“I don’t know, Miles. I just came off the field.” Lando yawns.
“Right . . . well, don’t forget. See you over there.”
Grabbing Alex’s shirt before he starts baiting Miles again, something that will end up lasting all weekend, I tug him out of the stables. Lando takes off in thedirection of the podium, though I suspect he’s going to find Holiday rather than ensure he’s not late for presentation.
I turn to Alex, dodging a particularly loud group of women outside the stable area wearing pink shirts with Miles’s face on the front. “Where’s Haven?”
“She said she’d be with Mum in the stands. I’m going to head over there.”
“I’ll come. It seems the most likely place to start looking for my son.”
Once I’ve found Max, then I can look for Story.
As fast as the second half was, whenever we reset, I found myself drifting to the boards searching for her, but she’d moved. I haven’t seen her since the halftime break, and now that I don’t have polo to distract me, I’m getting restless. Alex pushes through the crowds ahead of me, shaking hands with everyone who stops us, while I’m peering around for any resemblance.
By the time I make it up to the Burlington stands, I still haven’t spotted her through the sea of pink and red.
“DADDY.”
I catch Max a split second before he pummels into me, somehow managing to avoid the polo mallet he’s still swinging when I lift him into my arms.
“Hi, bud.” I kiss him, a grin instantly appearing on my face as I take in his obvious excitement. “Did you enjoy the game?”
“Yes. Clover played so good in the fourth chukka. And Uncle Miles. And Uncle Alex . . . um . . .” Max peers at him, head tilted in sympathy. “It’s not easy to play polo, is it?”
He’s so sincere with his question and encouragementof Alex’s skills on the field, it’s impossible not to smile. “No, Maxy, it isn’t. But I still scored.”
He nods gravely. “Yes, Owl is very steady and reliable.”
Alex’s eyes flick to mine. “Where is he getting this from?”
“Hey, he tells it how it is.” I laugh. “Max, where’s Granny?”
He jabs a finger toward nothing particular. Usually only used by members of the family and guests, it’s much quieter and private, so it only takes a quick scan to know Story’s not up here either. I do find my mother, though, half obscured by a pillar and talking to one of her friends while holding Everly.
“Ah, that’s my daughter. Now I need to find my fiancée.”
“Hello, darlings,” our mother croons. “Well played, all of you. Max and I were cheering along. Exciting to have a win today.”
“Where’s Haven?” asks Alex, kissing Mum’s cheek and relieving her of Everly.
“And Clemmie?” I add.
“They went down to the podium to see Holiday. And yes, Story was with them before you ask.”
If my mother high-fived, Alex would be meeting her halfway. I wait until they’re done with their gleeful chuckles.
“Al, you coming? Don’t want to be late.”
“Daddy, can I come?”
“Of course, bud. We’re all going. Even Granny.”
Like wasps around a honey jar, the crowds haveswarmed away from the field toward the podium by the champagne tent. Aside from seeing our team—Miles—crowned as the winners, most people are hoping to spot Holiday, Lando’s girlfriend, presenting the trophy. While the matches during the summer attract a host of A-list celebrities, we don’t normally have anyone of her caliber at the Valentine charity match.
“There’s Miss MacIntosh,” screams Max.
I don’t even notice the direction he’s pointing before my entire body spins around, and I spot her five feet away smiling at us. She’s wrapped up in a thick, high-neck jacket, and since halftime, seems to have acquired a pink Foxleigh Park cap that’s pulled low on her forehead. It’s no wonder I didn’t spot her, camouflaging herself among the hordes.
