“Thanks, Nick, but in all fairness, you wouldn’t know what a good rider looks like.”
His lips narrowed. “When you were watching the game, could you tell which players were good?”
He had a point. There had been one or two skaters on the ice who seemed to be a little better than everyone else. “But…” I held up my finger. “There was a whole team out there for comparison.”
He shrugged. “I don’t have to see anyone else to know that you’re meant to ride horses.” We both reached to Nutmeg’s muzzle at the same time. Our fingertips met over her blaze. He didn’t move his hand, and neither did I.Nutmeg also stayed remarkably still, as though she knew the significance of that touch. Nick and I would never not be attracted to each other.
The barn door opened and a beam of dusty light interrupted our moment. “Hey, you two,” Henri shouted. “Muriel made some stew. Come to the main house.” The door clattered as Henri disappeared.
Nutmeg whinnied and took a step backward. Our hands dropped. “Are you going to come in for stew?” Nick asked. “I’ve only been here for a day and I can vouch that Muriel’s cooking is just as good as Eugene’s.”
My stomach growled. I’d eaten the sample of the Saint Anne during breakfast and had been too busy buying my farm clothes and slicing apples to get lunch.
“I should get back into town.” I tried to think of a reason but couldn’t come up with anything. Everything at the inn was done. The only thing waiting for me was a book or a movie binge on my laptop.
We emerged from the barn into the darkness of a December afternoon. It was almost dusk, and the small flakes of snow had turned into flakes the size of quarters. Henri was walking back to the house, a stack of mail in her hands. “Come on, you two.” She waved with the mail in her hand.
“I’m going to go back to town,” I shouted.
Henri stopped. “My mother-in-law already has your place setting on the table. Do you know how rude it is to turn down a farmwife’s home cooking?”
“Is that a thing?” Nick whispered out of the side of his mouth.
I shrugged. “Not that I know of, but I don’t want to get on Muriel’s bad side.”
Henri was waiting, watching us. “All right. Just one bowl,” I shouted and jogged to her side.
“Good.” Henri continued flipping through the mail in herhand. “We can talk about your salary for working with Kick-O and for riding the horses.”
The three of us strolled toward the main house and I marveled at how quickly life could turn around. I had my dream job. Should I pinch myself? I was going to get paid for riding horses. The only problem with this dream arrangement? I was going to have to see Nick. Every day.
SEVENTEEN
NICK
I already knewthat Evie was incredible, but watching her ride was like watching a player like McDavid or Gretzky skate. Sitting across the farmhouse table, watching her dunk the chunk of sourdough into Muriel’s homemade Irish stew while discussing her plans for that bad horse Jerk-O, or whatever his name was, I saw her in her element. Her world. I wondered if that’s what she saw when she watched me at the hockey game.
My heart sank as I remembered the puck sliding between my legs.
“What do you think of that Windswan player who scored?” Mr. Lumber wiped his white mustache with the mistletoe-themed napkin that matched the tablecloth.
Muriel spooned more stew into my bowl without asking if I wanted seconds.
“I think that he’s good, but two guys on the Bobcats are better—Chaser and Mack.”
Mr. Lumber nodded. “Yep. Those fellas are good, but that Windswan guy, he got the puck past you. That’s a pretty big deal. From what I hear, you’re quite the wall.”
I was flattered at the wall comment, but alsoembarrassed that the Windswan Eagle had scored on me. “I should’ve had that goal, I was momentarily distracted.” My eyes shot to Evie and I wondered if she knew that the distraction was her. She did something to me. Earlier, with the horse, I wasn’t nervous about touching it, my hands were shaking because I hadn’t expected to be that close to Evie ever again.
Mr. Lumber wiped his bowl clean with the bread and got up from the table. “I hope you work out whatever was distracting to you. Times have been tough here since the paper mill shut down, the people here need something to celebrate.” He put his bowl in the sink, rested his hand on Muriel’s shoulder, and kissed her on the cheek. “That was the best stew you’ve ever made.”
She rested her face on the back of his hand. “It looks like you’re going to have to get the plow truck out for Evie.”
Ever since we came into the main house for stew, the snow had been piling up on the back deck. It was now over the bottom sill of the French doors, and the drifts near the railing were almost two feet high.
“It’s okay, that car has four wheel drive,” Evie said. “I should be able to get out just fine.”
Over stew we had discussed horses, hockey, the lodge Jack was building, and Henri’s latest book. I tried not to look at Evie, but every once in a while, I let my eyes drift across the table. A couple of times she was doing the same thing. Every time our gaze met, I jerked to look away as quickly as possible.
