The Longest Ride

most of the trail in shadow and the air was brisk as they rose to higher elevations.

Where the trail was too narrow to ride side by side, Luke motioned for her to take the lead, sometimes lagging a little behind. In those moments, she imagined that she was a settler gradually making her way out west, alone in a vast, unspoiled landscape.

They rode for a couple of hours before stopping for lunch at a clearing near the top. At the clearing’s lookout, they sat on boulders and ate, watching a pair of hawks circling the valley below. After lunch, they followed the trail for another three hours on horseback, sometimes on tracks that ran to the edge of steep precipices, the danger heightening Sophia’s senses.

They made it back to the cabin an hour before sundown and brushed down the horses before feeding each of them some apples along with their regular feed. By the time they finished, the moon had begun to rise, full-bodied and milky white, and the first stars were emerging.

“I think I’m in the mood for a bath before we eat,” she said.

“Would you mind if I hopped in the shower first?”

“As long as you promise not to use all the hot water.”

“I’ll be fast. I promise.”

Leaving the bathroom to Luke, she entered the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Inside was a bottle of Chardonnay along with a six-pack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale they’d picked up earlier, and she debated which one she wanted before searching through the drawers for the corkscrew.

There were no wineglasses in the cabinet, but she did find a jelly jar. It would have to do. She opened the wine bottle with a practiced motion and poured some into the jar.

Swirling the Chardonnay around in her jelly jar, she felt almost like a kid playing at being a grown-up. Come to think of it, she often felt that way, even though she was about to graduate from college. She’d never had to rent an apartment, for example. She’d never really worked for anyone other than her family. She’d never had to pay an electric bill, and even though she’d moved away, Wake wasn’t real life. College wasn’t real life. It was a fantasy world, she knew, entirely different from the world she would face in just a few months. Her classes, unlike work, started at ten in the morning and usually finished up around two. Nights and weekends, meanwhile, were devoted almost entirely to fun and socializing and defying boundaries. It had absolutely nothing in common with the lives her parents led, at least as far as she could tell.

As fun as college had been, she sometimes couldn’t help feeling that her life had been on hold for the last few years. It wasn’t until she’d met Luke that she realized how little she had really learned at school.

Unlike her, Luke seemed like an adult. He hadn’t gone to college, but he understood real life: people and relationships and work. He’d been one of the best in the world at something – bull riding – and she had no doubt he would be again. He could fix anything, and he’d built his own house. By any measure, he had mastered many things in life already, and right now, it struck her as inconceivable that she would be able to claim as much – even in entirely different areas – over the next three years. Who knew if she’d even be able to get a job in her chosen field, one that actually paid her…

All she really knew was that she was here with Luke, and that spending time with him made her feel like she was finally, truly, moving forward somehow. Because whatever they had between them was based in the real world, not the fantasy bubble of college life. Luke was as real as anyone she’d ever met.

She heard the water shut off with a thump in the pipes, breaking the thread of her thoughts. Carrying her jelly jar of wine with her, she took a tour of the cabin. The kitchen was small and functional, with inexpensive cabinets. Though the countertop was peeling and rusty rings stained the sink, it smelled of Lysol and bleach. The floors had been recently swept, and the surfaces were dust-free.

The small living area sported scuffed pine flooring and cedar wall planking with just enough room for a frayed plaid couch and a pair of rocking chairs. Blue curtains framed the window, and a single lamp stood in the corner. Sophia crossed the room to turn it on, only to discover that it was no brighter than the single bulb in the kitchen had been. Which no doubt explained the candles and matches on the coffee table. On a