Free The Impossible Art of Falling (Impossible Art #1) by Sara Fiorenzo Page A

horse too many treats. Luke laughed and began to pull a peppermint out of his pocket. At the sound of his laugh, Jena relaxed further and watched him feed her horse.
    I should answer him , Jena thought, as she watched Luke reach over the stall door to pat her horse’s neck, then step back. It was just the two of them in here. No expectations, she reminded herself. And he didn’t know anything about her. He didn’t know anything about her past. He didn’t know about the accident. She rationalized to herself that it might be nice to have someone to talk to. She looked at Gatsby who was nudging her, as if in encouragement. Jena inhaled, filling her lungs, then blew her breath out.
    “No, I couldn’t sleep,” she managed to say.
    “When I can’t sleep,” Luke added, “I find the peace of the horses helps me. Granted, I do sleep out here, so I guess I am surrounded by their nighttime sounds.”
    “I’m sorry,” Jena said, the conversation getting easier when she saw that Luke didn’t react to the sound of her voice. He wasn’t shocked that this was the first real conversation she had had with anyone since coming to Townsend. Or if he was, he never let on. Little did she know, he had been listening to her speak for the last week. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
    “No, Oscar snores,” he said, pointing to the old gray gelding in the corner, who twitched an ear and smacked his lips together before emitting the sound of a soft snore again.
    Jena giggled and Luke melted at the sound. This was going better than he had hoped. He hung his muscular arms over Gatsby’s stall and stroked the gelding on the nose, immediately feeling the proximity of Jena.
    “Hey there, buddy,” Luke said, grabbing another peppermint out of his pocket to give to him. “He certainly likes his treats.” Jena was still standing next to him, feeling every inch between the two of them, her hand on the horse’s shoulder.
    “He always got treats for a job well done,” Jena said.
    “What did you do with him?” Luke asked, with caution.
    He doesn’t know Jena reminded herself. He has no idea what I did before, so it’s an innocent question , she thought.
    “Eventing,” she replied, deciding on the truth. “He was an eventing horse.” She purposely left herself out of the equation.
    Luke noticed how she said “was” and thought it strange. She talked about it as if he was no longer capable of doing it, yet he seemed more fit than most horses Luke had ever seen. He wanted to ask her about it, but he could hear the tension in Jena’s voice. Now was not the time to push for answers.
    “Well, he seems happy here,” Luke said, instead of one of the million questions that he wanted to ask.
    “Yes, he does,” Jena said. She gave him a definitive pat on the shoulder and turned as if to leave the stall, forgetting that Luke was blocking her exit. His eyes caught hers, and they stood in silence, lost in each other’s eyes. Without a hat to hold it back, his hair fell over his blue eyes, as if to shield the intensity of his gaze. Jena could feel the electricity humming in the air between them, and her breath caught in her throat. A breeze blew through the open door and scattered a few pieces of hay down the aisle. Somewhere outside, an owl called out. The rain had stopped, leaving only the sound of dripping water. Luke reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair off of her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. Jena could feel the exact path of his touch, as the heat spread over her. Her mouth parted, and he was lost in her eyes. Finally, he managed to pull away.
    “If you ever can’t sleep again, I’d be happy to run into you again out here,” Luke whispered and then turned to leave the doorway of Gatsby’s stall, freeing Jena’s exit.
    “Thanks,” Jena whispered, her hand still on the gelding’s shoulder. Luke smiled one last time and walked back down the aisle. He disappeared around the corner, back toward his room, not