by Aven Ellis
“Five minutes should be enough time,” Luca says.
“For what?”
“For you to tell me the name of your horse. I can’t leave without knowing.”
“Well, I don’t know. He does have two names,” I say, cocking an eyebrow at Luca.
“Two names?”
“His registered name and his barn name.”
Confusion is all over Luca’s face.
“Why have more than one name?”
“Because registered names are very unique, and you have to get creative when coming up with those. Barn names are more about the personality of the horse.”
“What is the registered name then?” Luca asks.
“My horse’s registered name is Winter Whirl, but I never call him that.”
“Ballerini!”
“Coming!” Luca yells back, annoyance in his voice. He extends his hand to me. I swing my legs back over the fence, and the second I feel his strong hand around mine, I have the urge to never let go.
I gaze up at him, and my breath catches in my throat. This is magic. This new, wonderful experience I’m having tonight is all because of this confident man standing in front of me.
“Come on, rookie! Get your game on with the girl and get it done!” another player yells.
Several of them crack up.
Luca lets go of my hand. “I’m sorry. Apparently, they’re impatient to get back to Chicago.”
“I understand,” I say, nodding at him.
I scoop up my shoes and my phone, and we slowly walk back up the sloping grass for the second time this evening.
“You still have to answer my question. If you don’t call him Winter Whirl, what do you call him?” Luca asks as we come up the lawn.
I don’t say anything until we reach the terrace. Music is still playing and people are still milling around, but the crowd has definitely thinned out.
The players waiting on Luca head back inside, except for Pierre.
“I’ll make sure they don’t leave without you,” Pierre says, smiling at Luca. “But you’ll owe me.”
Luca watches him walk back inside and groans. “Now I owe two people tonight.”
“Two?”
“I’m going to be Landy’s slave during a road trip. That was to get your number.”
If he weren’t standing in front of me, I’d do a toe-touch jump for joy right this second.
“Do you intend to use my number again?” I ask, but I already know the answer.
He will absolutely, one hundred percent call me.
Luca’s eyes shine brightly at me. “Yes.”
“Then I have to give you a reason to use it. I think I’ll keep Winter Whirl’s barn name a secret for now. When you call me, you can find out what it is.”
A huge smile lights up Luca’s face. “Noted.”
We enter the house, and I feel Livy and Aubrey’s eyes on me and Luca, but I ignore them.
I walk with Luca to the front door, pausing for a moment to put my shoes down and my phone on the entry table, and step outside with him. I hand his coat back to him, and our fingertips brush again, the skin-on-skin contact sending heat through my body.
“Thank you for tonight,” Luca says, staring down at me.
“Thank you, Luca,” I say.
Thank you for being a gentleman. For being a man who doesn’t play games. For wanting to know me beyond a website picture. Thank you for finding me tonight.
Most of all, thank you for being you.
“Goodnight, Collins,” Luca says, backing up toward the waiting car.
“Goodnight.”
Luca opens the door to howls and laughter, and I know he’s going to have hell to pay for talking to me tonight.
I also know that Luca doesn’t care.
Which makes me want to do another toe-touch of joy, but I somehow manage to refrain.
I step back inside the house and slip on my heels. My phone vibrates on the entryway table, and I pick it up.
My heart leaps the second I see it’s from Luca:
Cinderella, you left your calling card in my suit pocket.
I freeze. He called me Cinderella.
The fairy tale has personal meaning that nobody else knows. How could he?
Another text drops in:
I have your tube of makeup.
Oh! I remember slipping it into his pocket earlier. I totally forgot!
I’d like to return it to you. The sooner the better.
I shake with excitement. I manage to text him back:
How soon were you thinking?
He replies rapid fire:
Tomorrow.
I have the biggest grin on my face. I hold my phone over my heart for a second and mentally do a little excited dance.
I’m going to see Luca Ballerini.
In less than twenty-four hours.
I have no doubt in my mind I am Cinderella going to the ball on Sunday.
With one very handsome goalie as my prince.
Chapter 5
Always make sure the venue fits the occasion . . .
“Collins, you look so tired,” Mom exclaims. “Did you work late after Livy’s party last night?”
I glance at my mom from across the linen-draped table. We’re at the country club where she and Dad belong, having our customary once-a-month Sunday brunch.
I think about how I should answer.
The real-life version of events:
Well, yes, I worked late. Then I drove back to the city and, of course, sleeping was impossible because I kept replaying every moment I had with Luca, from how he looked in the moonlight to how we talked and I, maybe, just maybe, got three hours of sleep.
Or a safer, more toned-down version. I decide on the latter.
“Yes, it was a long night,” I say, editing my answer for my mom, as usual. “But very worth it.”
“Would you like more coffee?” the server asks me.
I nod enthusiastically. “Yes, please.”
