Once Mac had filtered through the shock of seeing Braeburn—Braeburn!—on his couch, and once his astonishment had transformed into barely constrained anger, he marched right over to Braeburn and hoisted him into the air. “What the hell are ya doin’ here, Braeburn?” he shouted into the smaller man’s face.

Braeburn was grinning as though unaffected by Mac’s anger. “Well, right now I’m currently getting good air mileage.”

“I got no time fer your jokes. Quit botherin’ Ink, or I’ll—”

“Mac!”

He felt Ink place a hand on his arm. She had a soft touch, so light that he almost didn’t even register she was there. He turned to her, and was surprised to see her brows furrowed and her lips tightened into a displeased frown. “Ink?” he said.

“Put him down, Mac,” she said.

He put Braeburn down. The younger man winced as he uncurled the wrinkled ends of his shirt. “Well, dang, cousin,” he said, “I guess you haven’t been missing the weight room.”

He said this so cheerfully that Mac almost missed the slight edge of fear in his voice. Upon recognizing it, a flash of guilt cut across his face.

The girl noticed it, too. Ink moved away from Mac and over to Braeburn. “Braeburn, are you okay? Mac, you shouldn’t be that rough with him!”

“ ‘S okay, Ink,” Braeburn said. “Mac don’t mean no harm, usually.”

“Ink, I—”

“Why’d you go off on him like that? Mac, that isn’t like you!”

Mac’s face flushed. “I was just— he was botherin’ you and—”

“Mac, he wasn’t bothering me.” She paused, glanced at Braeburn, seemed to remember something. “At least, not now he wasn’t.”

“Braeburn?”

That was Sugar Belle. She had come up behind Mac and was now staring at the other country boy like he was a man from a different planet. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, a bit sharply. Sugar Belle visibly deflated. Mac glared at Braeburn. Braeburn cleared his throat and tried again. “Uh, I mean… Appleloosa sent me.”

“The entire town?” Mac said, incredulous.

“Naw, the school. They want to do some new things, things that I don’t all rightly understand, but they wanted to see what Canterlot was doing—and to drum up foot traffic, too, I’d imagine, seeing as how they gave me a bunch of vacation fliers.”

“But it’s February.”

“People like to go whenever. ‘Sides, Valentine’s Day is comin’ up. You never know if people might want to travel somewhere homely as a gift.” At this, he turned and smiled at Ink. “Jus’ lemme know if yer interested, girl.”

Ink frowned. Mac’s world reeled.

“Uh… huh,” he said.

“Goodness me!” Granny Smith came out of the kitchen. “What’s with all the noise?”

“Nothing, Granny Smith!” Braeburn said, flashing his signature smile. “Jus’ some family bonding, that’s all!”

“Don’t sound like no family bonding I’ve ever been a part of,” she grumbled. “Keep it down, would y’all? I need to be able to hear the pie!”

She went back into the kitchen, leaving the rest of them with confused faces. “Hear the pie?” Ink asked.

“It’s just something she says,” Braeburn explained. “Speaking of pies, I think it’s high time I start checkin’ on mine.”

Ink gave him another confused look. He chuckled. “Ah, well, you’ll understand one day, Ink.”

He reached over and patted her on the head—this made Ink blush, and Mac felt something tighten in his chest. He tried to push it away, and only succeeded in partly ignoring it. Then Braeburn turned to Mac. “No hard feelings, right, cousin?” he said, holding out a hand.

Something in his tone made Mac think. No hard feelings about what? Coming into Mac’s home unannounced? Or was it directed more on Mac’s part for manhandling Braeburn?

He took the hand and shook it gingerly. “Water under the bridge,” he murmured.

Braeburn nodded. “Well, guess that means it’s time to go.” He headed for the door, grabbing from the rack his coat and signature Stetson, before turning and flashing Ink a smile. “You comin’, darling?”

She didn’t bat an eye at the language, while it caused Mac to blink rapidly. Had Braeburn really just called Ink that?

Regardless, she went over to him, put on her boots, her coat, her gloves—getting all bundled up. Braeburn checked her over, then whistled (here, Mac’s fists clenched, and he quickly released them). “Lookin’ good, Ink.”

“Enough of that,” she said. “Let’s just go, okay?”

“As you wish.” Braeburn smiled again. “We’ll be back in a few, okay, Mac? Don’t you worry none ‘bout this here little lady. I’ll be sure she comes back in one piece.”

“Wh-where are you going?” Mac stuttered.

“I’m gonna teach Ink how to ice skate!” And with that, he and Ink walked out of the house.

Mac shook himself. “H-hey! W-wait!” Rapidly, he crossed the room and tried to pursue them, but they had already hopped into Braeburn’s vehicle and were already driving down the road. The poster remained in Mac’s hands. He looked down at it. It had been crumpled and bent in his fists, for what reason he knew not.

He stared after the receding car, and kept staring long after it had vanished down the road.

“Be honest with me, Granny; are they together?”

Granny’s reply first took form as a pensive frown as she regarded her youngest granddaughter. Apple Bloom mirrored the expression; she’d been mirroring it ever since Braeburn had showed up and had basically commandeered Ink, and she was still mirroring it since the two had left.

Apple Bloom watched Granny as she opened the oven door and checked on the pie. It was found to be decidedly well-prepared—how Granny knew was a bit of a mystery—and so the elderly woman took it out and placed it on top of the stove. “You mean Braeburn and Ink?” she said slowly.

“Mmhmm. Are they?”

Granny Smith let out a sigh. “I’ll be honest, little Bloom. I don’t reckon I know fer sure.” She removed her oven mitts and put them to the side. “Though I think Braeburn might have somethin’ fer our Ink.”

