“We’ll see about that.”
He’s probably right. I doubt I’ll be good for much for a day or two. My back is going to be sore for a while.
We settle into an easy, relaxed pace filled by the sound of the horses’ clip-clops. This is how I prefer to ride. “Art, how old are you?”
“Twenty-four. Why?”
“I’m just curious,” I say quickly.
“Most people think I look older than I am.”
“It’s the constant frowning and the beard. When you smile, you come across as younger.” I shimmy in my saddle.
“Doing all right?”
“Uh-huh. Trust me, this is nothing compared to when I first started back a few weeks ago.”
The frown has returned. “I remember reading the report. It was the coccyx you fractured?”
“Yes. My tailbone.” My voice becomes soft, and I avert my eyes from him. It feels strange and almost embarrassing to have such an intimate detail shared with a man who’s around me all the time, but I know the security office put it in there for my own safety.
“Have you looked into having an orthopedic saddle made up for you? It’s like a normal saddle, but the divot is supposed to help relieve some of the pressure from the injured areas.”
“I didn’t know that was an option.” I blink in surprise.
I’ve gotten used to the nagging, dull pain that radiates up and down my lower back every time I’m bumped up and down in the saddle. Riding is one of the things that gives me the most joy in the world, and I’d never give it up. But if there were a way to make it so my bum didn’t hurt... that would be a game changer.
“They are. One of the patients I worked with during my physical therapy module in Manchester had a similar injury to yours. I’ll see if I can find the details of it in my notes on my day off.”
“Thank you, I’d appreciate that.” My insides warm, as if I’d drunk a glass of mulled wine. I’d forgotten Art studied kinesiology at uni. “Did you ever consider going into PT instead of joining the police force in London?”
“Until my second year, yeah, I did.”
“What changed your mind?”
He takes a few long moments before answering. “Two reasons. I struggled with dealing with patients who didn’t want to listen.”
“I can see that.” I grin as I picture a student Art telling a patient exactly what was on his mind. He isn’t the type of person who would sugarcoat how someone is doing. “And the second reason?”
“I figured I could help people better as a policeman than a PT.”
I’ve confirmed it. Underneath the suit is a man with a big, squishy, teddy-bear heart.Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.
“Thanks for sharing with me.”
He shrugs. A comfortable silence envelops us. I use the time to sort through my thoughts and ensure I commit the image of Art in riding attire to memory. Although the date with Eric ended so poorly, at least it wasn’t a total washout, and I got to spend a little time with Art getting to see what lies beneath the man who always keeps calm and carries on.
Thirteen
Jenna, my best friend since childhood, asks me to have lunch with her in Covent Garden a few days later. It’s now mid-July. She’s in her final year of studies at the Westminster Ballet School’s Upper School and one of the most talented people I’ve ever met. I’m sure she’s going to become the next rising star in the Westminster Ballet company, although she’s modest and will tell you otherwise.
We’re seated outside at a restaurant that’s near the London Transport Museum. A set of tall shrubs hides us from view, but we can still see the crowds of tourists working their way through the many stalls of the Apple Market and Jubilee Hall. A street musician plays an acoustic guitar, providing a fun and lively atmosphere.
Angela is on duty today and has taken the table across from us. She’s rereading one of theBridgertonnovels on her tablet, before the latest telly series drops later this week. She’s tried to convert me to watching it too, but as I’ve told her, I refuse to until I’ve finished the books first. They’re always better than a telly series. At least, that’s the stance I’m taking until proven otherwise.
“Spill the beans, Alice! I’ve been dying for the details all week! How did it go?” Jenna asks.
“It was an utter disaster,” I admit. Thinking about Eric still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
