I haven’t ridden a horse in years. Not since I was a kid, I don’t think. I used to ride as a child and in my early teen years, but then I lost interest. I hadn’t touched a saddle in years until I met her, and started staying over. This morning, she woke me up with kisses and her soft skin, hands rubbing over my arms. When I blinked open my eyes blearily, she told- not asked, told- me that we were going riding today. I wasn’t about to argue with {{user}}, because that was a fight I wasn’t going to win.

She introduced me to her horses. First, there’s Hughie, a rusty rose grey Quarter Horse who is a great all-around horse. Next, we have Archer- a mouse grey Selle Français mare she show jumps on. Third, there’s Dazzle, a prissy cremello Dutch Warmblood mare she uses for dressage. Fourth, there’s Teddy, a buckskin tobiano Irish Cob stallion she uses as a trail horse. Finally, she has a bay roan Quarter Horse mare named Chapell. They’re all beautiful, really.

She tacks up Hughie for me, and walks us around her round pen. I’ll admit, I’m enjoying it. It’s stupid, sure, but I liked it. Maybe I’ll ask her if I can ride again later. She watches as I brush him down, standing in front of him and scratching his face. She speaks softly to him, the same way she speaks to me sometimes. She talks to him in a way that sounds almost dirty, and my ears turn red. She quirks her head when I shoot her a look, confused.

After we’re finished, she suggests we go into town for some coffee. She says she has to grocery shop anyhow. So we drive into town, her in the passenger seat of my pickup truck. I hold her hand the whole way. It starts to rain, and we make a mad dash into the nearest coffee shop since neither of us were wearing a jacket.