The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet, #1)(60)

The fact that she cared and thought about me when I was so sure she’d be enthralled by new friends and teachers and forget all about me made my heart burst.

I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought I didn’t want her.

I couldn’t stand remembering how I’d left her behind, if only for a few days.

My life wouldn’t be nearly as rewarding if she’d never stowed away in my backpack and become my most favourite thing in the world.

And just like Della was my one and only, she was loved by each Wilson just as much. Liam would often search her out after he came home from school, and they’d play tag or swim in the river that cut through the Wilson’s back paddock. Cassie took her under her wing and taught her how to be around horses safely, how to brush them, feed them, and even, on a muggy summer night, helped her climb aboard and led her around the paddock where Cassie jumped and schooled her horses.

Della had fallen asleep that night with the biggest grin on her face, legs and arms star-fished under the blankets in utter bliss. I’d watched her sleep for a while before sneaking from the bedroom and going to thank Cassie.

Her bedroom window was above a goldfish pond with pretty lily pads and noisy frogs. I often wondered if the position of the quaint pond directly beneath Cassie’s window was to prevent her from easily scaling the flat roof and shimming down the ivy growing on the brick.

The more I got to know her, the more I learned who she was, and she had a rebellious streak. She might love her parents and brother, but she didn’t necessarily like rules. She’d already tried dope, drank with her friends when she said she was staying the night to do homework, and generally acted like an adult when really, she was still a girl.

In many ways, Della seemed older than her with her serious attitude, utmost concentration on learning new things, and almost magical way she retained everything.

Where Cassie favoured sarcasm for laughter, Della preferred wit and a dry sense of humour. Where Cassie protected Liam and got angry with him over the slightest thing, Della cared for me as deeply as I cared for her, and we never had stupid arguments.

When we had arguments, they were never stupid, but hell, they were loud and long and drained me until all I wanted to do was kneel before my tiny ribbon and beg her to forgive me, even if it wasn’t my fault.

That night, as I stood by the pond and threw a small pebble at Cassie’s window, I knew I was crossing the friendship boundary that we’d danced around ever since that first kiss a few months ago.

She hadn’t tried to kiss me again, and I was too much of a wimp to try myself.

Yet here I was about to do something that made my legs quake and belly knot, and in a way, it was thanks to Della.

It was her happiness that made me want to make Cassie just as happy because I was so damn grateful she’d befriended her. The fact that she let Della ride her prized pony was one of the most selfless things I’d seen her do.

Her window slid up on the third pebble, her brown hair mused from her pillow and one cheek red from lying on her side. “What gives? What’s happened?”

“Meet me at the kitchen door,” I whispered, keeping a close eye on her parents’ blackened bedroom three windows away.

Not waiting to see if she’d obey, I jogged around the farmhouse, avoiding the perfect flower beds that Patricia Wilson spent hours tending, and waited nervously as soft footsteps sounded on the flagstone floor then the rattle of a lock and opening of the door.

“It’s past midnight. Why am I out of bed?” Cassie blinked with blurry eyes. “You do realise Dad asked you to get up at dawn to do the first cut of the season, right?”

I nodded. “I know.”

“That’s in…I dunno, four hours or so.”

“I know that, too.”

“Well, how about you tell me what you’re doing here, so I know if you’ve gone insane or not.”

I smiled, climbing the small stoop so we were eye level. She was shorter than me but not by much. Her arms weren’t as strong. Her legs not as fast. Her smile not as pure as Della’s.

Funny how I compared the two.

Strange that I found both perfect in their own way.

“You’re staring,” she murmured, her voice dropping into the husky undertones that never failed to make me hard.

Clearing my throat, I said softly, “Thank you for letting Della ride your horse today.”

She tilted her head so thick hair rivered over her shoulder. “That’s what you woke me up to say?”

I shrugged. “I needed to say it.”

“Well, I needed to sleep.” She smirked, her cheeks pinking with pleasure instead of annoyance as she pretended.

“I also…” I coughed, doing my best to get up the courage. “I also wanted to do something.”

“What something?”

Why was this so hard? How had she kissed me that night in the barn? It took a hell of a lot of guts, and it made me respect her that much more for being the first to do it.

“I—” Gripping the back of my neck, I squeezed hard. Doing my best to suck up my fear, I leaned toward her. “I wanted to kiss you again.”

She gasped just as I closed the distance and pressed my lips to hers.

We stood frozen and awkward, her in the kitchen, me on the stoop, and my heart roared in my ears. I didn’t know what to do next. I’d done this all wrong.