But me? I find myself turning over the termwonderful boy. It takes me back to the cruise ship even though I don’t want to think about that night.
Every time I do, guilt and shame needle me—in spite of the fact the counselor I ended up seeing on campus assured me that none of it was my fault. Logically, I even believe her. And yet, blame for putting myself in that situation weighs heavy on me if I sit with it for too long.
When I got home, I wanted everything to go back to normal—whatever normal was—but I couldn’t help but see the world differently after such a close call.
Still, I used that burning desire for a fresh start to dive straight into my master’s program. Something of a new beginning.
I took a step back from going out with friends, something that made me realize I had a lot of acquaintances but no true close friends. And as much as I craved some socialization, a few glasses of red wine and a dinner out, I avoided situations where I might overindulge and lose control again. The cost-benefit analysis of a carefree night on the town didn’t hold the same allure as it once did.
So I threw myself into my schoolwork with even more gusto. I competed against myself to be an even better student. How high could I get my grades?
I started going to the gym. Could I get fit enough to do a pull-up? What about ten?
Rather than eating like a broke bachelor, I started cooking. Trying out new recipes and shopping mindfully at the farmers’ market.
I started gardening and filled my small patio with plants and flowers that I was forced to bring inside over the winter because I couldn’t stomach the idea of them dying. It made my condo borderline tropical, which—in a roundabout way—made staying home alone evenmoreappealing.
The end result is that I graduated from my master’s in film studies with top marks and landed a dream job before school was officially over.
This position puts me firmly on the road to directing and producing major Hollywood films—a big, lofty, borderline irrational dream I’ve had since I was a little girl.
I’m never bored, and I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been—physically anyway. But I’m guarded in a way I never was before. I don’t trust men, and the prospect of dating doesn’t appeal to me at all.
My counselor assured me that this was an okay way to feel. That channeling my nervous energy into being productive could be healthy. So, I’d taken that advice and run with it… but I’m not sure that making productivity my entire personality is what she’d meant.
“On that note,” Leon says, jarring me from my reverie, “do you know much about what we do here at Stal Brandt?”
“I’m afraid not,” I reply sheepishly. I know it’s a horse farm, but not much else.
The older man lights up like a Christmas tree; clearly this place is his passion. “This farm has been in my family for years and we are dedicated to breeding and developingCanadiansport horses for top-level equestrian competition. Show jumping, dressage, eventing—you name it. Most world-class athletes are forced to travel to Europe where they have the best and most proven breeding programs. They’ll pay an arm and a leg for a nice horse and then have to fly it back from overseas. They have to deal with import paperwork, passports,and quarantine. And if you ask me, the European breeders aren’t sending their best horses to other countries. They’re keeping them for themselves and sending us their B team.”
He grumbles his annoyance at that and I find myself captivated by the passion he speaks with.
“So our goal here at Stal Brandt is to establish a world-class breeding program to support Canadian athletesandthe Canadian economy. I’ve dedicated my life to studying the bloodlines and genetics, importing frozen semen to bolster our program, and trying to produce outstanding equine athletes right here on Canadian soil. Maybe one day—if we’re lucky—we’ll see a Stal Brandt horse at the Olympics.”
“Maybe a Brandt herself too,” Oma pipes up with an excited wink.
“Incredible. I had no idea about the whole…” I wave a hand searching for the words. “Big picture of it all. I hope I get to see your farm represented there one day too.”
The stoic elderly man smirks at me. And coming from him it feels like a megawatt grin.
“Why don’t I take you on a tour around the farm? Show you what our days look like. You can tell me what you have in mind, and we can work from there and make sure this circus stays out of my way.”
He shoots Emmett a scowl, but there’s no venom in it. In fact, it only makes his grandson’s lips twitch.
I scrunch my nose, trying not to think about my own dad. Would we have a relationship like theirs? He died when I was young, so part of me has always felt like his memory isjustout of grasp. The image of him in my head feels like looking through water. I can look at photos of him, but in many ways I don’t really recognize him.
I don’t remember his smell. I wish I remembered his smell.
“Definitely,” I say, with a slight hitch in my voice. “You give me the lay of the land, and I’ll do my best to keep the clowns out of your yard once the circus descends.”
The older man snorts at that. “Oh, girl, there are always clowns in my yard. Have you met Emmett’s siblings?”
My cheeks tug up in a smile. “I have not. I’ve only met Emmett—as I’m sure you know, my brother is also touring on the WBRF circuit. Like my dad did. We grew up just in town, on an orchard down by the lake.”
“Oh!” Tina pipes up. “That Theo Silva boy is your brother?”
I almost choke at her use ofboyagain. Theo is a full-fledged adult now, but he has been known to act like a little boy more often than he should as well.
