Page 14 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

I’m usually good at reading people but this guy’s impossible, because right now he almost looks happy to see me.

I tear my eyes away from Lando’s, trying not to frown, and focus back on Eddie. “Hey, Eddie. I’m all good. How ’bout you?”

“Can’t complain. Can’t complain. But while you’re passing, maybe you can help us out. I’m telling His Grace here about the bunting?—”

“Bunting?”

Eddie thumbs behind him, and the pair of them turn around so we’re all facing Valentine High Street.

It’s as busy as it usually is, but since I was here yesterday, the entire length of the street has been festooned in multicolored flags strung up from lamppost to lamppost traversing the road. Down on the far end, I spot a couple of guys up on ladders, adding the final touches .

It reminds me of the Fourth of July and brings a huge smile to my face.

“It looks so cute.”

“You think?” asks Lando. “It’s not?—”

“Your Grace, we always have the bunting,” Eddie says with more than a little exasperation. “It’s the summer fair.”

“I know, but this is my second year in charge.” Lando shrugs. “I wanted something better than bunting.”

“What’s better than bunting?”

I’m wondering that myself when I glance between them and realize they’re waiting on me to provide it.

“Oh . . . um . . .” I hate being put on the spot. “I dunno. Balloon arch?”

Eddie sighs because obviously a balloon arch is not better and turns back to Lando. “You want to come and check out the rest of the decorations?”

“Sure, lead the way,” he replies, his gaze flicking to mine. “Um . . . d’you mind? Can you hold Thunder for a second?”

Before I have the chance to say absolutely fucking not, he tosses me the reins and takes off after Eddie followed by a chocolate Labrador I hadn’t noticed.

Now what?

I’m not great with horses.

A few years ago, I was riding a horse during filming when it got spooked and took off down a path, but only after deciding he didn’t want me tagging along. I could have been competing in the rodeo for his attempts to buck me off, and I was catapulted through the air onto the road.

Luckily, I didn’t break anything, but the concussion and overnight hospital stay put me off ever getting back in the saddle.

I’m frozen in place, figuring out what to do when I realize a couple of girls are standing near the fountain staring at me, but because of this monstrous beast, I can’t do what I usually do when people stare at me, which is drop my head and walk away.

I push my sunglasses firmly up my nose instead.

“Your horse is gorgeous.”

“Oh . . . thanks. Yeah, he’s not mine.” I smile back, wishing I hadn’t replied because it only encourages the girls to step forward and stroke him.

Even though Thunder— Thunder , I mean, that’s not the name for a super chill horse—has barely moved an inch, I don’t know how he’s going to react to two strangers touching him, but he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. Of the two of us, I’m the one fending off a panic attack.

The first girl holds her hand out, allowing him to nibble at her palm, and I catch a glimpse of his giant horse teeth chomping on nothing but air. What a tease.

Even I feel disappointed for him.

“How old is he?”

“I’m not sure.”

I’m trying not to be rude, but I’m also staring at the door Lando disappeared through because where the fuck is he?

From the corner of my eye, I notice the second girl tilting her head as she stares at me, but I’m too focused on the pub entrance to feel the weight of it.

“You seem so familiar,” she says eventually. “Did I see you at the polo last weekend?”

I shake my head. “Nope, not me.”

She’s about to ask something else when the pair of them turn around, and a little way down the street is a small group of girls calling and gesturing them over. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thanks for letting us say hi to your horse.” Girl one smiles. “Bye.”

“He’s not mine,” I mutter and follow it up with a “see you around” out of habit just in case she remembers where she knows me from.

Because having the gossip sites say I was super nice is always more preferable than being called a miserable bitch.

I figure Thunder would go back to standing still, but the tiny attention he just received seems to have piqued his need for more. He nudges me hard in the ribs, running his soft velvety lips all over my shirt pocket.

“Dude, this is clean. Don’t eat it.” I step back before his teeth make contact with my skin, but I’m talking to half a ton of horse, and of course, he follows me, nibbling at the soft cotton. “What are you after?”

Pushing his face away, which is harder than it sounds, I reach into my pocket to find a tin of breath mints from the plane ride over. Huh, maybe this shirt wasn’t clean.

“Is this what you want?”

Given he tries to eat them before I open it, I’d say so.

Maybe he’s expecting something different because when I tip the tiny white pellets into my hand, he stops what he’s doing and stares at them, disappointed.

“Sorry, pal, it’s all I got.” I hold my hand out.

