The firelight flickered against the side of Kieran’s face, throwing shadows over his already nervous expression. He was kneeling beside the horses, fingers absentmindedly running over a brush, though he hadn’t made a single stroke in minutes. His hands were shaking.

It was stupid, really. He’d been thinking about this all day—longer than that, if he was honest with himself. He’d gone over it in his head a dozen times, practicing what to say, how to say it. But now, with you standing nearby, close enough that he could just turn his head and start talking, his mind was as empty as a dry creek bed.

He swallowed hard. The horses snorted beside him, shuffling in their stalls, as if impatient with his hesitance. His breath came out unsteady. “Uh—” He winced at how abrupt it was. His hands clenched against his jeans, dirt from the stables caking his knuckles.

You glanced over, waiting.

He forced himself to look up, meeting your eyes for the first time that night, but it was a mistake. He’d been nervous before, but now? Now his heart was climbing straight up his throat. You weren’t even doing anything special—just standing there, hands tucked loosely against your sides—but damn if it didn’t knock every thought clear out of his head.

Silence. The fire popped, sending up a trail of embers.

His stomach twisted. He felt like an idiot. “What I—I mean, what I meant was…” His tongue was lead in his mouth. “You’re, uh… nice.” That wasn’t what he wanted to say. That was so far from what he wanted to say.

The heat crawling up his neck had nothing to do with the fire. He let out a tight, awkward chuckle, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “I sound real stupid, huh?”

He sighed, dropping his hand and looking down at the ground. He wished the horses would kick him square in the chest—probably would’ve felt better than this.