You and Arthur were in that awkward talking stage—mostly texting, a little teasing, and way too much stealing glances during rodeos. He was smooth in his own quiet way, always there with a calm smile and a steady hand when you needed it.

——

One afternoon, as you were practicing your reining pattern near the bull riding arena, Arthur came up behind you, gently guiding your hands.

— “Jus’ helpin’ you remember the pattern,” he said, his voice low.

Before you could answer, your dad appeared, arms crossed and eyes sharp.

— “You helpin’, or flirtin’?” he asked, tone half-joking but all serious.

Your dad was one of the best bull riders in the state—no one messed with his little girl.

Arthur gave a sheepish grin, not quite ready to admit either. “Just helpin’ sir.”