I couldn’t remember the last time I stooped to pick up a leaf or stopped to stare up at the stars. I had been trapped in my own somber little world.
But now here I was in a small café talking with Margaux Eaton—a girl I ignored in the past largely because I presumed she was a snooty, rich debutante devoid of any substance, and yet, she was actually the opposite.
I invited her to join me at my table.
“What are you drinking?” she asked.
“Yellow Tail, Cabernet.”
She laughed, “So am I.”
I was honestly shocked. I suppose I envisioned her sipping at Chateau Margaux 2009 Balthazar, if for no other reason than its expense and her name.
I motioned for the waiter to bring her a new glass.
With an exaggerated flourish, I poured the red vintage. “I trust you will find this wine vibrant yet also rounded and smooth, Madame.”
“As if I care,” she laughed. “I’m basically a country girl at heart. I spend my weekends mucking out stalls at Daddy’s stables—and in return, I get to ride the horses.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, right? You’re the heir to the Eaton fortune and you have to earn the right to ride your own horses?”
“No Silly—you make Daddy sound so Draconian. It’s my idea, actually. I love being around horses and I’ve always been a tomboy.”
I stared at her long red hair shining under the overhead pot lights—she was breathtakingly beautiful.
“Why haven’t we talked before?” I laughed.
“You mean, why haven’t you noticed me before? It’s simple really. I hate socializing and all the idle chitchat that goes with it. I suppose I’m no good at it, so I just avoid it.”
I sat back and stared at her in awe. She was lovely as the autumn outside, bright as the turning leaves
“I can’t believe it—I didn’t think anyone in our social circle would feel like me.”
“Do you like horses?”
“I like them—I love looking at them—but I don’t ride.”
“C’mon,” she teased, “You can’t tell me you’ve never been on a horse.”
“Well, I’ve been on one. I remember spending a miserable summer at The Caledon Hills Dude Ranch when I was in private school. I hated every minute of it.”
“Tell me how you really felt,” she smirked.
I colored, but figured I might as well be truthful. “Honestly, it was the worst summer of my life.”
“Really? I would have thought you’d enjoy the experience. You love being outdoors…” She plucked the red Maple leaf out of my jacket, “and you love fire and being alone.” She gestured at the flames burning in the grate and the deserted restaurant.
“There’s a difference between being alone and being lonely,” I smiled sadly.
Her eyes grew huge. “You’re not telling me your parents sent you to camp where you didn’t know anybody?”
I winced. “No, actually, I knew everyone—that was the problem—I didn’t fit in.”
She whistled softly. “I see. I get that. It’s kind of the way I feel at those social gatherings. I just want to blend into the walls.”
“Yeah, that’s the feeling exactly. Actually, that’s why I came here today—to get away—to step back and take a look at where I’m going.”
She nodded. “Me too.”
“Any chance you’d like some company while you’re figuring things out?”
Her eyes grew moist. “That would be very…nice.”
“I’m open to horse back riding,” I whispered.
