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It's been easy in a way I hadn't anticipated. Charlie Astor, with his tailored suits and white-hot confidence, somehow fits into my life in a way I’d never expected. Every minute I spend with him just makes me crave him more.

"What are you thinking about?" Charlie asks, his voice pulling me from my thoughts. "You've got that little crease between your eyebrows."

I smooth my fingers between my brows, self-conscious. "Just...this. Us. It's been an amazing few weeks."

"It has." His voice is softer now, less teasing. "I especially liked Wednesday at the barn."

I groan dramatically.

Wednesday had been my day off, and to my surprise, Charlie had asked if he could come watch me ride. I'd warned him that the barn wasn't exactly a luxury experience—more mud andmanure than marble floors—but he'd insisted. He'd shown up in jeans and boots that looked suspiciously new but practical enough, and I'd reintroduced him to Oliver.

"You should have seen your face when Oliver tried to bite me," Charlie says now, chuckling. "You looked mortified."

"I felt horrible. He’s so naughty sometimes."

"He was establishing dominance. I respect that in a business partner. Or a horse."

The memory makes me smile. Oliver, in a bit of a foul mood that day, had immediately sized Charlie up and tried his standard tricks. But instead of being offended or scared when the bay gelding had pinned his ears and snapped at the air near Charlie's shoulder, Charlie had simply stepped back, kept calm, and followed my instructions to a tee. By the end of the visit, Oliver was politely taking carrots from his hand.

"You were good with him," I admit. "Most men I've dated try to prove they're not intimidated by horses by doing exactly the wrong thing."

"Most men you've dated sound like idiots," Charlie says, then glances over with that wink that makes my knees go weak. "Besides, I figured if I could handle a boardroom full of aggressive investors, I could handle one opinionated horse."

I laugh, and glance out the window, imagining Oliver in one of Charlie’s meetings.

"Tell me about this wedding tomorrow," I say, shifting my body toward him again. I’d completely forgotten to ask earlier this week whose wedding it is.

Charlie groans. "This one's for a client's son, actually. Dad insisted I make an appearance since they're looking at expanding their distribution partnership with us." He shrugs. "At least the venue's supposed to be nice. Historic mansion with gardens. Very fancy."

"What are their names?" I ask, playing with his hand that’s resting on my thigh.

"Hank and Kiley. Hank Carter. His family is from Seattle actually. Do you know him?"

The air leaves my lungs all at once. My fingers curl into my palms without my conscious direction, nails digging half-moons into the skin. "Hank Carter?" My voice sounds distant, as if it's coming from somewhere else.

"Yes." Charlie glances over, then does a double-take. "Tess? What's wrong?"

I stare straight ahead at the road, trying to control my breathing. "I know them," I say finally, the words feeling like pebbles in my mouth. "Hank and I...we dated. For about a year. And Kiley was a friend at one point."

"Shit." Charlie's hand finds mine, uncurling my fingers gently from their fist. "Ex-boyfriend? I didn't know. How long ago was it?"

"A while ago. Maybe eight years?" I take a deep breath. "I knew they got engaged. I just...didn't connect that this wedding was theirs."

I don't tell him how hard the breakup was for me. How I’ve considered Hank to be “the one that got away” for years now. How shocked I was to find out that he and Kiley were engaged.

Charlie's quiet for a moment, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. "We don't have to go," he says finally. "I can call, make an excuse. Food poisoning. Sudden business emergency."

The offer is tempting—so tempting I almost say yes. But something stubborn rises in me, the same determination that got me through Juilliard, that makes me practice a difficult piece until my fingers bleed, that keeps me working with a horse that others have given up on.

"No." I straighten my shoulders. "We're going. It's just...awkward. That's all."

Charlie studies me for a moment, his blue eyes serious. "You sure? Because I'm serious about the food poisoning story. I can be very convincingly ill."

“No, I’m good. We’re all packed and ready for a fun weekend. And that’s exactly what we’re going to have.” I flash him my most confident smile and try not to let my mind race ahead to tomorrow, to facing Hank and Kiley and the whispers that will inevitably follow me.

"Hey," Charlie says softly. His hand finds mine again, fingers interlacing. "Whatever history is there, whatever happens tomorrow—I've got you, okay? We're in this together."

The simple promise shouldn't mean as much as it does. We're barely out of the starting gate of whatever this relationship is. But his hand is warm and solid around mine, and for now, that feels like enough to hold onto.