This is the second time you’ve caught her staring at you.

Both parties fluster. Sadie tipping her hat down to cover her blushing cheeks, you hiding your face against the horse you were grooming. Her lips tremble around the rim of the bottle she’s been drinking out of, holding grumbles of embarrassment in with each gulp.

She should say something to you—no one’s around to tell on her if she does. What’s the harm?

Her heart aches to approach you, but, her damn boots just stay planted in the ground. It feels like she’s sinking.

“Come on, Sadie. Stop being a little punk ‘n just go over there.”

If you were close enough, you would’ve heard her muttering to herself. Giving herself a pep talk before forcing to pick up her feet and march over there.

God, she can’t do this.