I watch as my ceramic cup is topped off with fresh cinnamon-infused brew. I reach for the cream and pour in a hefty amount, turning the coffee a nice shade of pale brown.
“Make sure you rehydrate after all that coffee,” Mom says, smiling sweetly at me. “After all, dehydration can cause dry skin and premature wrinkling, and we certainly don’t want that unpleasantness.”
No, of course not.
I touch my phone, which I have set to vibrate in my lap. It’s a little after eleven. Normally by this point, I’d be wondering if a man was going to call. I’d be jittery and anxious, wondering if he’d changed his mind. Or if he’d suddenly fallen off the face of the earth.
But I don’t feel that way at all.
Not with Luca.
“I don’t think Collins has to worry about wrinkles yet,” Dad chimes in, pausing to take a bite of his eggs Benedict.
“Not yet, but one must always try to avoid them,” Mom counters. “Collins does want to look her best, right, sweetheart?”
I stuff a forkful of pancakes in my mouth so I don’t have to talk. Mmm. I love pancakes. Actually, I love any bread-type food. The brilliant thing about our country club is they have a full station devoted to pancakes at every brunch. Today, I went for pumpkin spice, which is finally back now that it’s October.
I love pumpkin spice.
Anything with pumpkin spice.
“Collins?” Mom prods.
“Hmm?” I blink.
Wow. I must really be obsessed with pumpkin spice if I managed to tune out a conversation with Mom.
“I was asking you what your plans were for today,” she repeats, pausing to take a bite of her yogurt.
; Buzz!
I straighten when I feel my phone vibrate in my lap.
I flip it over while holding my breath and glance down to read the screen.
Incoming Call From Luca Ballerini.
He’s calling.
Not texting.
But calling.
Oh, serious swoon!
“Please excuse me,” I say, standing up. “I need to take this. It’s an important business call.”
Mom frowns, but I’m used to her expression, so I ignore it. I move away from the table and swipe the icon to accept his call.
“Hello?” I say, excitement rushing through me as I move across the restaurant, past wood-paneled walls covered in golf memorabilia and luxurious leather booths, toward the exit.
“Hey, Collins,” his now-familiar, deep voice says.
I smile as I enter the long corridor of the country club, briskly heading toward the front door.
“Good morning,” I say cheerfully.
“I hope I’m not interrupting you.”
I walk out the entrance to the majestic Tudor-style clubhouse and move along the sidewalk, letting the bright autumn sunshine warm my face.
“No, not at all. Just having some brunch,” I say.
“Sounds good. What are you having?”
“Pumpkin spice pancakes, which are the best of everything.”
“Best of everything?”
“Yes. Pancakes, which are awesome by themselves, plus pumpkin spice. The greatest combination ever.”
“Are you one of those pumpkin spice girls?” Luca teases.
I smile. I love how easy it is to talk to him.
“That depends. Do you mean that in a derogatory way?” I flirt back.
“No, just curious. I don’t understand the obsession with pumpkin spice and the need to put it on everything at this time of year.”
“Oh, Luca. This might be too much for me to overcome,” I say seriously. “I’m a pumpkin spice slut.”
Luca laughs, and my spine tingles at the delicious sound.
“A slut?” he asks.
“A slut,” I say emphatically. “I love pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin bread, pumpkin pie . . . I can go on and on.”
“Do you have an ‘I Love Pumpkin Spice’ T-shirt?”
“Is it too much for you to overcome if I do?”
“If I can handle taking a puck to the head, I can handle your pumpkin spice addiction.”
“That’s a valid point. You can handle it, Luca.”
He laughs, and I smile, knowing I’ve provoked such a response.
“So, I have this tube of makeup that you left in my coat pocket, Cinderella,” Luca says slowly. “We can skip the part about me trying to find your identity by seeing if the makeup matches your skin tone, but I thought you might want it back. So you can run it over with your car or take it to the city dump.”
Oh, I like this boy. I really like him.
“I have to say, running it over with my car is an inspired idea.”
“Would you be available this afternoon so I can return it?”
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.
“Well, you see, that might be hard because I already have a date this afternoon.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line.
Luca clears his throat. “Oh. Right. Um . . . maybe some other time then?”
“My date will be waiting for me after brunch,” I continue. “He expects to see me every Sunday afternoon. He needs to be groomed.”
“Groomed?” Luca asks.
“Yes. Afterward, I usually take him out for a ride.”
“Shit, you’re talking about your horse,” Luca says, realizing I’m playing him.
I laugh. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. Forgive me?”
“I shouldn’t,” Luca says, laughing. “I was trying to figure out how to gracefully dismount from your rejection.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”
“It can’t involve pumpkin spice.”