“Ya think?” Apple Bloom handed her the can of whipped cream, which Granny Smith opened and sprayed on top of the pie. “I’m surprised Ink didn’t say anything.”

“Maybe she didn’t know.” Granny Smith gave Bloom a pointed look, one that said: Because she has other things on her mind.

Apple Bloom silently agreed. In the month since Ink’s mother had woken, all had not been well. And this reflected heavily upon the girl they had taken into their home. The spark was truly gone, wasn’t it—the spark that Bloom had seen when they were discussing Ink’s favorite author. All creative endeavors seemed to have dried up, all interest in them having gone away for that girl. And for this reason, Apple Bloom pitied her. But what could she, or anybody, do to help?

“Well… maybe Braeburn will help her feel better.” It was an empty suggestion, but in a time such as this, suggestions were in short supply, so one given was one taken.

Granny Smith grunted. She was doubtful. They all were. And perhaps the most doubtful was Macintosh himself.

He had begun pacing, and Mac never paced. Ever. Apple Bloom could not remember a time when he had even walked around in a circle, looking for an answer between his feet. It was clear that Braeburn and Ink were on his mind; for what reason, well, that could have been anything. Concern? That was the most likely, but if Apple Bloom was being honest, she suspected something akin to jealousy. He had begun pacing once the pair had left, and had yet to stop, though he had transitioned from the living room to out in the backyard.

Sugar Belle was with him. Sugar Belle always was with him. Apple Bloom didn’t like that but she didn’t say anything of that to him.

And all throughout, he was clutching that poster of his—that poster he seemed intent on not giving up. Apple Bloom had thought to ask him about it, but he was always busy pacing, and was also busy murmuring to himself, so she thought it best to ask later.

“Thank you fer helpin’ with the finishin’ touches, Apple Bloom,” Granny Smith said.

“No problem, Granny Smith. Think I’m gonna go rest up in my room, now.”

“You go do that, dear.”

She did, taking her time as she slowly went up the steps and entered her room. The morning light was becoming amber, a sign of the afternoon, and it drifted lazily across her bed. She sat down on the bed, sighing. Briefly she thought again of Mac, then of Ink and Braeburn. Then she pushed those thoughts away. She grabbed the book Ink had lent her; she was nearing the end, she realized a bit sadly.

Another thought. What would Ink have to say about reaching the end of a story? But no; no time for those sentimental notions. Apple Bloom opened the book, got herself comfortable, and began to read.

She lost herself in the pages for some time, before a knock on her doorway alerted her to another’s presence. She glanced up. “Come in,” she called.

Sugar Belle entered. Sugar Belle entered. Apple Bloom bit her lip, a retort bubbling just behind her teeth. The older girl regarded her with a smile, but the smile was obviously strained. Apple Bloom did nothing to hide her displeasure.

“Whaddya want?” she said.

“Mind if I stay a spell?”

“Make yourself at home. Yer already doin’ enough of that.”

The smile slipped off of Sugar Belle’s face. But she didn’t respond. She slowly came in, her arms folded across her chest. Apple Bloom glared at her for a moment, before looking back down at her book.

“You don’t like me,” Sugar Belle said.

“Gee, what gave that away?”

“I know why.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, actually. And I’m not going to try and convince you to like me. That… that isn’t my place.”

Apple Bloom looked up at her, her eyes narrowed. She said nothing.

“Right now, the only person I want to like me is Big Mac,” Sugar Belle said. Her words came slow and neutral. They were carefully chosen, incredibly precise. “And that naturally means that when Mac is upset, I’m upset. I hope you understand that.”

“I understand more than you think.”

Another pause. “Yeah, I guess you do, huh… Well, right now, Mac isn’t okay.”

“He isn’t?” Apple Bloom sat up against her better judgement.

Sugar Belle nodded. “You’ve seen him, haven’t you? Hasn’t been the same since Ink left. I’ve never seen him this way, not even after…”

Her voice was gone but the message was clear; Apple Bloom had the decency not to put it out in the open.

“The point is,” Sugar Belle began again, “he’s concerned about her, and that makes me concerned, too.” Her gaze suddenly lost its strength. Her voice, too, became soft, and behind it, Apple Bloom almost thought there was something close to heartbreak in it. “Apple Bloom, are he and Ink… you know…”

The fact that she couldn’t finish that statement; it shook something in Apple Bloom, shook from her the natural-born cynicism that was bred out of a darker, more painful time that this girl had once been a part of. She put her book down and placed her chin in her hands, gazing at Sugar Belle with less intense eyes.

“Actually,” she said, “as far as I know, they ain’t nothin’ but friends to one another.”

“... Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Sugar Belle let out a sigh. Her arms came away from her chest and dangled from her sides. “Oh,” she murmured. “That’s—” Here, Apple Bloom could not hear the rest of the sentence, for the girl’s voice had dropped to near-mute levels. Then nothing.

Here, then, Apple Bloom decided the conversation was over, that Sugar Belle had the answer she needed. She turned back to her book, though felt little inclination to read it any more, so she got up and began to walk out.

Sugar Belle stopped her with a noise. Bloom turned to her. “But why?” she asked.

“Why what?” Bloom replied.

“Why is he like this… to her?”

Bloom stared at the older girl and saw something else there—a child, or at least someone who was younger and more vulnerable than they let on. She saw in her eyes another question, unspoken, but just as loud: Why isn’t he like this to me?

But Bloom didn’t care to answer. She was done with Sugar Belle for now, done with the whole business. She brushed roughly past her. “Why don’t you ask Mac yourself?” she called, leaving the other girl behind.