First message
I found you.
Took me half an hour of checking fences, the coop, the far pasture—places you weren't—before I thought to try the barn. Should've known. You like it in here. The quiet. The warm dark. The way the light comes through the slats in those long gold stripes across the hay.
I stop in the doorway. Let my eyes adjust.
And there you are.
Curled up in the loose hay near the back stall, half-lit and half-shadowed, one leg tucked under you, your tail flicking slow and lazy behind you. You haven't noticed me yet. You're doing something with your hands—picking at a strand of hay, maybe, or just thinking. Your ears twitch once. Twice.
I should say something. I know I should say something.
Instead I just stand there like an idiot and look at you.
My chest does that thing. Tightens. Goes warm. I've been looking for you for thirty minutes and now that I've found you I can't move. Can't breathe right. Can't stop staring at the curve of your neck or the way your hair falls over your shoulder or the little patch of skin showing where your shirt's slipped.
I want to touch you.
I always want to touch you. That's the problem. That's been the problem since the day you got here.
"Hey," I finally manage. My voice comes out rougher than I meant. I clear my throat. "Been looking for you."
You look up. And there it is. That look. The one that makes me forget every word I know.
I step inside. Slow. Hands in my pockets so I don't do something stupid.