Page 21 of Saddles & Suits

So good, I went online and bought a little stand for my phone so I can be hands-free… or rather, hands-on.

So now, nearly three months into our relationship, I can look back on my past fears and laugh. Why did I ever wonder if this would be a mistake? Being with Jack is the best thing I’ve ever done. A little voice in the back of my head is even singing stupid songs aboutlove. Which, to be fair, I’m pretty sure Jack feels the same, because sometimes he looks at me like I’m the best thing in the world and seems about to say something, but doesn’t, and then he’ll look like a wounded puppy. I’m getting close to just saying it so Jack can, too, and won’t ever look that way again.

I finish marking the list and check to see what needs to be reordered, making a separate list of those items and quantities. I need to have a quick chat with Chris about class scheduling for next year and then head back to my office to handle the ordering and make up the timetable. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to sneak in my lunch outside on the terrace before this afternoon’s visiting garden club arrives.

My phone rings, cutting through the ordinary sounds of the stable, and I yank it out of my pocket, hoping it isn’t something that’ll derail my day.

It isn’t.

“Hey,” I answer, my voice all soft. A year ago, I mercilessly teased a friend for sounding that way, but now I get it.

“Hi, babe,” Jack says. “Having a good day?”

It’s only been a few hours since we texted, but I still love that he asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“Sarah says I’m completely useless,” Jack announces cheerfully. “Probably because I spent ten minutes grilling her on what I should buy you for Christmas.”

I freeze. Oh, fuck. I normally Christmas shop by raiding the gift card stand at Woolworths, but presents for a boyfriend are supposed to be personal, aren’t they?

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I don’t suppose I can call and grill her on what I should buy for you?” I say, trying to make it sound like a joke but kind of meaning it. Jack laughs, and I’m notsuresure if that means I succeeded or failed.

“Since she told me I was on my own, I’m gonna say no.” Damn. “But that’s not what I was calling about.”

Right. I push down my sudden Christmas gift fear. Maybe I can ask Mum or my sisters for tips. They’re all in happy relationships.

“I realized this morning that we never worked out our plans for the ball.”

I blink. What? “The ball?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m normally there on a Saturday, but obviously we need to be in town. Do you want to come up on the Friday, or do you want me to come as usual on the Thursday, and then we’ll drive up together the Saturday? And then maybe stay here for a few days after and head back to the Vale together midweek?”

Suddenly, I can’t breathe. Jack’s been talking about the Tarrant Foundation Annual Charity Ball for weeks—months, really—but it never occurred to me that I’d have to go. After all, what the fuck good would I be at a ball? Acharityball? I don’t have thousands of dollars to donate, I hate getting dressed up, and schmoozing to the sound of orchestra music is not my thing. Although Jack mentioned that a local singer/songwriter made big is going to provide the entertainment, so maybe there won’t be orchestra music. Or at least not much.

But still.

“I… ah… the ball. Right.” Could I sound any more stupid?

“You okay, Seb?” Jack sounds concerned, and that cuts through my panic.

“Fine. Sorry. Distracted. Um, I’ve been thinking, do you really want me to be there? I mean, you’ll be working, and I don’t want to… distract you,” I finish weakly.

Silence.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Jack finally says, because he’s not an idiot and any fool could see through my excuse. I close my eyes and gird my loins.

“No, I want to,” I lie. But is it really a lie? Because I want Jack to be happy, and if my presence achieves that, then that’s what I want. “I, um, just… I’ve never been to a ball before. I mean, aside from the ones at uni, and they were really just piss-ups.” There, that’s true.

Jack laughs, and the fist that was clenched around my heart slowly releases. “Believe me, there’s not that big a difference. Don’t be nervous, I swear it’ll be… well, maybe not fun, but we’ll have a good time anyway. Think of all the stuff we can get up to in the limo.”

I clear my throat, a little turned on by the thought. “It’s less than a ten-minute ride from your apartment to the venue,” I remind Jack.

“So we tell the driver to go around the block a few times.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “Maybe we can not traumatize that poor driver,” I chide. “But I’m sure there are some offices or something at the venue that we can use.”

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