Page 88 of Growing Into Love

She grins and presses her hand against my chest. She looks so lovely in her new orange dress—though I can’t wait to strip her out of it later. Then her face softens.

“What?” I ask.

“I keep waiting to wake up,” she says with a sheepish shrug.

I laugh. “You flatter me.” But I can’t deny how her words thrill me. I’ve never felt wanted like this before. I’ve neverwantedlike this before. Every slight change in Cass’s expression is a new world for me. Every moment with her is an experience I’ll never forget.

She brings me in for one more kiss. “I’ll just wash my face.”

We head downstairs and follow the sound of Isla’s voice to the kitchen. She’s on the phone and waves to us as she puts a casserole dish in the oven.

“Okay, see you soon!” she says. “Hi! That was Daisy Everton. She’s expecting you guys at the winery and has everything ready.”

“What are you making?” Cass asks.

“Bread pudding with sausage, gruyere, chanterelle mushrooms, and leeks,” Isla says proudly. My stomach starts to rumble. “Come on, let’s go meet some animals.”

The sanctuary is a short walk down the road. We say hi to Grace—she’s wearing dungarees and a big floppy hat, happily feeding some potbellied pigs.

“Cass!” she says, dropping the feed bucket and running up to us. “I saw that you won. I knew you would.”

It warms my heart to see how much the girl has taken to Cass in such a short amount of time. Cass just has this energy—kind and fun and full of love.

“It’s so good to see you again, Grace,” Cass says. “How’s Piglet?”

Grace’s face falls. “I think she hurt herself. She’s been limping since the show and Lyle and Rebecca have been keeping her in the barn. The vet is coming tomorrow.”

“Oh dear,” I say. “Limping? Let’s have a look at her.”

“Jaz is a vet,” Cass explains.

Grace’s eyes brighten. “Can you help her?”

“I sure can,” I say. We head to the barn where a few goats are sleeping in one stall and an old donkey munches on hay in another. Piglet is in the very back and she shakes her mane when she sees us. She’s clearly favoring her left hind leg and a quick examination tells me it’s a mild tendon injury.

“This should heal itself in no time,” I reassure Grace. “Keep her on box rest, and ice it two to three times a day. If the staff here has any phenylbutazone, you can give her a dose to keep her comfortable. Make sure you keep it bandaged and hand walk her before you get to riding again.”

Grace fixes me with a serious look and nods. “Phenylbutazone,” she says. “Got it.”

“Any other animals need to be looked at?”

Cass beams at me as Grace takes me to see a guinea pig with a sore toe, then a donkey with a torn ear, and finally a goose with a broken wing. They’ve all been tended to and well treated—there isn’t much for me to do except reinforce what’s already been done. But Grace seems glad of the instructions. She nods solemnly at each suggestion.

“I’ll make sure to check on them tomorrow,” she says.

“You remember all I’ve told you?” I ask.

“I’ve got an eidetic memory,” she says.

“Oh,” I say, impressed. “Cool.”

“Most of the time, it freaks people out.”

“People are idiots,” I say.

Her lips twitch. “That’s what Cass says. Except she used the word wanker. I looked it up and it means idiot.”

I laugh.

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