Make the Season Bright

Chapter 8

The horses were monsters.

Beasts.

Veritable behemoths.

“You okay?” Adele asked for the third time since they’d pulled into a field next to a red barn. The Hazelthorne house, according to the Berry sisters, was another mile up the road, but the Two Turtledoves event started in this grassy area near a paddock, where what seemed like a wild pack of horses waited with plaid flannel blankets draped over their backs.

“I’m fine,” Brighton said robotically. And she was. She could do this. It was just a horse, and one used to having people on its back. Granted, Gertrude, the Demon Horse of Western Michigan, had been the same. Then again, Brighton had been thirteen. Everything was scary at thirteen, and she wasn’t thirteen anymore.

She was a grown-up, dammit, complete with a dead-end dream and a lackluster love life.

She suppressed a groan and focused on the atmosphere around her, which she had to admit was idyllic. Snow covered the ground, an expanse of fields that seemed to go on forever to the east. Just ahead was the drive that curled through tall oaks and led to the house, and to her left, an evergreen forest rose up before her, snowy and verdant all at once, a tiny path carved through the middle. The air was crisp and cold, perfect for her blush-colored infinity scarf, hat, and mittened fingers, which warmed around a cup of hot apple cider.

Then there was the company, at least twenty people of different genders, races, and ethnicities gathered for the event, all of them ranging in age from midtwenties to midthirties, if Brighton had to guess.

And some of them very, very cute.

Her attention caught on a woman with brown skin and short dark hair, her hands in the pockets of her navy puffer coat, clunky Doc Martens on her feet. Their eyes met, and the woman smiled. Brighton smiled back, but then her gaze immediately slid to Lola, who was standing by Sloane, her posture ramrod straight in her tailored peacoat, somehow marred by what looked like a mud stain. Brighton shook herself inwardly, forced her eyes back to the woman in the Docs, whose wide and confident stance sent just the right kind of pheromones in Brighton’s direction.

“Hey,” Brighton said to Adele. “Do you know all of these people?”

“Most of them, yeah. Why my mother thinks Sloane and I are gonna find true love amid the people who used to make fun of our hair behind our backs and ask us what we were , I’m not sure.”

“God,” Brighton said. “They actually asked you that?”

Adele gave her a look. “Oh, my sweet summer child.”

Brighton winced. “I’m sorry. That’s awful.”

Adele took a sip of her cider. “That’s having a white mom and a Black dad in a small town. It wasn’t everyone, though. In fact, there are a lot of pretty decent people here. Queer people too.” She motioned toward a Black guy talking to Sloane. He had short hair with a fade and a neatly trimmed beard, a jawline that could cut glass. “That’s Wes, Sloane’s boyfriend her junior and senior years of high school and all through college. Good dude. One of the only pan kids at our school. Owns a restaurant downtown.”

“He’s cute,” Brighton said.

“He is.” Adele smiled. “Looks like he thinks the same of Charlotte.”

“What?” Brighton said, eyes snapping to Lola once again, who was now offering a smile to Wes’s outstretched hand. Lola hated shaking hands, said it was the equivalent of licking a subway turnstile in New York City, but she caved after a shoulder nudge from Sloane, showing all of her teeth as she slid her palm into Wes’s.

His smile widened.

Brighton’s stomach tightened, something that was absolutely not jealousy pulling at her insides. “What about her?” she asked Adele, nodding toward the woman in Docs.

“That’s Gemma Villanueva, Sloane’s first queer crush. She’s also my mom’s best friend’s kid, so we all sort of figured out our queerness together.”

“Sweet.”

“And swapped spit around, you know, experimenting .”

“Gross.”

Adele laughed, then nudged Brighton’s arm. “We’re all very platonic now. She’s good people. You should go for it.”

