told us both we were idiots."
"You were idiots," I mutter.
She snorts. "Yeah, but it was the best summer of my life."
She smiles at me, and I feel it all the way down. That kind of smile that disarms you without trying.
Damn it.
I drop the brush and turn toward the next trough, trying to put distance between us, even if it's just a few feet.
But I feel her eyes. I always feel her eyes.
It's not right. She's Grace's best friend. I've known her since she had braces and used to call me "Grahams" just to annoy me. Back then, I barely noticed her. She was just another kid running wild around the ranch.
But now?
Now she walks into a room and my pulse reacts before my brain catches up. Her voice has that low, thoughtful edge. Her body moves with this natural confidence I can't seem to unsee.
And she notices me noticing.
I caught her the other day, just a flicker of awareness in her expression when our hands brushed. She pulled away fast, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. But it was there.
The spark.
She felt it too.
And that's the part that scares the hell out of me.
Because I know better.
I know what lines not to cross. I've lived long enough to learn that what feels good in a moment can wreck everything that matters. This ranch. My friendship with Grace. The small world we've built over decades. All of it could fall apart over one weak, selfish decision.
Still, when she talks, I want to listen. When she laughs, I want to keep it going. And when she looks at me like she's seeing something she wasn't expecting.
I want to be that man.
But I can't.
After we finish with the troughs, I head to the back of the barn and grab a bucket, pretending I have more to do just to put space between us. She doesn't follow.
I glance over once. She's standing in the sunlight, hair pulled up in a messy knot, face tilted to the breeze like she belongs here more than I ever will.
God help me.
If she stays here much longer, I'm not going to survive this.
That's what I keep telling myself every time I see her walking across the yard, sunlight catching in her hair like it used to when she was fifteen. Except she's not a kid now. Not even close.
She's got this presence, unapologetic, full of fire, like she's daring the world to underestimate her. And it's screwing with my head.
This morning, she met me at the barn before I could even finish my coffee, gloves already on, that determined look on her face.
"You need help fixing the troughs today?" she asked, like she hadn't been gone for six years.
I should've said no.
Should've told her to go inside, take it easy, sleep in. But the truth? I didn't want her to go anywhere.
So now here we are, side by side, elbows deep in muck and water, clearing out the old animal troughs like it's just another chore. Like this isn't some twisted test of how much I can ignore the way her laugh hits me square in the chest.
"Remember when Grace dared me to jump into the pond from the hayloft?" she says, scrubbing the metal with way too much energy. "You told us both we were idiots."
"You were idiots," I mutter.
She snorts. "Yeah, but it was the best summer of my life."
She smiles at me, and I feel it all the way down. That kind of smile that disarms you without trying.
Damn it.
I drop the brush and turn toward the next trough, trying to put distance between us, even if it's just a few feet.
But I feel her eyes. I always feel her eyes.
It's not right. She's Grace's best friend. I've known her since she had braces and used to call me "Grahams" just to annoy me. Back then, I barely noticed her. She was just another kid running wild around the ranch.
But now?
Now she walks into a room and my pulse reacts before my brain catches up. Her voice has that low, thoughtful edge. Her body moves with this natural confidence I can't seem to unsee.
And she notices me noticing.
I caught her the other day, just a flicker of awareness in her expression when our hands brushed. She pulled away fast, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. But it was there.
The spark.
She felt it too.
And that's the part that scares the hell out of me.
Because I know better.
I know what lines not to cross. I've lived long enough to learn that what feels good in a moment can wreck everything that matters. This ranch. My friendship with Grace. The small world we've built over decades. All of it could fall apart over one weak, selfish decision.
Still, when she talks, I want to listen. When she laughs, I want to keep it going. And when she looks at me like she's seeing something she wasn't expecting.
I want to be that man.
But I can't.
After we finish with the troughs, I head to the back of the barn and grab a bucket, pretending I have more to do just to put space between us. She doesn't follow.
I glance over once. She's standing in the sunlight, hair pulled up in a messy knot, face tilted to the breeze like she belongs here more than I ever will.
God help me.
If she stays here much longer, I'm not going to survive this.
End of Beneath the Summer Sky Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to Beneath the Summer Sky book page.