Page 139 of Touch the Sky

The sun doesn’t seem bothered either. It’s just a glowing red semi-circle now, glinting like a ruby as it sinks below the crest of the highest mountain. Brilliant streaks of crimson paint the sky, fading to pink and then dusky purple. If I reached up above my head, I’m sure the colours would coat my fingertips.

In this moment, I swear I could touch the sky.

We’ll have to get going soon if we want to be home before dark, but for now, we sit and watch the end of the day that might just be the start of everything.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, tilting my head onto Tess’s shoulder.

She leans down to plant a kiss on my forehead.

“It’s home.”

Chapter 29

Tess

“What are you talking about?” Jacinthe asks. “What girl doesn’t like long romantic walks to the tack shop?”

She jumps out of the passenger seat before I have a chance to answer and rushes around to my side of the truck. After pulling the door open, she bows at the waist and holds her hand out with a flourish.

“À votre service, madame.”

I can’t help but laugh at the French butler routine.

“I just feel like such an idiot,” I tell her. “How did I not realize the restaurant is closed on Mondays?”

We’re in the mostly deserted parking lot of the local tack shop, on the outskirts of Saint-Jovite. We were supposed to get dinner at a nice pasta place in town. I figured we wouldn’t need reservations for a Monday, which turned out to be correct, seeing as the restaurant doesn’t bother to open on Monday nights at all.

The buzzing neon sign in the tack shop window indicates we’ll at least be able to get in here. Jacinthe suggested we make this pit stop on our way back to La Cloche.

The place’s logo features a drawing of a barrel and a cartoon grinning horse racing around it. The long, tin-roofed building has a huge bulletin board on the front wall featuring ads and notices put up by all the local horse people.

We’ll be able to put an ad up there ourselves very soon. This morning, we wrapped up our final meeting with the lawyer who made all the legal documents for Balsam Inn. Creating the contracts for a boarding stable was a lot more straightforward, especially since La Grange Rouge is already an established business.

They just have a new co-director of operations signed on now.

Tonight’s dinner was meant to be a celebration, but more importantly, it was supposed to be our first real date. In the two weeks since I left that note on Sam’s saddle and prayed Jacinthe would be up for the ride, we’ve put our focus on creating the business and letting the dust settle before taking the next step towards us.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jacinthe says, guiding me out of the truck once I’ve unclipped my seatbelt. “The tack shop will be much more romantic.”

I give her a look. “The tack shop will be more romantic than the cute Italian restaurant?”

“Ben ouais,” she says, practically skipping as she drags me by the hand to the shop’s door. “We can look at all the shiny new saddles and the fancy riding clothes. We can try stuff on! You would look sexy as fuck in some chaps.”

I tell her she has a weird sense of romance, and she beams at me as we walk through the door. A bell chimes above our heads, and the scent of leather and pine fills my nose.

A bored-looking middle-aged woman behind the cash register calls out a greeting and then returns to reading the romance novel she has propped on the counter. There are onlya couple other people wandering around the aisles filled with saddles, bridles, and every kind of horse care accessory known to the equestrian world.

Jacinthe takes us straight to the back of the store, where there are a few racks of clothing for sale. They have everything from pristine show jumping jackets to cozy polar fleeces and—to Jacinthe’s whooping delight—a few pairs of full-length leather chaps.

“Youhaveto put them on,” she says, yanking a dark brown pair with fringed edges off the rack and thrusting the hanger into my hands.

I try to give them back, but she backs away with her hands up.

“Why me?” I protest. “Why don’t you put them on, since you like them so much?”

“I want to see you in them,” she insists.

Then she gives me a mischievous wag of her eyebrows that I know means nothing but trouble.