Brighton just frowned, watching Gemma laugh at something a person next to her said. She glanced back at Lola, who was still talking to Wes and Sloane. His body was definitely angled toward her, and she was still smiling, smiling, smiling. Fake smiling—Brighton would know Lola’s grin-and-bear-it look anywhere—but she was still interacting, never glancing in Brighton’s direction. They weren’t even twenty-four hours into their stay in Winter River, but Brighton was already exhausted from all the wondering and caring and looking she was doing.

She needed to stop.

Needed to focus on something else.

Go for it , Adele had said. There was nothing stopping her. Granted, she lived in Nashville, and Gemma—all of these people, for that matter—either lived here or was only home for the holidays, but still. Why shouldn’t she have a little fun? Why shouldn’t she spend time with someone who was hot and thought she was hot too and, you know, actually spoke to her? If they ended up making out and Lola just happened to hear about it, well, all the better.

Because Lola was clearly fine without Brighton Fairbrook in her life. Clearly, Brighton’s betrayal five years ago had been the best decision for both of them. Clearly, Brighton just needed to let it the hell go.

Let Lola go.

“Yeah,” Brighton said, taking in a deep gulp of cold winter air. “Maybe I will.”

“That’s the spirit,” Adele said, then lifted her hand in a wave. “Hey, Gemma!”

“Oh god, now ?” Brighton said.

“Now, baby girl.”

“Fuck. Do I look okay?” She adjusted her hat so her bangs peeked out just so, made sure her coat was buttoned correctly.

Adele gave her a once-over. “Totally hot if I was into you like that.”

Brighton laughed, but Adele’s joke did help her relax. “Gee, thanks.”

“Think nothing of it,” Adele said, then chin-nodded at the woman approaching them. “Gemma, hey.” They clasped hands in a sort of high five–slash–handshake, the kind of greeting beloved by butch lesbians everywhere.

“It’s been too long,” Gemma said. “How’s Nashville?”

“Can’t complain,” Adele said. “Business is good. You still in LA?”

Gemma nodded, her gaze flicking to Brighton, then back to Adele. “Had to buy a new coat just for this trip.”

Adele laughed, then said to Brighton, “Gemma is a landscape architect. Designs, like, botanical gardens for movie stars and shit.”

Gemma shook her head. “More like koi ponds for C-list actors, but let’s go with what you said.”

Adele grinned. “Gemma, this is Brighton. She’s a musician.”

“Hey,” Gemma said, tilting her head at Brighton. “Nice to—”

“Oh, no, I’m not a musician,” Brighton said. It took her a second to realize she’d just blurted it out mid-introduction, but it felt important to start off on the right foot here. “Not really. I used to be. Guitar, songwriting, singing. You know. But I stopped. Because, well…I just did.”

Gemma blinked at her, mouth slightly parted. “Okay. Um, cool.”

“I bartend at Ampersand,” Brighton said, motioning toward Adele, who was staring at her with a horrified expression on her face. Still, Brighton couldn’t seem to shut up. “So that’s my calling, I guess. Liquor and other people’s sad music.” She laughed awkwardly, could already feel her face heating up several degrees.

“That’s…nice,” Gemma said, then turned to talk to someone who had just come up on her left.

“Wow,” Adele said after a few seconds of shocked silence.

“I know,” Brighton said.

“You are supremely bad at this.”

Brighton pressed her hands to her crimson cheeks. “Was it as awful as I think it was?”

“Worse. Were you always this bad? Like, you’ve had hookups in the past few years, right?”

Brighton closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “Yeah, I just…I’m just a bit…”

Do not look at Lola , she told herself. Don’t you fucking dare.

“I’m jet-lagged,” Brighton said. “Off my game.”

“ Off your game?” Adele said. “More like your game fell out of the airplane somewhere over the Midwest.”

Brighton didn’t reply, just filled her cheeks with air before blowing a raspberry. She glanced at Gemma. She could fix this. She’d done it before, goddammit—she’d had plenty of hookups since she’d moved to Nashville. She could be cute and alluring and even suave. Not as suave as Adele, but that’s the kind of shit one was born with. She needed to work with what she had here.

