“And what about you? Where in America are you from?”
“I’m Canadian.” I laugh. “Can’t you tell from my accent?”
“No, I can’t.” Sam slowly runs his hand along his jaw. A patch of pink colors his cheeks. “I’m terrible at placing accents.”
“I grew up in Nanaimo, British Columbia.” It’s Sam’s turn to look to me for geographic help. “It’s on Vancouver Island in Western Canada.”
“Vancouver, got it.”
We take turns asking one another a few questions about our hometowns. I learn that Bex Hill is one of the oldest towns in the UK and that it’s most famous for the pirates and smugglers who have called it home over the centuries.
I share that Nanaimo is a haven if you love outdoor activities like hiking, biking, and camping, but that living on an island was not exactly my idea of fun. I never enjoyed the same slow pace of life that my parents do.
“What made you settle on moving to London instead of a place like New York, Paris, or Milan?” Sam asks.
“The London School of Fashion offeredme a scholarship and Parsons in New York didn’t. It was a no-brainer. How about you? Why join the cavalry?”
“As cliché as this may sound, I wanted to work with the horses.” He sighs. “My grandad was a veterinarian. I remember spending my summer breaks accompanying him on rounds to different farms in Sussex and being fascinated by how he could nurse pretty much any animal back to health.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“It was.” He grins. “I learned heaps of things about sheep, cows, and goats, but none of those animals compared to horses. They’re such complex and intelligent creatures. I swear they can read humans better than other humans can.”
Those are the exact same thoughts I’ve had about horses. “Did you ever consider becoming a vet like him?”
“As a child, yes. Unfortunately, I never had the marks for it. I was a poor student. This was the next best alternative.” Sam reaches for his drink. “I’m hoping in a couple months, I’ll be able to apply to become a riding instructor.”
“I’m sure you’ll get it.”
“We’ll see.” He takes a long swig from his cup. “I meant to ask you earlier, but how did you get on with your boss? He didn’t fire you, did he?”
“No, he didn’t.” I cross one leg over the other. “You were right, when I explained the situation to him, he was understanding.”
I bring him up to speed on Mr. G showing me his soft side.
“And where is it you work again?”
“I should’ve mentioned it sooner.” I face-palm. “At the World of Curiosities Museum’s gift shop.”
“How did you end up there?”
“A friend of a friend. She was working at the museum’sticket desk for the summer. I needed a part-time job, and the shop was hiring. It was meant to be a temporary gig, but I’ve been there for two years.”
“It’s funny how things just seem to fall into place when you least expect them to.”
We share another laugh.
“I’m going to get a refill on my Coke.” He stands. “Can I get you one too?”
“Yes, please.”
As he picks up my glass. I reach into my wallet and pull out a ten-pound note. “This round is on me.” When I try to hand it to him, he refuses to acknowledge its existence.
“Nope. I asked you here. Drinks are my treat.”
“Then what if I pay for dessert?” I nod to the empty plate of fish and chips. “The only catch is you have to pick it out.”
“Fine.”
