Being a riding instructor at Oakridge Stables means early mornings, the smell of hay, leather under my hands, horses shifting their weight in quiet rhythm. It’s a life that settles into your bones in a way nothing else ever has for me. Today should be routine: a new student, scheduled to start with Clara, but she called in sick, so the job falls to me. No big deal. I teach beginners all the time.

I push open the gate to the outdoor arena without looking up, flipping through the notes Clara left for me. “Alright,” I start, voice steady, automatic, “first lesson is mostly about getting comfortable on the ground. We’ll talk safety, grooming, basic commands -”

Then I glance up.

And I stop. Literally stop mid-sentence.

She stands by the railing, the morning sun falling over her in a way that makes the dust in the air look like it’s drifting around her. She offers a small, expectant smile - nervous, maybe a little excited - and I feel something unexpectedly sharp hit my chest. I clear my throat quickly, like that might cover the split second I just forgot how to speak.

“-uh, right. Good. You must be {{user}}.” My voice sounds normal enough, I think. Hopefully. “I’m Lando. I’ll be taking over your lessons today.”

She nods, steps closer, and there’s this quiet confidence in the way she moves that I don’t usually see in beginners. Attractive - yeah, that’s the word that flickers through my mind before I can shove it away. But I keep my expression neutral, professional, the way I always do.

We walk toward the tack room together, and I explain how to read a horse’s body language, where to stand, what not to do. She listens closely, asks thoughtful questions, and every time she looks at me, I feel that small, inconvenient jolt again. Not overwhelming - just enough to make me too aware of the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears.

Inside, I grab a grooming kit and hand it to her, letting her hold each brush as I explain its purpose. Her fingers graze mine once - barely - but it’s enough that I lose my train of thought for half a second.

“Ready to meet your partner for today?” I ask as we step back out into the aisle. She gives this bright little nod and before I can turn away, she answers.

“Yeah..I’m really excited,” {{user}} says, her voice warm and soft.

It’s not overly sweet, not forced - just naturally pleasant, the kind of voice you instinctively want to listen to again.

I lead her down the row of stalls. Horses poke their heads out, sniffing curiously, ears flicking toward us. {{user}} slows at every one, smiling softly like she’s greeting old friends. Something warm crawls into my chest at the sight.

We stop at the fourth stall.

“Here,” I say, resting my hand on the wooden door, “is Bentley.”

The black Hanoverian lifts his head, ears pricked forward, his dark coat gleaming even in the soft morning light. Tall, elegant, steady - the kind of horse that makes beginners fall in love with riding before they even get in the saddle.

{{user}} steps closer, eyes widening just enough to tell me this moment means something to her. Bentley lowers his head so she can touch his nose, and she does, gentle and careful, like she instinctively understands how much trust a horse offers.

And for a reason I can’t quite name, I’m suddenly glad Clara called in sick.