Page 20 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

I realize she’s talking, but my heart is thudding so hard I can barely hear her.

“. . . my bear.”

“Your bear?”

One perfect eyebrow arches at me. “The stuffed bear I won. I believe we shook on it.”

Ah yes, how could I forget? Even though I did forget. “I can’t just magic up a stuffed bear, you know. These things take time.”

She sets off walking again, Thunder following. “Not too long, I hope. Can’t a duke hurry things up?”

“It’ll take as long as it takes.”

Speaking of which, I really need to take Thunder back to the stable yard so he can have his breakfast and get fitted. I don’t have the time to walk back to the house because I have meetings for the rest of the morning. As it is, I won’t be able to take him out until later this afternoon.

Yet we continue along the fence line because it seems that both Thunder and I wish to enjoy Holiday’s company for as long as possible.

“What are you making in your first class?”

“I don’t know. Something easy, I hope.”

“Rice Krispies cakes?”

From the other side of Thunder, I hear her snort another laugh. “Not quite that easy. I’m not looking to become a Michelin chef, I’d just like to know my way around a kitchen better than I do right now. I want to know how to bake a pie. The Fourth of July is coming up, and I’ve never made one. ”

“You could bake your own celebration donuts,” I suggest. “Start a new tradition.”

“I could. But the real magic of the celebration donut is having someone else make it.”

“Ah. I see.”

“What about you?” She peers around Thunder and shoots me a wry smile. “How does the duke celebrate?”

I’m silent for a second because for that second , I’m confused about who she’s talking about. Then I realize it’s me, the duke .

My birthright, my title, my life— all of it momentarily forgotten about.

Worse still, I can’t answer her question because I can’t remember the last time I had something to celebrate.

Between running things around here, ensuring all aspects of Burlington Estate are staying efficient, meeting with my financiers, lawyers and advisers, seeing the year’s young are all born healthy and their mothers are taken care of, and attending the various Valentine Nook monthly meetings, I don’t have enough hours in my day.

“Gracie? C’mon, tell me,” she presses. “What do you do to celebrate?”

“Um . . . I don’t recall. Probably open a bottle of champagne. Something like that.”

“Okaaay,” she drags out, making it clear she’s less than impressed with my response. “Then tell me what you do for fun.”

That question is better but also worse.

It’s better in that I have an answer ready, like “I take Thunder through the fields, watch Miles play polo?—”

But worse, because it reminds me of every time Miles accuses me of having a stick up my arse, that duty comes before fun.

Because again, I realize I can’t remember the last time I truly had any fun .

Like uninhibited, falling-into-bed-after-having-the-best-day-ever fun. The most recent example of this would be last Christmas when my brothers dragged me off to Aspen on the day I was supposed to get married.

It was the week away I needed, even if I was hungover for half of it and mute for the rest, dreading my return to England.

“That’s cute.”

“What about you? What do you do for fun?”

“Hmm.” She pauses. “Well, I try to catch as many baseball games as possible. But I also like to start the day without a plan and see where it takes me. I’ll meet my girlfriends for brunch, and we’ll go from there.

” The knowing laugh she lets out makes me want to beg to hear more.

“Sometimes we end up dancing until the morning. But I also like learning new things . . . cooking, for example.”

“And we all know how you celebrate.”

“We sure do. But I’m only twenty-five. Maybe that’ll change in time.”

Twenty-five.

It’s a sobering thought. It reminds me she’s a year younger than the twins, and two years older than Clementine. That she’s Clementine’s friend.

Then I’m wondering why I care. Many people fall within the age range of twenty-four to twenty-six. What difference does it make to me?

She’s my tenant and nothing more.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-four,” I reply.

The silence that drags on makes me feel even worse than I did for not remembering the last time I had fun.

Thunder brings me out of my morose spiral and into the present when we’ve reached the edge of the fence line. He could jump it with little encouragement, but instead, I use it as an opportunity to let Holiday continue without us .

“You only need to follow the drive for another ten minutes, and you’ll get to a row of oak trees that leads to the house.”

Holiday nods. “Thanks, Gracie. Clemmie’s going to come meet me so I don’t get too lost.”

“That’s good,” I tell her. “Enjoy your class, Hollywood. Try not to burn the house down before you come for supper next week.”

“I shall. Tell your mom I’m looking forward to it.”

A light laugh rings out as she walks off. It’s a laugh I want to hear more of, the laugh I listened to all day at the summer fair.

And then it hits me.

The last time I had fun was with her.

H ours later, after I’ve seen Thunder safely through his shoeing ordeal and taken him on a long ride through the estate as a reward, I head into my study to take the first meeting of the day I’d pushed.

There, in the middle of a pile of papers, I find a small wicker basket filled with fresh jam donuts and a note attached.

D ear Thunder,

I made you some celebratory jelly donuts to enjoy while you’re prancing about in your new shoes.

With love, Holiday.

P.S. Gracie, I made extra for you just in case you found something to celebrate today.

I pick one up and bite into it, because I did. I did find something to celebrate.

I have a new friend, and her name is Holiday Simpson.