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“Hi,” a quiet voice says from behind me.
I whirl around to find Isla standing there with a tall, preteen girl at her side. The girl studies me with a somber gaze.
“Grace,” I say.
Grace blinks. “You remember me.”
“Of course I do,” I say, standing. “Hey, did you ever get that pig?”
The last thing I heard about Grace was that she wanted to adopt a pig. Isla was trying to find a way to make it happen.
A smile blossoms on Grace’s face. “No but I have a horse now. Well, he lives at Furever Friends. His name is Piglet. He’s a mix of quarter horse and walking pony. He’s thirteen hands, which isn’t very big but a good size for me. He hurt his leg a month ago. He’s better now but I don’t show jump with him anymore. He’s got a blaze that looks like a carrot. Carrots are his favorite food.”
“Not apples?” I say. “The horses where I was working were all about apples.”
“Piglet will eat apples if there aren’t any carrots to be had,” Grace says. “How many horses did you work with?”
“Four,” I say. “I didn’t know you liked riding.”
“I wasn’t very good at show jumping,” Grace admits. “But that’s okay. Piglet is an excellent companion. He listens when I talk about physics.”
“Physics?” I say, impressed.
“Hey Grace, Caden and I need to go over some things for Magnolia Day,” Isla says gently. Isla was always so patient with her precocious sister.
“Right,” Grace says, studying me. “You’re going to build Isla a booth.”
“Yup,” I say.
“You never used to build things before.”
“I didn’t. I guess things change.”
“I know,” she says. “You’re a lot bigger now. And you have tattoos.”
Isla quickly interrupts again.
“Why don’t you find some books to check out, Grace?”
“Okay,” Grace says. “I’m going to ask Mrs. Nowak if they have The Fabric of the Cosmos by Brian Greene.”
She wanders off toward the reception desk and Isla smiles as she watches her sister. It’s the sweetest, kindest smile, one that makes you want to be a better person when you look at it. “Grace is really into physics now,” she says.
“Cool.”
I sound like an idiot. Isla and I both stand there awkwardly.
“Sorry she said all that stuff,” Isla says, her cheeks turning a delicate pink that makes my chest throb. “She doesn’t really have a filter.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “I remember.”
There’s another pause. Isla folds her arms across her chest, like she’s protecting herself. Her hair is down today, chestnut waves falling over her shoulders. She wears a green top that matches her eyes.
I drink her in, the high planes of her cheekbones, the slope of her nose, the purse of her lips. I don’t know how many times I’ll get to see her before I leave. I feel a masochistic need to imprint her into my mind.
Her gaze flits over my shoulder. The article blares at us from the screen. “Oh,” she says.
I quickly turn the screen off. “I was just doing some research.” I lower my voice so no one overhears. “Noah told me they kept your name out of the papers.”