She was just about to step closer to Gemma when a blond woman in her fifties stepped up onto a crate in front of the paddock and clapped her gloved hands.

“Okay, everyone!” she said. She was wearing a puffy vest over a plaid flannel shirt, and her boots were caked in mud. Definite farmer vibe. “Most of you know me, but I do see a few new faces. I’m Jenny Hazelthorne, and we’re very excited to be sponsoring this event for Two Turtledoves. As you know, it’s for a good cause, so take advantage of all the cash you’ve already dropped and step up your romantic game!”

Chuckles rippled through the crowd. Adele side-eyed Brighton, and Brighton stuck out her tongue.

“Before we get started,” Jenny said, “I just want to give you a few tips about our wonderful animal friends.” She waved toward the horses that the Hazelthorne employees were now leading out of the paddock. Jenny went on to talk about mounting, how to work the reins, and how all of these horses had been chosen for their gentle temperaments.

Regardless, Brighton’s stomach clenched as a guy in a flannel shirt and puffy vest brought a brown horse to a stop next to her.

She gulped.

“This here is Cupcake,” the guy said, smiling a wide cowboy-like smile, all swagger and ease. His name tag read Scott. “She’s sweet as sugar.”

Cupcake’s eyes were doelike, long lashes surrounding a soft brown in which Brighton could see her reflection, but still, she was gigantic and muscular, and Brighton couldn’t believe people actually straddled these things willingly.

“Take a second to get to know your horse,” Jenny said. “Pet them. Let them sniff your hand so they can get to know you.”

Brighton held out a hand to Cupcake, determined to conquer her fear, but when Cupcake’s nostrils flared and she let out a loud huff, Brighton yelped and yanked her hand back.

“Good, everyone, good,” Jenny said, then motioned to a woman next to her with short red curls sticking out from under her hat. “This is my wife, Shannon, and she and I will both be leading the tour through the woods in case anything goes awry.”

Brighton relaxed a little at the word wife , just like she always did when in the company of other queer people. She could be undergoing a root canal, and as long as the dentist was queer, she was bound to be at least 50 percent calmer, the feeling of safety and camaraderie like a mild muscle relaxer.

Still, Cupcake’s nostrils were the size of whole human fists, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She wasn’t sure how she felt about anything right now.

“Okay, everyone, mount up!” Jenny announced, and Brighton’s stomach flipped. Mount up ? Just like that? Just… mount up ?

Everyone around her did exactly that. She watched as Elle got onto a black-and-brown horse, and Manish let out a triumphant whoop as he settled into the saddle of his black horse. Adele and Sloane slipped onto their horses like selkies into water, and Lola…

Lola was looking right at her.

She already sat astride a brown horse, her posture perfect as she nodded at something Wes was saying atop his own horse next to her, but her eyes were on Brighton.

Brighton looked back, her hands on the saddle as Scott held on to the horse’s reins. Brighton waited for Lola to…what? Smile? Nod in encouragement?

Anything, really. Brighton just wanted Lola to do anything but gaze at her with that dead-eyed expression, as though her ex-fiancée were nothing more than a photograph on a wall.

“Just grab hold of the horn there, ma’am,” Scott said when Brighton didn’t move.

She blinked, and Lola’s gaze was gone, turned toward Wes. Brighton focused on Cupcake, but everything Jenny had said about getting on the damn thing flew right out of her head.

“Ma’am?” Scott said, but Brighton couldn’t stop watching as Lola laughed at something Wes said. It actually took quite a lot to get Lola to laugh genuinely. She didn’t let everyone in like that, didn’t—

“Can I help you with something?” Lola asked.

Brighton blinked. She’d been so lost in thought about how Lola used to be, she hadn’t realized Lola was staring right at her again.

And Brighton was staring back.

“Help me?” Brighton asked.

Lola looked her up and down. “You have to get on the horse in order to ride it.”

“Oh, is that how it works?” Brighton asked. “How about common courtesy?”

“Do you really want to talk about courtesy right now?” Lola said, her hands tightening on her reins.

