Ruby
“Ithink your horse has shrunk.”
I look up to find Story and Clementine leaning over the stable door, then glance back at the goat quietly munching Maverick’s hay—where he’s been for the last ten minutes, ever since he jumped over the door and into the stall.
I manage a weak laugh. “Yeah.”
“What are you doing?” Story asks, opening the stable door. She crouches down as the goat trots over and playfully nudges her. “Hi, Churchy.”
“Do you know him?”
She nods, scratching behind his ear. “It’s Churchill.
He’s Valentine Nook’s resident Hungry Hippo.
No surprise he’s here at mealtimes. The fruit hasn’t appeared on the trees yet, so he goes in search of other food.
In the summer, he raids everyone’s gardens, don’t you, darling.
” She kisses his long face. “Anyway, back to you and what you’re doing here. ”
“I’m hiding,” I reply, though I thought it would be obvious.
“Why?”
“Were there still photographers at the entrance?”
Clementine nods knowingly.
“That’s why.”
“Unfortunately, they come with the territory as far as Miles goes,” she says, like it’s no big deal, and I shouldn’t be upset that the media want to know what’s going on with my life when I don’t know myself.
“Anyway, where’s the usual resident of this establishment?
” She leans back to read the nameplate on the door. “Maverick?”
“He’s having a massage.”
“Jesus. The horses here are looked after better than I look after myself,” Story grumbles. “Maybe we should move in.”
“I think that’s what I’m doing right now.” I sigh.
“No, we have bigger plans for you tonight,” Clementine declares, entering the stable and holding her hand out to me.
I perk up slightly. “I’m not very good company—”
“Oh, you will be. Come on. We’re taking you out.” She grins. “Where’s Miles?”
“He’s in the office with Angus, doing his daily debrief on the points table and making sure we’re beating Santiago Torres.”
It’s a throwaway comment because that is what he is doing, but Clementine’s face loses all color.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “Miles is doing all he can to beat that bastard.”
“How do you know he’s a bastard?”
I frown a little at the harshness of her tone, but she’s probably just worried about Miles.
“Aren’t all polo players?” I laugh, but when Clementine joins in, it feels a touch strained.
“Where are you playing next?” asks Story, and I’m thankful for the interruption. I get the distinct feeling I’ve just upset Miles’s sister.
“Mostly Oxfordshire, where we have some one-day matches. Then the festival. After that, we’re in Hampshire for the week.”
The season’s only a few weeks old, but the Flyers are already dominating, thanks to Miles and his training sessions. I thought once the matches started we’d ease up a little on the training, but it’s getting more grueling, Miles pushing us harder and harder.
I know I collapse into bed each night.
It’s not going to get easier either.
Clementine smiles, and I feel like I’ve been temporarily forgiven. “Well, let’s go and have some fun. We’re kidnapping you.”
“I should probably tell Miles—”
“Nope.” She pulls out her phone and turns the screen my way. “We’ve taken care of it.”
Miles: Look after her. Drinks on me.
Warmth creeps over me as I read his words. “Well, I can’t argue with the boss.”
“I find it’s always best not to,” Story replies.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“You’ll see.”
Ishould’ve pushed for more information.
Instead, I stare at the sign above the shop door: Agatha Chase’s Love Emporium
“What the heck is a love emporium?”
“Oh my God, you’re going to love it.” Clementine claps her hands excitedly. “Agatha is Valentine Nook’s resident witch.”
The description rings a bell. “Wait. Is she the lady with all the bracelets? And who wears more velvet than I’ve ever seen in my life?”
Story shoots me a finger gun. “Nailed it in one.”
“She’s super intense.”
“She is,” Clementine agrees, “but she’s also quite amusing.”
“Miles didn’t seem to think so.”
“That’s because Agatha has taken it upon herself to single-handedly study my brothers’ love lives. And because Miles is Miles, he’s actively resisted being associated with any woman at all before you came along. The thought of Agatha being right probably brings him out in hives.”
“But we’re not a thing,” I say—something I feel compelled to clarify.
“Yeah, but it’s always fun to wind Miles up,” she replies, leading us into the store.
Inside, it’s busy. The sweet smell of incense drifts through the air before we even step through the door. Women of all ages browse shelves lined with love potions, crystals, incense sticks, and bottles filled with colorful liquid.
“What is this place?”
“The biggest moneymaker in Valentine Nook,” says Story, with a heaped dose of cynicism. “You should see it on Valentine’s Day. People start lining up at six in the morning.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Love is big business.”
