Page 52 of Valentine Nook
“We sure do. But I’m only twenty-five. Maybe that’ll change in time.”
Twenty-five.
It’s a sobering thought. It reminds me she’s a year younger than the twins, and two years older than Clementine. That she’s Clementine’s friend.
Then I’m wondering why I care. Many people fall within the age range of twenty-four to twenty-six. What difference does it make to me?
She’s my tenant and nothing more.
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-four,” I reply.
The silence that drags on makes me feel even worse than I did for not remembering the last time I had fun.
Thunder brings me out of my morose spiral and into the present when we’ve reached the edge of the fence line. He could jump it with little encouragement, but instead, I use it as an opportunity to let Holiday continue without us.
“You only need to follow the drive for another ten minutes, and you’ll get to a row of oak trees that leads to the house.”
Holiday nods. “Thanks, Gracie. Clemmie’s going to come meet me so I don’t get too lost.”
“That’s good,” I tell her. “Enjoy your class, Hollywood. Try not to burn the house down before you come for supper next week.”
“I shall. Tell your mom I’m looking forward to it.”
A light laugh rings out as she walks off. It’s a laugh I want to hear more of, the laugh I listened to all day at the summer fair.
And then it hits me.
The last time I had fun was with her.
Hours later, after I’ve seen Thunder safely through his shoeing ordeal and taken him on a long ride through the estate as a reward, I head into my study to take the first meeting of the day I’d pushed.
There, in the middle of a pile of papers, I find a small wicker basket filled with fresh jam donuts and a note attached.
Dear Thunder,
I made you some celebratory jelly donuts to enjoy while you’re prancing about in your new shoes.
With love, Holiday.
P.S. Gracie, I made extra for you just in case you found something to celebrate today.
Ipick one up and bite into it, because I did. Ididfind something to celebrate.
I have a new friend, and her name is Holiday Simpson.
CHAPTER 10
Holiday
Isprint the final forty yards the same way I always do—like Tom Brady heading for the end zone.
I kick up my pace as I round the corner of the lane, pass the field where the calves have been grazing for the past week, and take the home straight right up to the gate of my cottage.
In the absence of a home gym, I’ve started running again, and I truly can’t remember why I stopped. There’s something so freeing about sticking in your earbuds and pounding your feet against the gravel.
I also seem to have acclimated too well to the English summer because it’s baking hot today, and I’m gasping. I should have left much earlier—like when I woke up—but I’m having the hardest time getting out of bed these past weeks because I’m so damn comfortable. I can’t remember the last time I had such a long stretch of perfect nights of sleep.