No, in fact, Brighton did not. But goddammit, Lola’s who the fuck are you attitude was making her skin feel too tight for her body.

“Do you two know each other?” Wes asked, his eyes darting between them.

“No,” Lola said before Brighton had even opened her mouth. “Not at all. Just not hitting it off.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Brighton said, because she was an asshole. “I rather like a little verbal sparring as foreplay.”

A few laughs fluttered through the group, and Lola’s face flooded red.

“I prefer mutual respect and, as you said, courtesy ,” she said. “For example, when someone is going to be late for an appointment or, I don’t know, not show up at all, a little heads-up is nice. You know”—here she smiled widely, showing all her teeth—“being a decent human being and all. Don’t you think so, Wes?”

He blinked. “Um, punctuality is…a trait I admire. I’m sorry, are we talking about punctuality?”

Lola just laughed. “Something like that.”

Brighton opened her mouth, a real zinger on the tip of her tongue, something really mature, like where certain moles were located on Lola’s body, but she stopped herself just in time, turning away and biting her tongue.

“Fuck,” she said instead, because she had to say something , then realized far too late that she’d all but yelled the curse. Eyes latched on to her from all around, including Adele’s and Gemma’s. Brighton laughed it off, shrugging like the himbo Gemma undoubtedly thought she was. Still, the awkwardness was strong enough to motivate Brighton to get on her horse. She turned to face Cupcake, put her left hand on the saddle horn and her left foot in the stirrup, then hoisted herself on top of the beast.

Cupcake swerved a bit, but Brighton managed to stay on her back. Brighton’s entire body was shaking, and she was sure she was about to puke, but she’d done it. She was so high up, the world taking on an entirely different quality from this perspective. She couldn’t imagine moving through the snowy woods like this, but it was happening regardless.

Jenny, now astride her own magnificent beast, applauded everyone’s success and started modeling how to flick the reins and use one’s legs to get a horse going.

“Squeeze your thighs, lovebirds!” she called, which made everyone laugh.

Somehow, Brighton managed to direct Cupcake into a walk without falling off or throwing up. Two farm employees on huge black horses corralled the group on either side, keeping everyone together, with Jenny and Shannon in the lead.

The path was narrow enough that the Turtledovers, as Brighton had chosen to think of them, had to merge into pairs. Somehow—call it fate or karma or whatever the hell—Brighton ended up riding alongside Gemma, with Lola and Wes right in front of them. Adele was next to Elle just ahead, and Brighton could hear Manish talking with Sloane behind her, saying something about how Nate kept calling him and the queer gods must hate him.

“At least I won’t break your heart,” Sloane said.

“I’d rather a little heartbreak if it gets me laid,” Manish said, and Sloane laughed.

“Look at our girl, though,” Manish said. “His name is Wes?”

Sloane must’ve nodded, then said, “He’ll be good for her.”

“He’d be good for anyone,” Manish said. “He’s hot.”

Sloane said something else but so softly Brighton couldn’t hear the words.

“Really now?” Manish said in response. “Interesting.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sloane said, louder this time, and Brighton felt herself straining backward a little to get a better listen.

“So,” Gemma said loudly, startling Brighton forward into her saddle. Cupcake gave a little jolt as well, and Brighton tightened her grip on the reins. She smiled, focused on the pretty dimple pressing into Gemma’s left cheek.

“Hi,” Brighton said.

“Hi,” Gemma said.

They fell into silence for a few seconds, which was honestly better than Brighton’s unhinged babbling about the sad state of her life. She thought about the dating apps she sometimes logged into, how most of the time, when you got a match, it was best to start off the conversation with some interesting question rather than the standard fare. She was just about to ask Gemma about her favorite board game when Gemma beat her to it.

“So what sort of music did you used to play?”

Brighton blinked, her thighs tightening around Cupcake. The horse sped up for a second, then slowed when Brighton yanked on the reins, finally settling next to Gemma’s horse again.

