Trinity Rosales has one goal in mind: find a job, not a man.
As a new grad, Trinity Rosales sets out on applying to jobs and surprisingly gets hired at one of the most famous interior design firms in the city. Except the man she's trying to avoid ha...
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The day after I took around five showers to get the mud off my body, Lincoln drives us around the ranch.
I need inspiration. I need ideas to tie the lodging in with the surrounding area. We don't want the guests to feel like they are in a different state, we want them to feel included—part of something bigger.
Give them a real authentic experience.
What gets more authentic than driving around a ten-thousand-acre ranch?
Lincoln chuckles behind the steering wheel and juts his chin out at the barn we are closing in on. "Riding a horse makes the ranch style more authentic." He answers my question and my eyes bulge out of their sockets.
We are–what?
"Please tell me you're joking." I voice, feeling uneasy.
"Nope," Lincoln states making a popping sound at the use of the word. He may as well have burst my balloon of security by how confident he is in this.
"You said you liked horses," he adds and I glare at him. "I never said that."
He nods as he shuts off the engine, "If I recall correctly, you said you would much rather be out riding horses. So from that statement alone, I realized you are fond of the beasts."
My jaw drops because I don't even remember saying that.
How can he pay such close attention?
Architect. It must be that. It's part of his job to remember the fine details.
"Don't worry," Half of his full lips tilt up. "I am too. Now come on. Cody's waiting for us."
I don't bother to exit the car. I remain rooted in place feeling a mixture of emotions. Fear, awe, concern, and excitement spin like a blender in my belly.
I didn't anticipate this.
I'm not ready.
I've never even seen a horse in real life much less ridden atop one.
The passenger door opens and I glance over seeing Lincoln grinning widely at me, "Hey if you wanted me to get the door for you you could've just asked."
He winks and that gesture alone has me snapping out of my stupor, "I can open my own door asshole."
He lands a big hand over his chest. "I'm wounded. I thought we were friends."
I don't reply as he and I walk over to the barn. My brain is too focused on not losing it.
Just before we enter he grabs my arm, sending heat down my side.
"It'll be okay," he reassures me and gives me a brief squeeze before confidently striding into the horse's quarters.
I, on the other hand, slow my steps. Hesitant is a mild way to describe how I'm currently feeling.
