If We Never End by Laura Taylor Namey

Author:Laura Taylor Namey
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781547618064
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2026-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The stables were a deep cranberry, like the covered bridge I’d visited with Penn. This time, Del’s last-minute directions were better than crude symbols on the back of my fair map. I still congratulated myself for not getting lost even once.

At the parking strip at the far end of a circular drive, I cut the engine and popped two Aleve—preventative. My latest banger of a headache had downgraded to minor annoyance after two nights of good sleep. I chased the blue pills with an antacid—remedial. It seemed I was finally paying my dues to that corn dog–funnel cake combo with an earlier side of cascara.

I hydrated and tried to slow my heart rate from tattoo machine to drizzle. Today was just a horse, and Del, and it didn’t matter that two days ago I’d been kissed by a ghost.

I indulged myself in a rewind to butterfly feet and Fahrenheit and the sort of trouble you dove into headfirst. That’s what it was like, and I wanted that feeling to live on forever.

I shook myself free and hopped from the cab.

Sacred and True Stables was carved into a sign hanging from the covered porch. Rocking chairs were a cute touch. When the door swung open, I was expecting Del, but it was her boyfriend who rushed out, slamming into my chest.

“Oof, sorry about that,” he said before he shuffled down the stairs.

“Ethan?” I called.

He stopped and pivoted, looking up from his phone with an expression that was half-confused, half-shocked. A little dark too, as if I were intruding on some sacred space.

My friendly “hi” fizzled out to barely a whisper, not that it would’ve mattered. Nearly as quickly as Penn, Ethan disappeared into his car with a throwaway wave. I could’ve sworn his eyes rolled.

Had Del shared our bizarre experience at the lake with Ethan and he blamed me for her still feeling unsettled? What was I thinking—of course she’d told him. He was her person.

Del did invite me, but was I ready for the version of her that was waiting behind that door?

“Hello?” I called into the empty reception area. Kelly Clarkson sang of beautiful disasters from a wall speaker. Absently, I checked my dormant watch and groaned. I pulled out my phone to text Del when she appeared in the doorway to a connecting room.

“Hey,” she said. “Sorry I’m lagging. Had to put out a fire—not a real one. More of the drama variety,” she added when I flinched. She was similarly but better outfitted than me in a thin plaid shirt and a pair of expertly broken-in jeans the Melrose set would’ve called their personal shoppers to source.

“Er, hi,” I said. I stuffed my fidgety hands into my inadequate front pockets.

Del scooted behind the reception desk, spoke a few unintelligible stable terms into an intercom, and scanned a computer monitor. “Just printing out your release form.”

My scan of Del showed that she seemed to have evened out since the lake. What I couldn’t read yet was if she was more evened out with me.

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