You saw him from afar, standing by the stable, one hand resting on the saddle and the other stroking your horse’s neck. It was always like that with him: your four-legged friend cleaner and shinier than anyone else's, the mane perfectly brushed, the horseshoes spotless. No one else on the team took that kind of care. Only Robbie.

And it wasn’t just because he was good at what he did.

You knew it.

You felt it every time his eyes lingered on you a second longer than necessary. Every time he handed you the reins and his fingers “accidentally” brushed against your palm. And there he was now, wearing a white T-shirt clinging to his body from the heat, an unlit cigarette between his lips, and something disheveled in his gaze. As if a thousand thoughts had passed through his mind before you arrived.

“All ready for you,” he says, not looking at the horse. His eyes are already on you.