His hot breath blows over my palm, and he leaves a trail of saliva as he licks the mints up and crunches down.

“What are you doing to my horse?”

Spinning around, I find Lando sauntering across the street, all thick thighs and broad shoulders, with the same amusement as before sparkling in his eyes. There’s an insolence to it, giving me the feeling he’s laughing at me, not with me.

I snap the tin shut. “Nothing.”

As he steps between us, the scent of wood and amber dances through the air. Holy shit , it’s all I can do not to run my nose along his collar. Because Lando smells good . Better than he has any right to.

Cupping his hand around Thunder’s nose, he pushes his fingers up into his long, thick black mane. Thunder is more interested in the mints or my shirt, it seems.

“He likes you.”

“He likes the mints.”

“True, but he wouldn’t be rubbing his nose over you if he was only after mints.”

My cheeks warm under his gaze, and I step away, only for Thunder to crane forward for further investigation of my shirt, causing Lando to raise a thick brow at me. His point is proven, and it’s followed by a twitch in his cheeks suppressing a smile.

“Buddy, I don’t have anything else for you,” I tell Thunder as he moves on to sniffing my hair.

I take another step back. My shirt might now be covered in horse slobber, but I draw the line at my freshly washed hair. Then I realize there’s no reason for me to still be standing here, holding the reins and staring at Lando while he laughs loudly.

I should be on my way to get a coffee and a donut. Yet I’m not because I’m watching Lando’s hands stroke Thunder’s silky neck and wondering what else he can do with them.

My moment of insanity is broken when Eddie reappears carrying a large box, followed by the Labrador ambling behind him who promptly lies down between Thunder’s legs.

“Right, Your Grace, we’re settled on the bunting, and we’ve got the ribbons for the lampposts. Anything else you want?”

That’s the third time Eddie’s called Lando something other than his name. Or the name Clemmie introduced him as, and I’m a little confused. What I should do is hold my tongue or walk off in search of my coffee and donut. But I don’t, obviously.

“What did you call him?”

“Who?”

My eyes slide toward Lando. “Um?—”

Eddie’s brows crease together, and his thick mustache droops even lower because I’m obviously making no sense. “His Grace?”

“Yes, that . I thought your name was Lando.”

Lando’s—or whatever his name is—cheeks redden. “It is.”

“Then—” I look at Eddie for some explanation. I shouldn’t have asked. This is one of those complicated English things where everything is called something different.

Eddie nods at Lando. “His Grace ’ere, is the Duke of Oxfordshire. You address him as Your Grace. Same way you and me are like mister or missus. Or whatever they say in America.”

Duke .

I’m normally much smarter than the last week or so would suggest. Maybe if I’d read Ashley’s notes, I’d already know this, but I should have figured it out the day I spent at the pool with Clemmie. I’ve watched Downton Abbey . No regular person lives in a palace-sized house.

Address him? “Am I supposed to call you that? Grace ?”

Next to me, Eddie snorts, and the ends of his mustache twitch while Lando looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

It’s odd because even the few times I met him, he doesn’t strike me as the sort of person to be uncomfortable in any situation.

His self-assuredness is both incredibly alluring and infuriating.

“No, you may call me Lando,” he replies eventually.

“Lando,” I repeat.

“It’s short for Orlando.”

I remember enough of my schooling that I know Orlando has to come from Shakespeare rather than just being a name or a destination. He totally fits that broody, handsome sulky hero thing he has going on.

Lando is the guy I’ve met. The moody one.

So this uncomfortable, almost bashful expression he’s wearing right now looks all wrong, and I hate it.

Therefore, I’m going to put things right .

“Orlando? Like Disney World?”

Lando’s thick brows drop, giving me the exact reaction I was hoping for.

Eddie barks out a laugh and slaps his round belly. “She got you there, Your Grace.”

“Hey, your name is Holiday ,” Lando shoots back, ignoring him. “Or how you Americans like to say— vacation ?”

His eyes narrow, and I’m guessing he expects me to get all offended and storm off. But Eddie’s chuckling next to me, and it’s all I can do to stop my own laughter from escaping, especially as Orlando’s gone back to glaring at me.

“That’s a terrible American accent.”

Lando opens his mouth, only to close it again and drop his head in defeat, but not before I catch the curve of a smile. “You’re right, it is. I’m sorry. I’ll leave the acting to you.”

“My English accent isn’t much better,” I concede. “I try my hardest, but my dialect coach would tell me I overpronounce my consonants .”

“Sounds okay to me.”