We say goodbye to one another. I lean against the kitchen counter, wishing Sam would take better care of himself, then proceed to clean up the mess and start my day.
It’s Friday.Sam and I were never able to do our chat earlier this week. He ended up falling asleep at five, when he’d finished his duties for the day, and slept straight through until five the next morning. I knew he needed the rest. I don’t hold missing out on our virtual date against him. Especially when he sent me a gorgeous bouquet of hydrangeas as an apology.
Knowing he’s at Horse Guards today, I make an effort to wake up early and get a head start on work atClarissa’s. I take an early lunch to swing by the grounds. Call it a fool’s errand since I’ll see him for all of two minutes, but I think it’s worth it.
When I arrive, however, I’m late. It’s five after eleven. I’ve been caught unaware in a downpour, and it’s taken me longer than normal to walk here from the Tube station. I’m soaked through, but it won’t stop me from securing a spot behind the white line in my favorite corner next to John, the SearchTube live-streamer I’ve gotten to know over my last few visits. He’s here every day at opening and keeps a running list of the names of the horses on duty by tracking their hoof numbers.
“Hiya, Min. You poor dear! Here.” He hands me his oversized golf umbrella. “Take this.”
“Hi, John. That’s kind of you, but I don’t want your camera to get ruined. I’m already wet. A little more rain won’t hurt me.”
“It’s no matter. I have another one in my pocket.” On cue, he wiggles a travel-sized umbrella free from the pouch of his raincoat and pops it open. “You’re just in time for the Blues to ride through.”
“You’re sure? I was worried I might’ve missed them.”
“Positive. In fact, I can hear them now.” He holds up his camera and presses Record. I stay quiet as he narrates.
There’s a clip-clop noise and a parade of horses appears from the tunnel and waits for the stable doors to be opened. Even in the rain, the riders sit tall as if it’s a sunny day. I squint and look for Sam. Is he in this group?
“In the back,” John whispers. “Your man is riding one of the newer horses, named Valiant, this morning.”
I turn my head. I should’ve realized he’d be the only soldier with a beard. Scooting as far forward to the edge ofthe line as I can, just as the line of horses begins to move, I say, “Green eggs and ham!”
His head shifts my direction. He sees me and his eyes light up. He mouths,Fashion Guru, to me before riding inside to the warm stables. Just like that, it’s over. He’ll be on duty all weekend. The next time I’ll see him will be during our video chat on Monday. Unless he texts me. But lately, he’s been too busy.
Tourists begin rushing around the yard to the horse boxes to snag a few photos before fleeing the rain.
“Thanks, John. Just a question. How did you pick out the name of the horse so quickly?”
“Oh, Valient’s blaze is off center. Once you’ve seen as many horses as I have, when you see a marking like his, it’s hard to forget.”
“Good to know.”
“Will you be here tomorrow?” he asks.
“Probably not, I’m working all day. Saturdays are busy.”
“Do you ever get a day off?”
“Sundays.” I shiver. The cold is beginning to seep into my clothing.
He shakes his head. “You’re a dedicated lass. I hope your young man appreciates how often you’re here. Will you be back Monday?”
“If I can arrange it around my work schedule again.”
“I’ll see you then.”
“Here’s your umbrella.”
John waves me off. “Keep it until Monday.”
We chat a moment longer, then head our separate ways. With squishy shoes, I begin the long trek back to the Tube stop and back to Bond Street.
Mr. G takesone look at me on Saturday and sends me home. I spend the entire weekend sick in bed. I manage to make it into the atelier on Monday, but Sonya sends me home after finding me asleep in my office.
“Don’t come back until Wednesday. This is a marathon project, not a sprint. Both Clarissa and I understand how dedicated you are, Minerva, but it’s okay to take some time off to heal up. Your team are experts. Trust them,” she instructs me.
I open my mouth to protest, but I have no voice. It’s then and there I know I have no alternative but to listen to what they’re telling me and go home and rest—ironically, what I’ve told Sam. I reach my flat and climb into my bed for a nap that lasts twelve hours.
