Change Rein - Anne Jolin Page 0,22

the one-too-many drinks I consumed the night prior.

While it is indeed the only bar in our small town, it is also one of our better restaurants. Like almost everything else in Willow Bay, it is family-owned and operated, and their food tastes like it.

It would seem my stomach holds little capability for a grudge as the rolling quickly gives way to a hungry rumble. Branson helps me up from the passenger’s seat. Then he holds my ass pillow in his left hand before offering me his right elbow.

“Did I hurt you?” He frowns, worry clouding his eyes.

“Hurt me how?” I ask, puzzled by the question.

He winces. “I braked the car abruptly before without thinking of how it could have hurt you. I would never want to hurt you.”

Sliding my arm into his, I smile. “I’m not a china doll. I’m perfectly fine, but thank you for checking.”

The very many sides I’m seeing of him in such a short period of time are intriguing and somewhat of a wonder.

He leads us through the heavy wooden door, and when I remove my sunglasses, it takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness inside. Without asking, he moves through the bar with an odd familiarity for an out-of-towner, and settles me—ass pillow and all—into a booth in the corner before taking the seat across the table.

My body does not take the separation from his well, and the magnitude of that feeling causes me to roll my eyes.

I guess I drank the crazy in the water too.

Reed, a girl I went to school with, a few years my elder and who also owns the bar, comes over and slides two menus onto the table.

“Nice to see you again, cowboy.” She nods towards Branson.

I fist my hands into my dress at their encounter.

“I see you found what you’re looking for.” She laughs, tossing her red hair over her shoulder and shaking her head.

“It was only a matter of time,” he responds. “I’m not a patient man.”

My jealousy is overtaken by the clear understanding that there’s an underlying conversation happening in front of me. Well, that, and it’s obvious they’ve met before.

“London.” She turns her attention towards me, and I’m suddenly aware of how beautiful she is. “Nice to see you’re still alive after last night.”

Last night.

“Oh, God,” I groan. “I’m sorry if I caused any trouble.”

She waves me off, chuckling. “You’re perfectly fine. I understand.” There’s sympathy in her eyes, and while I do appreciate it, I hate when people look at me like someone just kicked my puppy. “What can I get y’all to drink?”

I settle on iced tea, my favorite, and Branson orders black coffee. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any manlier than he is, he surprises me.

“How do you know Reed?” I blurt out. I suppose subtlety has never been my strong suit.

Smirking at my outburst, he rests his forearms onto the table. “I stayed at the hotel in town last night and came by for a drink.”

“Ah,” I mumble lamely before my eyes widen. “Please tell me you didn’t . . .”

“Oh, I did,” he finishes for me, and I really, really want to bang my head on the table.

You just had to ask, I think, cursing my mouth with no filter. “This is so embarrassing.”

Reed returns with our drinks, saving me from any further discussion on my drunken escapades, and takes our orders before leaving me alone with my lunch date.

My date.

“I want to know everything about you,” he states, bringing the coffee to his lips.

I haven’t been on a date in Lord knows how long. It was likely back when dating was watching a movie at your parents’ house with the door open. It dawns on me that I don’t have much of a clue about what dating as an adult looks like. I was always too busy training with Chil to have much spare time for the whims of romance, certainly not with someone like Branson.

As he watches me over the rim of his mug, he ripples intensity and radiates intimidation. While he is both beautiful and kind, he seems somewhat unapproachable. Nonetheless, I find myself wracking my brain for something to tell him.

As I fidget in my seat, he gently leads me into the conversation.

“What made you choose dressage? I’ll admit, having met your family briefly, it seems like an odd choice.”

I twirl the straw in my tea, pushing the ice cubes around. “I love the discipline,” I breathe out, my tone a