Page 37 of Growing Into Love

“Absolutely not,” I say vehemently.

“No way,” Jaz says at the same time.

We look at each other.

“They treat the horses horribly,” I say.

“I know,” Jaz says. “I’ve read about it. One of the mayors promised to end the carriage rides but he never did.”

“Disgusting,” I say.

“A city is no place for a horse,” Jaz says. “Their poor hooves on all that asphalt. It’s abuse, is what it is.”

My heart swells up, and I feel the overwhelming urge to kiss him. I bite my lip and turn to the driver. “The pedi cab is a great idea, though, cheers.”

“The top of the Empire State Building is pretty much required for all tourists, I think,” the driver adds. “You could also go see the 9/11 Memorial or take the ferry to Staten Island.”

“What’s on Staten Island?” I ask eagerly.

The driver laughs. “Nothing. But the ferry ride is nice and gives you great views of the city.”

I lean back and crack the window, letting a wisp of American air into the car. There’s a freshness to it that makes me feel like I’ve peeled off a layer of Cass and left it behind in Heathrow.

I’m so excited for the week ahead.

The Fairview is a huge,ranch-style stone building at the end of a winding drive lined with trees and surrounded by a lawn so neat and green, you’d think it had been painted.

There’s a long wraparound porch with wicker furniture and a big wooden swing. A stone chimney pokes up from one of the slanted rooftops and large, welcoming windows front the lower floors. The driver pulls up to the front and we get out as he places our bags by the steps.

“Enjoy your trip,” he says. Jaz and I haul our things into the lobby. It’s quite rustic, with dark wood paneling and animal heads on the wall. There’s a big chandelier made of a wagon wheel hanging overhead.

“Good morning,” the woman behind the front desk says cheerfully. “Welcome to the Fairview. Checking in?”

“Yes,” I say. “Cassandra Wright.”

“You folks here for the Windy Acres Classic?”

“We are,” I say.

“Wonderful. It’s such a great show. I’m Betty, I’ll be the concierge this week.” She looks between us. “Which one of you is the jumper?”

Jaz points at me and she smiles.

“Well, good luck. Here’s a map of Windy Acres.” Betty hands us sheets of paper. “And here’s a list of the rules. I just need you both to sign these so the show can have them on file.” She looks down at her screen and gives Jaz a quizzical look. “I assume you aren’t Delilah Cunningham.”

“There was a bit of an accident on our end,” I say.

“I’m Cass’s substitute trainer,” Jaz explains.

“I see. Not a problem. As long as you have someone standing in as trainer, you’re fine.”

I look down at the rules. Cripes, it’s a long list. Most of it is the usual rules and regulations around appropriate attire and all that. I see the lineall riders must be accompanied by a trainer for the duration of the show.Then there’s a rule that states that riders and trainers must abide by the Windy Acres Code of Conduct.

No abusive language.

No attempts to intimidate other riders.

No fraternization.

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