Chapter 5
FIVE
NANCY
Dearest… he called me dearest. No one has ever called me that before. I’m not sure anyone has called anyone else that in the last century. But I kind of liked it. I kinda liked it a whole lot.
I’m halfway across the vendor hall when I spot Karl sauntering to our agreed-upon meeting spot.
“Shit,” I mutter, earning a dirty look from a woman carrying a sleeping child toward the exit.
My disappointment dissipates when I see the way he looks at me.
He scans me from head to toe, swallowing hard when his eyes meet mine.
I’ve seen men look at me like that before, but I’ve never liked it the way I like it right now.
I almost want to slow my pace just to prolong the tension that’s building between us.
I’m enjoying the look so much that I almost don’t notice the way the karate pig stretches across his broad chest. Or his tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip.
He probably chews with his mouth open, I tell myself. Probably hates dogs too.
“It suits you,” I say when I finally reach him.
“What? Winning?” He offers a cocky grin.
“That must be it.”
“What’s my prize?”
“Your prize?” I ask innocently.
“For winning.”
“Bragging rights?” I offer.
Karl’s eyes linger on me for a few seconds, and I somehow resist the urge to melt under his gaze. Instead, I hold it.
He nods, deep blue eyes dipping to my mouth. “Sounds good.”
“So what do you feel like?” Karl spreads his arms and spins once when we reach the food hall.
I look around, taking in the vendors who are here year after year offering food I only eat a couple of times during the two-week residency at The Royal.
“I think I’ll start with the…” I turn to my left and point. “Poutine. Followed by…” I spin back to my right. “Mini panzerottis with an apple dumpling for dessert.”
Karl stares down at me, lips parted, smile frozen in place.
“What?”
“Marry me?” he breathes.
I sigh, rolling my eyes at him. “Karl Hore, that is the second time today you have asked for my hand, and I don’t even know your middle name.”
He doesn’t skip a beat. “Martin. My grandfather’s name.
I have a brother, Matt, whose middle name is Arthur.
My parents are Elizabeth and William Hore.
..” He stops and looks skyward, his brow pinching in concentration.
“I am blanking on their middle names at the moment. I promise to ask before you walk down the aisle,” he assures me.
If I didn’t know better, I’d believe he was being serious about that.
I clear my throat, focusing back on the food. “What are you getting?”
“The same thing.”
“There must be something else.”
“Did you not hear me when I asked you to marry me? I don’t want anything else.” The way he says anything sounds a bit more like he actually means anyone.
“Well, good, that means I don’t have to share.”
There is a ridiculous amount of food on the table between us.
The poutine is massive, which, for the price, it better be.
The panzerottis are practically toppling out of the container while the accompanying marinara drips down the side of the containers.
We both agreed that the dumplings shouldn’t be purchased until we finished our mains.
“You know what I love about these little things?” Karl asks, holding up a steaming panzerotti.
“The cheese?”
“Because I’m a cow guy?” His eyebrow arches quizzically.
“No,” I scoff, “because cheese is delicious.”
He shakes his head. “The sauce. I don’t know what it is about this tomato sauce, but it’s addictive. Straight up deadly.”
I shrug.
“How can you shrug?”
“Like this.” I shrug again. “I could make better sauce.”
“Yeah?” he asks, eyes sparkling.
“Mmmhmm,” I hum, my mouth full of fries, cheese, and gravy.
“I guess you’ll have to make it for me one day.”
I shouldn’t be encouraging him. I’m only here to quiet the curiosity he sparked in me.
Once I’ve gotten this out of my system, I’ll go back to the hotel with my family and forget all about the brown-haired, blue-eyed hot goof sitting across from me.
Besides, I can’t cook. I just like the idea of being able to do it and do it well.
“So,” I squeak, changing the subject. “What exactly is it that you do here?”
“I show off my cows, or our cows.”
“Dairy? Beef? The cute ones with long hair and horns like this,” I use both hands to motion two capital L’s coming out of my head.
“Highlands?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“Our cows are dairy cows. The classic black and white Holsteins.”
“And how long have you been doing the dairy cow thing?”
Instead of answering right away, he finishes chewing his last bite of panzerotti. So no talking with his mouth full. He may still hate dogs.
“My entire life. My dad took over the farm from his father, and I’ll be taking it over from him.”
“Sounds like a lot of years of early mornings.”
He frowns. “When it’s all you’ve ever known, it’s not exactly a big deal.”
I’m a bit envious that he’s had such a stable life. We travel so often I can’t imagine such a thing.
“What about you?” he asks, tucking into his poutine.
“What about me?”
He rolls his eyes and smirks back. “What are you doing here?”
“Grooming.”
“Grooming? Let me guess, horses?”
“Is there anything else to groom?”
His eyebrows rise, and he gives his head a shake. “There is a whole other world at this fair beyond that horse palace.” He points his fork behind me. “I will admit, giving you a royal name does seem awfully fitting.”
The Horse Palace is indeed the name of where I spend most of my time when we are here. But I am far from royalty within it.
“Sorry, yes, I groom horses.”
“Huh.” His eyes narrow as he studies me.
I squirm in my seat, almost afraid of what he sees. “What?”
“I had you pegged as a rider. You’ve got the...” He stops talking abruptly.
“I’ve got the what?” I ask, leaning forward as my apprehension fades.
“You’ve got the…ugh…”
“Come on, Karl, use your words.”
“The body of a rider,” he blurts out.
“Oh?”
“The legs, nice um… seat.” He blushes and looks everywhere but at me.
“I’ve got a nice seat?”
“Isn’t that what you all call it?”
“When we are on a horse, yes, not generally in place of rear, butt, or ass though.”
I don’t tell him that he can call it my seat if he would like. I don’t reveal that knowing he has looked at my ass and deemed it nice is not the worst thing a girl can hear.
“Well, you look like you spend a lot of time on horses. That’s all I meant.” He’s a bit flustered, and the next thing I know, I’m reaching across the table and squeezing his wrist.
“It’s okay, I get it. But I’m not a rider, not anymore,” I reveal, hoping he’s not disappointed with this news.
“But you are a groom?”
“I am a groom,” I confirm.
“Is your person not competing tonight?”
My person. I chuckle at that. No, my person is not competing tonight.
She’s sitting in the VIP section with our father, watching our mother compete in the marquee event.
I remember as a kid being so excited to be like one of the women dressed in gowns and diamonds, and then when the time came for that to happen, I did everything I could to avoid it.
Sitting up there meant questions, especially that first year.
“Your mother told me you didn’t enter any of the events this year.
” “Why aren’t you riding, Nancy?” “It’s a shame about the accident.
That horse had such potential.” “What a blessing that your mother has Celeste.” Countless words that ate away at what little self-worth I had left.
“My person is my sister, and no, she’s not. She’s watching, though.”
“Didn’t want to watch?”
“Would you believe that I don’t like it all that much?”
He squints, studying me. “No?”
“I don’t. I’d much rather be wandering among the cows than watching people on horseback.” I immediately feel lighter admitting that out loud.
His face brightens, and I can already sense what is about to leave his mouth. “Nancy, please marry me.”
“I don’t even know how old you are, Karl Hore.” I giggle because this man is truly absurd, but maybe in the best way possible.
“I’m twenty-two. My birthday is January fourteenth. I was born on a Saturday at five eighteen in the morning at Kawartha General Hospital.”
“So you’ve always been an early riser, eh?”