30. Georgina #2
I rise on my toes and kiss him, feeling the familiar warmth of his mouth, the way his arms come around me like they belong there. When we separate, I’m smiling.
“We should check on them,” I say. “Make sure Deus isn’t boring your mother with structural assessments of the outbuildings.”
“He wouldn’t dare.”
“He would. He did it to me last week.”
Max laughs and takes my hand, and we walk together into the garden, where Felicity and Deus are examining the new plantings along the wall. The afternoon has settled into the kind of comfortable warmth that makes you want to stay outside forever.
By the time Felicity leaves, the sun is beginning its slow descent toward the hills. She hugs me at the car, holds me a moment longer than necessary, and tells me she’ll see me soon.
“I meant what I said,” she says. “About watching you compete.”
“I know.” I pull back and meet her eyes. “I’ll send you the dates when I decide.”
“I’ll be there.” She touches my face the way she did when she arrived, the gentle assessment of someone who cares. “I’m proud of you, Georgina. I want you to know that.”
“Thank you.” The words feel inadequate, but I don’t have better ones. “For everything.”
She gets in the car, and I watch until she disappears around the bend in the drive. Max comes to stand beside me, his hand resting briefly on my back before falling away.
“Ready for that ride?” he asks.
“More than ready.”
We tack up in the quiet of the late afternoon, the stable calm around us.
The groom has Luce settled in her paddock with fresh hay, and I can hear the filly rustling through it as I check Sovrano’s girth.
I fasten my helmet and wait while Max does the same with his, both of us secured before we lead the horses to the mounting block.
At the block, I swing into the saddle and feel Sovrano settle beneath me. Max mounts the gray beside me, and we walk out of the yard together, turning toward the lower orchard path instead of the meadow.
“Not the usual route,” Max observes.
“I want to see the old trees. I haven’t been down there in weeks.”
“Lead the way.”
The path winds downhill through grass that needs cutting, past a weathered stone wall, into the spreading shade of the old apple trees. The light filters green and gold through the leaves, dappling Sovrano’s neck as we walk.
“Your mother asked about my competition plans,” I tell Max.
“She’s been curious since I mentioned the regional calendar.”
“You mentioned it?”
“I may have said something about helping you look at dates.” He glances at me. “Was that wrong?”
“No.” I consider it. “You sounded pleased when she asked me about it.”
“I was pleased. You were talking about something you wanted.”
“I have been known to do that.”
His mouth curves. “I intend to encourage it.”
We ride in comfortable silence for a while, the horses moving easily through the orchard. Sovrano’s ears flick back toward me occasionally, checking in, and I stroke his neck to let him know I’m here.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I say.
“Ask.”
“That book you were reading last month. The one about the architect.”
“What about it?”
“How did it end?”
Max looks at me with genuine surprise. “You want to know how it ended?”
“I want to know if I should bother reading it.” I keep my face innocent. “You seemed very absorbed.”
“I was absorbed because it was infuriating.” He shakes his head. “The ending makes no sense. The architect abandons the building he’s spent the entire book fighting for.”
“Maybe he had good reasons.”
“He had no reasons. The author just got tired of writing.”
“You sound personally offended.”
“I am personally offended.” He looks at me. “I spent three hundred pages caring about that building.”
I laugh, and the sound startles a bird from one of the apple trees. Sovrano’s ears prick at the flutter of wings, but he doesn’t break stride.
“I missed this,” Max says after a moment.
“Riding?”
“Arguing with you about books.” His voice is warm. “You used to do it more. Before.”
“I still had opinions.”
“Before I stopped making time to hear them.” He looks over at me. “I missed that.”
There were evenings when I saved something to tell him and went to bed before I could. Eventually, I stopped saving things. I look at him now, riding beside me with a grievance about a fictional architect, and feel how much I want to read the book simply so we can disagree about it.
“I missed having someone to tell,” I say.
His smile fades a little. “Tell me now. Even if it takes you three hundred pages to decide I’m wrong.”
“Even if I disagree with everything?”
“Especially then.” He grins at me. “I’ll have something to argue about.”
“How magnanimous.”
“I thought so.”
We emerge from the orchard into a small meadow, the grass shorter here, the footing good. I ask Sovrano for trot and feel him respond eagerly, his stride lengthening as we move across the open space. Max brings the gray alongside us, matching our pace.