I giggle. “No, it won’t, I promise. But Major won’t mind if you want to meet me at the stables,” I say, extending an invitation to him. Major is an important part of my life, and I want to see if Luca would like to come out and spend time with me in that setting. It’s the perfect place to get to know me. “Oh, that’s his stable name, by the way. Major.”
“Major,” Luca repeats. “Great name. I’d like to meet him. And you.”
Ah! I want to run across the lush country club grass in delight but force myself to remain calm and ladylike.
“It’s in the northern suburbs,” I explain. “Golden Oak Stables.”
“Okay. What time?”
“Can you come out around two o’clock?”
“Let me check my schedule. Yes,” he immediately says, and we both laugh again.
“Okay. I’ll see you at two.”
“You’re on. And Collins?”
“Yes?”
“You’re wicked.” He pauses for a moment. “I like it.”
Then he hangs up.
A feeling of anticipation sweeps through me. I’m excited, eager, nervous, everything all rolled into one.
In a few hours, I’m going to meet Luca.
And I absolutely can’t wait to see him.
Chapter 6
Understanding your client is critical to the relationship . . .
I lean against the wooden fence outside the enormous barn at Golden Oak Stables. It’s a glorious afternoon, with blue skies and a crisp temperature. The long drive in front of me is lined with magnificent trees in brilliant shades of orange and crimson. In the pasture, horses graze under the warming rays of the October sun.
I breathe in the air, filled with the scent of horses and hay, and know I’m in my element. I’m always happiest when I’m out on the farm among people who ride and are as passionate about horses as I am.
This is my world.
And now I’m about to share it with Luca.
I’m dressed in my equestrian gear: black breeches; tall, black riding boots; a long-sleeved, jersey-gray shirt; and my black, sleeveless, quilted vest. My hair is pulled back into a sleek, low ponytail, made fancier with hair wrapped around the band to make it appear knotted.
I eagerly watch as a vehicle turns into the driveway and kicks up gravel as it slowly moves toward me. I have no idea what Luca drives, so I don’t know if it’s him, but I hold my breath all the same as the black Ford Expedition nears closer.
I squint into the sunlight, trying to peer at the driver behind the wheel.
The driver is wearing aviator shades and smiles the second he recognizes me.
Luca.
He pulls into a vacant spot, opens the door, and unbends his massive frame to get out of the SUV. I eagerly walk toward him while he reaches back inside the car and grabs two coffee cups.
“Hi,” I say.
Luca doesn’t say anything for a moment. He simply stands before me with the coffee in his hands and stares.
“You look beautiful,” he finally says, his deep voice sending a tingle down my spine.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling up at him. I notice how the sun shines down on the red tints in his hair, making them more noticeable than they were last night. I can also better see how massive Luca actually is, from his height to his broad shoulders and huge chest.
“This is for you,” Luca says, extending a cup to me. “One pumpkin spice latte.”
Oh, serious swoon points.
I reach for it, and our fingertips meet around the cup. The instant I feel his skin against mine, sparks fly.
“Luca, thank you,” I say, loving his sweet gesture. Then I raise
an eyebrow. “Did you get one for yourself?”
Luca grins at me, a gorgeous smile that lights up the most handsome face I’ve ever seen, and my pulse leaps in response.
“Um, no. I’m not into the whole pumpkin spice trend,” he says, shutting the driver’s door on his SUV.
“Not to correct you, but it’s not a trend,” I declare. “It’s here to stay.”
“No. America is on the verge of pumpkin spice overload. People will rebel. We need to be liberated from pumpkin spice.”
I laugh. “Are you saying there will be a Great Pumpkin Spice Revolutionary War?”
“It could happen.”
“And what side will you be fighting for?” I flirt back.
“I’m going to fight to defend salted caramel.” Luca pauses and takes a sip of his coffee. “Because that’s a flavor worthy of the cause. When I indulge, that’s what I get. Today’s coffee is a straight up cappuccino, though.”
“Well, I’m sad you don’t have flavored coffee, but I disagree. Pumpkin spice is superior to caramel.”
The sound of horse hooves on brick can be heard coming from the stables, and Luca shifts his attention to the noise. I look over my shoulder to see a rider leading his horse out.
“That horse is huge,” Luca says.
I nod and turn back to him. “That’s a Shire. They originated in England and were used to carry knights into battle. They’re massive, aren’t they?”
“I’ve never seen a horse that big,” he says, his voice full of amazement.
“You wouldn’t think it, but they’re very gentle,” I say, pausing to take a sip of my coffee. “Mmm, this is so good. Perfect for a fall day. Unlike your cappuccino.”
Luca smiles, and once again my heart flips in response.
“My cappuccino is fantastic.”
“But not as seasonal as pumpkin on a beautiful fall day,” I declare. “Come on, let’s go into the stable. I want you to meet Major.”
