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“I was trying to think up an excuse not to.”
“Come. I promise not to speak to you.”
Weird how she didn’t like the sound of that. “Don’t you think people will get suspicious if you avoid me?”
He tipped his head to the side. His lips parted as he exhaled. She felt like he was assessing her, reading all her thoughts.
“We have nothing in common,” he said. “We’re different generations. I don’t think people will think anything of it.”
Ouch. Why did that one hurt? “Okay then. Avoiding it is.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Good.” He lifted the bag she’d given him. “Thank you for this.”
“Any time.”
He reached for the door, still looking at her. “Are you okay?”
Her heart clenched at those three little words. Like they were giving her a glimpse of that man she’d spent the night with. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters,” he murmured.
“Then I’m okay,” she lied.
Michael nodded and walked out of her house, not bothering to look back.
ChapterSix
Saturday mornings were for riding.Grace had been wild about horses ever since she was a little girl. At first she’d just come to the farm to feed them, to listen to their whinnies and pat their noses. And then, as she got older, she’d climb on them, grip the reins and squeeze her legs to get them to walk.
But right now, she was in no mood to walk. She was galloping through the fields; the wind whipping her hair, feeling like she was riding and flying and the same time. Her thigh muscles were clenched as her body rose and fell with Arcadia’s movements, the two of them in sync as they rushed across the plain.
She’d missed her horse while she was in France. Her mom had mostly taken care of Arcadia, but every time she’d visited home, his stable was the first thing she’d run to. She’d thought about taking him to France with her, but was worried he’d find the journey too much.
But she was home now, and he was here. And that made her happy.
“Wait up!” The voice pulled her out of her reverie. The owner was on a horse galloping toward her, and Grace recognized it instantly – as well as the owner. Her mom’s hair was flying out with the breeze, her face pink from a combination of air and exertion.
She slowed her horse down to a trot, and her mom caught up in less than thirty seconds, pulling on her horse’s reins to come alongside Grace.
“I didn’t know you were coming out today,” her mom said, breathless. “You should have called me. I would have met you here.”
Herewas the farm her Uncle Logan and Aunt Courtney owned. Made up of sprawling fields with a mix of crops and livestock, plus a huge restaurant and inn that attracted locals and tourists alike. FromField To Platewas an award-winning eatery, with an ethos of only using locally sourced ingredients, mostly from the farm itself. They also stocked G. Scott Carter whiskey and wine from the vineyard Grace had worked in when she lived in France.
“I thought you enjoyed sleeping until noon on Saturdays,” Grace teased. Even though she still had the energy of somebody much younger, her mom was slowing down now that she was in her fifties. She and Grace’s dad were planning on slowly retiring over the next few years. Taking more trips abroad, handing the reins over to Grace and the team they’d built up.
Her mom was still beautiful, though, her dark hair tied up into a ponytail beneath her riding helmet, her skin smooth and warm as she smiled at Grace.
“I couldn’t sleep,” her mom confessed. “Your brother and Ethan were clattering about in the yard, tinkering with Scott’s car.”
Grace’s brother was a motor head, crazy about cars. He had four of them – none of them driveable – at their parents' place. Most college holidays he could be found under one of them.
“Ethan’s with Scott?” There was a big age discrepancy between them. Scott was five years younger than she and Ethan were. It made her uncomfortable to think that Ethan was trying to ingratiate himself with her family.
“He offered to help. He’s good with cars.” Her mom’s voice was even. “He asked about you.”
Grace swallowed. “Did he?”
“Yeah. Wanted to know if you’re going to the cookout at Cam and Mia’s this afternoon. I told him you were.”
