Page 29 of Growing Into Love

“Oh Gran,” I say, coming over to hug her. “It’s only a week.”

“I wish we could be there to support you,” she says. “Because wedosupport you, Cassandra.” I bet I’ll be hearing a lot of that now. But they’re empty words—everyone is only saying it because I pointed it out. Gran pats my cheek. “Your mum and dad will be watching. I know it.”

My throat tightens. Bet Mum would believe in me no matter what.

Gramps is outside with Autumn. Ernie—Hart’s Crossing’s one and only taxi service—helps Declan load my suitcase into the boot as I give Gramps a hug goodbye.

“You knock their American socks off, love,” Gramps says.

“Thanks Gramps.”

“Okay, let’s get going, we’ve still got to pick up Jaz,” Autumn says. She’s coming with us on the drive to London then staying with Winter for a couple of nights.

Nerves flutter in my chest and I keep my arms folded across my stomach for the drive to Jaz’s house. Autumn gets in the front seat so Jaz and I can sit together, like she’s doing me a favor. But it’s not as if I’m going to have a serious chat about that text in the back of Ernie’s Ford Fiesta.

“Hi,” Jaz says as he slides into the seat beside me and buckles up.

“Hi,” I say back.

Now that we’re on our way to the airport, this competition feels real in a way it hasn’t before. The drive is long and uneventful—Autumn keeps up a healthy stream of chatter. She’s always reliable when it comes to easing a tense atmosphere. Soon, we’re pulling up to Heathrow and she’s giving us both teary hugs.

“Text me when you land,” she says. Then she pulls me close and whispers in my ear, “You’re strong, independent, and fabulous. Don’t forget that.”

I squeeze her once, my throat too tight to speak. We head into the airport, check our bags, and make our way to the gate.

“D’you want a coffee?” Jaz asks, as we stop at a kiosk. I shake my head. My nerves are wired enough as it is.

We sit side by side in uncomfortable airport chairs and wait for our flight to start boarding. I take out a bottle of water. Better keep hydrated.

“Did Gal make it okay?” Jaz asks.

“She did,” I tell him. “The Windy Acres people messaged me this morning.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

Silence falls between us. I’m beginning to wonder if maybe he didn’t get the text at all. Maybe it didn’t go through or he didn’t see it or something. My shoulders relax a fraction.

“So, what do you need from me, exactly?” he asks.

I choke on my sip of water.

“Sorry?” I say, coughing.

“I’m no trainer,” Jaz says sheepishly.

“Oh,” I say, half-relieved, half-disappointed. Even in his jeans and Liverpool jumper, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever seen—dark brown eyes framed with thick lashes, long nose, sharp jaw. And don’t even get me started on those black curls. Or the dimple in his left cheek. Or the quiet music of his voice. Or the—

“Cass?” Jaz says and I realize I’m staring at him without answering his question.

“You’ve watched me train plenty of times,” I point out, looking down at my water bottle.

“Sure, on a homemade course in the middle of nowhere.”

“A jump is a jump no matter who made it or where it is.”

I glance up to see his mouth pull into a crooked grin and it makes my stomach wriggle. I take another sip of water.

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