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They both just keep looking back at me expectantly. Like puppies. And no one likes a guy who kicks puppies.
“Didn’t really ask your opinion, did I?” I shake one out onto my palm and toss it back into my mouth. “Nope. I’m just here to provide the biceps,” Cole deadpans,
“You have better manners than that, Cole Harding. You’ve been opening doors for me all morning.”
“I don’t hate horses.” Pippy snorts and bats her eyelashes at him. Another one down, apparently. “Okay. You said you don’t like horses.” “Yup.” He grunts as he turns his back on me and crouches down to line up two boards. “But I like you.”
she might even like him more than me. Or maybe he just needs her more than I do.
“We’re not buddies,” Cole bites out. “You’re a slimy little fuck who I would love nothing more than to set straight. If you think that episode with the whip hurt, you have no clue what you’re in for. What I’m trained to do.”
“Every time you laugh, it’s at me!” I chuckle because it’s true. “Yeah, but I laugh with you more than I’ve laughed in years.”
“You’re not broken. You’re perfect. And I’m a shitty fucking patchwork quilt. I’ve spent years picking up the tattered pieces of myself, every life event, every heartbreak, and slowly stitched it all back together. But I’m not good at sewing, Violet.”
Hilary was the poison, Violet is the antidote.
