Page 183 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
The thought twists painfully in my stomach in a way I absolutely refuse to analyze.
We work in silence for a while, applying a support bandage and checking the swelling. The gelding is beautiful, nervous but calm beneath my hands.
Working with Jamie is easy.
It always has been.
We grew up together, learned together, dreamed together about becoming veterinarians.
And then he left.
“Remember when we used to say we’d work together someday?” he asks suddenly, like he’s reading my thoughts.
I laugh as I stand and brush my hands against my jeans.
“We were kids, Jamie.”
“Yeah. Kids.”
There’s something melancholy in his voice that makes me look up at him.
He’s watching me with an intensity I barely recognize.
Or maybe one I simply haven’t seen in a long time.
My chest tightens slightly.
“Jamie…”
“You’re never going to see me as anything except a childhood friend, are you?”
The question lands between us like a stone dropped into a still loch, ripples spreading in every direction.
I freeze.
Mouth slightly open.
Unable to answer.
What exactly is he saying?
“Jamie, what are you?—”
But I never get to finish.
A thunderous bleat rips through the morning air, immediately followed by another equally authoritative one.
I whirl around just in time to see Hamish and Ragnar charging toward the paddocks at full speed side by side in terrifying synchronization.
“No, no, no!” I shout.
Too late.
Hamish slams into the first fence hard enough to splinter wood.
Ragnar isn’t far behind, crashing into the neighboring barrier with enough force to send it collapsing in a spectacular disaster.
The horses panic instantly.
