“That’s nothing to sniff at, Fred. That’s about three million places more than I would have come.”
I raise my brows. “How did you calculate that exactly?”
She ignores my question. “We’re riding tomorrow morning, aren’t we?”
“Yes. We are. Have you ridden before?”
“Only the horses on our island,” she says. “We’re a bit like Iceland. We have native horses that are much smaller than regular ones and we have a strict rule that no one can import larger breeds.”
“How small are they?”
“They’re basically My Little Ponies, only not pink and purple, and with significantly less glitter.”
I blink. What is she talking about?
I consider asking, but something in her tone suggeststhat My Little Ponies are a cultural reference I ought to understand. Instead, I smile in what I hope is an informed manner. It feels like the safer course of action.
“And you?” she prompts. “Surely that’s not all.”
“I also enjoy jigsaw puzzles,” I say, bracing myself. “Which makes me sound like a retired gentleman with too much time on his hands.”
“Really?” she asks, leaning forward, her face bright. “I love jigsaw puzzles!”
“You do?” I cannot quite keep the surprise from my voice.
“Of course. The bigger the better. A thousand pieces at least. Two thousand if I’m feeling ambitious. I love the ones that are famous paintings.” She gestures animatedly. “LikeOphelia, the one by?—”
“John Everett Millais,” I say automatically.
“Yes! That’s the one.” She beams. “How did you know I meant that one?”
“I have the jigsaw.”
Her eyes grow wide. “You do?”
“I completed it when I was a boy.”
She laughs. “Of course you did.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re clearly significantly more successful at jigsaws than I am.”
“You enjoy the process?” I ask.
“I love the moment when you realise the picture is emerging. When all the tiny pieces that don’t seem to belong anywhere suddenly find their place.”
“Exactly,” I say, suddenly animated about jigsaw puzzles. Don’t judge me. “I find the faces the hardest part, but when I’vegot them?—”
“Suddenly the whole thing makes sense,” she finishes for me and it’s as if she took the words out of my mouth.
“Yes.”
“See, Fred? We’re not that different.” She holds my gaze, and electricity crackles between us.
I swallow. Is it getting hot in here?
“Perhaps,” I reply.