A long velvet curtain rustles, and Agatha herself appears, and out of everyone in the store, her eyes immediately fall onto me.
“Ruby,” she exclaims, walking directly toward me, arms outstretched. “So wonderful to see you again. I presume you’re here for my Full Moon Party?”
Her energy feels even more intense than when I first met her.
“Well,” I say carefully, “I think so, but Clementine and Story brought me. They said it was a surprise.”
She doesn’t seem thrilled by my answer, but her expression softens when Clementine loops an arm around her shoulders.
“I brought you a new victim, Agatha.”
Agatha barks out a dramatic laugh. “Oh, Clementine. How is your heart? I see you’re masking pain with humor.”
Clementine rolls her eyes. “I’m all good, Agatha, like always.”
“Acceptance is the first rule of healing, my dear.”
I’m not sure Clementine has the same belief system as Agatha, and she starts peering around the store until her eyes land on a bottle of wine.
“On that note, let’s have a drink, shall we?”
When she rushes off, Agatha turns to me. “I’m so glad you returned. I have a gift for you.”
I watch as she digs through layer upon layer of velvet and pulls a pale pink crystal necklace from her pocket. “Wear this,” she says, fastening it around my neck before I can object. “It will protect your heart. It will bring love to you.”
I didn’t realize my heart needed protecting, but I already know not to argue with her, so I just say, “Thanks.”
“You look beautiful,” she says warmly before sweeping herself away to greet other guests.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, Story leans toward me. “She gives one to everybody . . .” And she pulls a matching crystal from beneath her shirt.
“Has it worked?”
Story shrugs. “I mean, Hendricks and I have been best friends since we were six. I used to buy love potions here to get him to notice me. They never worked . . .”
“Until—”
“Five months ago, when something finally happened. But Agatha can fuck off if she thinks I’m giving her credit.” She laughs loudly. “But that being said, Agatha’s full moon parties are always a good time if you don’t take it seriously.”
“I didn’t realize it was a full moon.”
Story looks around, like she’s checking to make sure no one heard. “Don’t tell her that. She’ll start talking about energy frequencies.”
I laugh. “Noted.”
Clementine returns with three overly large glasses of wine. “I thought it was better to fill it than go back for more.” I appreciate her ingenuity.
At Agatha’s insistence, we make our way through the velvet curtain into a candlelit room.
Thirty cushions are arranged in a circle on the floor, with a piece of parchment paper and a glittery pen placed on the top.
We each take a seat, though mine proves harder than expected—after Miles’s training for the past month, my hips are stiff as hell.
“So . . .” Clementine shuffles around and takes a huge glug of wine. “How’s it going living with my brother?”
“Good, I guess.”
“Who says romance is dead?” Story drawls.
“Very husband and wife.”
I laugh despite myself. “We’ve been getting along,” I admit. “Coffee in the mornings. Work all day. Dinner together. Then go to bed—”
“That sounds very married—”
“Separately.” I don’t miss the look they exchange.
“And you patched things up after New Year’s?” Clementine asks, though it feels more like she’s pushing.
I reply as diplomatically as I can, “You could say that.”
“You’re certainly both playing the parts well,” Story adds, lowering her voice. “That kiss . . .” She fans herself.
I open my mouth to agree, but truth be told, after the kiss in the hallway, I’m not sure what we are playing anymore, so I close it again, and Clementine cuts in.
“It must be a record. You’re the longest he’s ever spent with anybody.”
This entire evening, it’s like Clementine’s had an edge, like she’s pissed at something, and I kind of think it’s me. Or Miles. I dunno, but it’s something, and I feel the need to defend him.
“He’s not that bad.”
“No,” she says softly. “He’s just never been interested.”
Something in her voice shifts, and a tear slips down her cheek. My eyes flick to Story, in case she has any idea what’s going on, but her face is blank.
“Clem?” I ask gently. “Are you okay?”
She doesn’t answer, just swipes her face dry and stands abruptly, declaring, “I need more wine.” Then she disappears back through the curtain.
I glance at Story. “Was it something I said?”
“No. Clementine’s going through something. Best to let her ride it out.” She pauses, her voice quiet. “Can I ask you something?”
I nod. “Sure.”
“If your visa situation disappeared tomorrow . . . could you see yourself with Miles?”
My stomach drops. The truth is . . . I don’t know.
I’ve never really thought about relationships. Horses have always been my whole life. My experience with men is limited to awkward fumbling in stables after hours and avoiding the attention of entitled polo players.