“Sorry,” Brighton said. “Um…just…you know, singer-songwriter stuff.”

“You played guitar?”

Brighton nodded.

“Why’d you quit?”

She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. She hadn’t really done this yet—explained her fallout with the Katies to anyone other than her parents and Adele. Hadn’t needed to. She hadn’t had a hookup since the band’s breakup, and she certainly didn’t make a habit of offering the information freely. Still, she didn’t want to mess this up. Gemma was sweet and sexy and was giving her a second chance here.

“I just…needed a break,” Brighton said. There. Perfectly reasonable. “It’s difficult, trying to keep up with the pace in Nashville.”

Gemma nodded. “I can’t imagine. Was it hard to book shows?”

Brighton exhaled, her breath puffing in front of her in the cold. Cupcake huffed too, shaking her mane a little as they headed deeper into the forest.

“It was,” Brighton said, and left it at that. “So what kind of board—”

“I love a live concert,” Gemma said. “I was just at the Katies’ show in Anaheim last month. They were amazing. You’ve heard of them, right? I mean, of course you have—every queer person has heard of them.”

Cupcake reared up for a second, her front legs leaving the ground altogether before stomping back down onto the snowy forest floor.

“Whoa,” Brighton said, gripping the reins. “Whoa, girl.”

“She okay?” Gemma asked.

Brighton didn’t answer, her fingers going numb on the reins. Her heart had doubled its pace. She remembered hearing something about how horses could sense fear—or was that dogs? Either way, Cupcake was antsy, and Brighton tried her best to stay calm. The scenery was beautiful, after all—towering pines, a clear blue winter sky, a white blanket of snow as far as the eye could see. But no matter how gorgeous and serene her surroundings, she couldn’t seem to settle down. That name— the Katies— was like a starter pistol. She couldn’t hear it, couldn’t even think it, without her thoughts leaping into a race of self-loathing and bitterness.

And, apparently, Cupcake was a mind reader, because the beast grew more agitated by the second. She started to stomp a little as she walked, whinnying softly and shaking her mane. Then she jerked to one side and straightened out, only to jerk to the other.

“Um,” Brighton said, desperately pulsing her thighs in the saddle and pulling on the reins as gently as she could. “Good girl.”

Cupcake, it seemed, was having none of it. She whinnied some more, then sped up before slowing down again.

“Brighton, you all right?” Manish asked from behind her.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Brighton said, more to herself than to Manish. She was fine. She was not about to die atop this horse.

“Maybe we should stop for a second,” Gemma said.

“No, I’m good,” Brighton said, trying to keep her voice steady, but she could hear it—the wobble in her throat, accompanied by a stinging behind her eyes she couldn’t blame on the cold air.

And Cupcake felt it all.

She neighed—or whatever the hell one calls it when a horse essentially lets out a battle cry—and took off galloping.

“Whoa, girl!” Brighton yelled, but Cupcake had made up her mind, and she bolted down the snowy path, passing all the other couples in a blur of colors and shouts of alarm.

Brighton doubled over, the saddle horn jabbing into her chest as she hunched down to try to stay as low as possible. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she had no idea if she’d actually started crying or if the winter air was simply yanking all the moisture from her eyes. Her ass slammed onto the saddle over and over again, and she was positive her tailbone—along with all of her other bones, to be honest—was in the process of shattering.

She squeezed her eyes closed, awaiting her grisly end. Just when she’d nearly made peace with the fact that she was probably going to die here in Winter River while her poor mother was drinking Chateau Lafite in France, another rider pulled up beside her.

“Whoa, girl, it’s all right,” a serene voice said, and bit by bit, Cupcake slowed to a trot, whinnying a little until she stopped altogether.

Brighton stayed hunched, eyes clenched shut, knuckles gnarled into Cupcake’s mane.

“Jesus, are you both okay?” another voice called from behind her. Brighton thought it was Jenny Hazelthorne.

“We’re fine,” the first voice said.

Familiar.

So fucking familiar.

