They arrived at Silver Ridge Stables, a sprawling equestrian center nestled at the edge of the city.
Surrounded by rolling green fields and a backdrop of distant hills, it was the perfect escape for a morning of horse riding.
The stables, painted a pristine white with accents of rustic wood, stood proudly beneath the soft morning sun.
Frida was lost in her thoughts, her mind replaying fragments of moments with Laz, the tension, the stolen glances, the undeniable pull that always seemed to draw them back to each other.
The ache of regret mingled with a faint flicker of hope.
The chill of the early morning air nipped at her skin, refreshing and invigorating.
It was around 7 a.m., and the world still felt quiet, as if it hadn't fully woken up yet.
She glanced down at her outfit, a full modern equestrian ensemble in deep velvet red that exuded elegance.
