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I gather up my reins. "We're just going to do some basic flatwork today. Nothing fancy. Hopefully you won’t be bored."

"Don't mind me," he says, leaning against the arena fence. "Pretend I'm not even here."

That's easier said than done. As I put Oliver through his paces—walking, trotting, cantering in careful circles and patterns—I'm very aware of Charlie's gaze following us. But there's something motivating about his presence too. I find myself sitting taller, asking for a bit more expression in Oliver's movement, taking extra care with my transitions.

Oliver seems to feel it too, arching his neck and lifting his feet with added flair. Show-off.

"He's trying to impress you," I call to Charlie during a walk break, patting Oliver's neck. "He loves an audience."

Charlie's laugh carries across the arena. "The feeling's mutual. He's incredible, Tess. I mean, I don't know a ton about this stuff, but even I can tell he's special."

The genuine admiration in his voice makes my chest tighten with pride.

Thirty minutes later, I cool Oliver out with a final walk around the arena before halting in front of Charlie. His expression is one of unabashed wonder as he watches me dismount.

"That was amazing," he says as I lead Oliver back to the cross-ties. "The way you two communicate with almost nothing visible—it's like watching some kind of silent conversation."

I loosen the girth. "It's all about subtle cues and communication. When it works, it feels like magic."

"It looked like magic," Charlie agrees, removing the saddle. "And he's really coming along, isn't he? He isn’t nearly as rambunctious as when I saw him at the show.”

I laugh. "That's a polite way of putting it. He still has his moments, but yes, he's growing up."

Once Oliver is untacked and I've sponged off the sweat marks, Charlie produces the rest of the sugar cubes. "May I?" he asks.

I nod. Oliver's lips tickle his palm as he takes the offered treat, his ears pricked forward.

"Good boy," Charlie murmurs, patting Oliver's neck. Oliver leans into his hand, recognizing a potential new treat source when he sees one.

"You've made a friend for life," I say, watching them. "He never forgets who brings the sugar."

After Oliver is fully cooled off and cleaned up, I pour a scoop of grain into his feed bucket, adding the supplements that keep his coat gleaming and his joints healthy. Charlie leans against the stall door, watching him eat.

"I’ve been thinking about what to do with Oliver when I can't ride anymore," I say, clicking the latch into place.

Charlie straightens, brushing a bit of hay from his sleeve. "You mean when you're further along?"

I nod, watching Oliver dive into his dinner with enthusiasm. "The doctor says I should probably stop riding around twenty weeks, sooner if I'm uncomfortable. That's only two months from now."

My hand drifts to my stomach. "But Oliver needs consistent work. If he sits around for months, we'll lose all our progress."

Charlie follows me as I head toward the tack room to put away my grooming supplies. The barn is quiet, most riders having finished for the day.

"So what are you thinking?" he asks.

I set my brush box on its shelf and turn to face him. "I was considering finding a teenager to lease him. Someone with enough experience to handle him. It would keep him exercised and they could continue some of his training."

Charlie leans against the doorframe, his expression thoughtful. "That's one option."

Something in his tone makes me pause. "You don't think it’s a good one?"

"It's not that." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I've come to recognize as his thinking pose. "It's just...I've actually been thinking about this too."

This surprises me. "You have?"

"Of course." His eyes meet mine, so earnest that it makes my chest ache. "I know how important Oliver is to you. And after seeing you ride today, I understand even better why you're worried about keeping him in good condition."

"I was talking to Jane a few days ago," he continues. "And I asked her what she would do in this situation."