“That was some fast thinking,” Jenny said.

Lola didn’t answer—because it was Lola, that voice, calm and confident.

Brighton tried to uncurl her spine, tried to simply open her eyes, but she couldn’t. Her whole body was locked up. A pulsing hush surrounded her, and it took her a second to realize the sound was her own breathing, fast and nearly out of control. She was dizzy, her mouth watering in warning, and—

A hand on her back.

“You’re okay.”

The hand moved up…then down, unsure at first, but then settling into a rhythmic circle.

“You’re fine,” Lola said. “Everything’s fine.”

“Shit, Brighton, are you all right?” Adele asked as she came up behind them.

“She’s fine,” Lola said. “Just give her a second.”

Her hand kept moving, soothing, and second by second, Brighton felt her mind slow down, then her heart, her lungs. Her fingers released Cupcake’s mane, and her shoulders loosened. Finally, finally, she opened her eyes.

Found Lola’s.

Lola was still calm, no smile or even the slightest curve to her mouth, but she was looking at Brighton with… something . Something more than the cool disdain with which she’d talked to Brighton just a few minutes ago.

Brighton reached out and grabbed Lola’s other hand, which held not only her own horse’s reins but also Cupcake’s, and Lola let her. Their fingers tangled together, Lola’s free hand still on her back, and Brighton felt as though she’d just fallen into a feather bed after a week without sleep.

“You’re okay,” Lola said again, and Brighton nodded, their gazes still locked.

“My god, Charlotte, where’d you learn to ride like that?” Sloane said.

And the spell broke.

Lola untangled their fingers, removed her hand from Brighton’s back. She straightened her posture and cleared her throat.

“I wasn’t going that fast,” she said. “Just instinct, I guess.” Her eyes flicked to Brighton’s one more time, then away.

“Well, it was quite the rescue,” Jenny said. Shannon, who had come up on Cupcake’s other side and dismounted, smoothed a hand over the mare’s neck and whispered to her. “Some might say the stuff meet-cutes are made of.” Jenny was smiling, her gaze going back and forth between Lola and Brighton.

“Okay, now we’re getting down to it,” Manish said. “The magic of Two Turtledoves at work, I see.”

“Char and the damsel-in-distress trope,” Elle said. “I love it.”

“Right?” Manish said. “All we need is a clinch cover for the book.”

“You two are ridiculous,” Lola said, then laughed. She laughed , the sound so genuine that Brighton felt anger surge through her veins. Granted, her heart rate was still working to slow down after her adventure, but she was getting damn tired of this roller-coaster ride with Lola. She either ignored Brighton or insulted her, then quite literally saved her life, only to laugh at the mere idea of the two of them together.

As though they hadn’t very nearly promised to love each other forever.

“Are we ridiculous?” Elle asked.

“We are not,” Manish said. “You two could at least ride together for the rest of the morning, see if there’s a spark.”

“There’s definitely something,” Elle said.

“There isn’t,” Lola said. “And I’d rather—”

“I think there might be,” Brighton said, lifting her chin when Lola slowly turned to meet her gaze. She hadn’t planned it, but canting along with Lola right now seemed to be the only way she was going to get her ex to talk to her. Really talk to her. “Remember how I said I enjoy verbal sparring?”

Lola pressed her mouth flat. “I’m not sure you’re up for continuing on horseback.”

“I’m fine,” Brighton said, forcing more steadiness into her voice than she felt. But then she smiled. Lowered her lashes a little, flicked them back up. And, hell yes, she absolutely did coat her next words with every ounce of flirt she possessed. “Especially if you’re by my side to help me.”

“Damn,” Manish said.

Lola’s jaw tightened.

“All right, looks like we have the first match of Two Turtledoves!” Jenny announced, clapping her gloved hands together. The rest of the group joined in, and Brighton heard Adele’s signature whistle over the crowd.

Lola still continued to stare at her.

Brighton didn’t look away. Didn’t dare. Lola wanted to play games with her? She’d play them right the fuck back.