Николас Спаркс - The Longest Ride

“Let me guess. You named all of them Pig.”

“Actually, no. My first one was named Edith, the second one Fred, the third one was Maggie. I can go down the list if you’d like.”

“How many were there? Over the years?”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “Nine, I think. I started when I was in the third grade and I did it until junior year in high school.”

“And then, when they’re grown, where do you compete?”

“At the state fair. The judges look them over and then you find out if you won.”

“And if you win?”

“You get a ribbon. But win or lose, you still end up selling the pig,” he said.

“What happens to the pig?”

“The same thing that usually happens to pigs,” he answered. “They’re sent to the slaughterhouse.”

She blinked. “You mean you raise it from when it’s little, you name it, you care for it for a year, and then you sell it so it can be killed?”

He looked at her, his expression curious. “What else would you do with a pig?”

She was dumbfounded, unable to respond. Finally, she shook her head. “I just want you to know that I have never, ever met anyone like you before.”

“I think,” he countered, “that I could say the same thing about you.”

10

Luke

Even after studying the menu, he wasn’t sure what to order. He knew he could have gone with something safe – like the chicken or beef teriyaki she’d mentioned – but he was reluctant to do that. He’d heard people rave about sushi and knew he should try it. Life was about experience, wasn’t it?

The problem was that he didn’t have the slightest idea what to choose. To his mind, raw fish was raw fish, and the pictures didn’t help at all. As far as he could tell, he was supposed to order either the reddish one or the pinkish one or the whitish one, none of which hinted at how it might taste.

He peeked at Sophia over the top of his menu. She’d applied a bit more mascara and lipstick than she had on the day she’d come out to the ranch, reminding him of the night he’d first seen her. It seemed impossible that it had been less than a week ago. While generally a fan of natural beauty, he had to admit the makeup added a sophisticated touch to her features. On their way to the table, more than one man had turned to watch her pass.

“What’s the difference between nigiri-sushi and maki-sushi?” he asked.

Sophia was still perusing the menu as well. When the waitress had come by, she’d ordered two Sapporos, a Japanese beer, one for each of them. He had no idea how that would taste, either. “Nigiri means the fish is served on a pad of rice,” she said. “Maki means it’s rolled with seaweed.”

“Seaweed?”

She winked. “It’s good. You’ll like it.”

He compressed his lips, unable to hide his doubts. Beyond the windows, there were people at tables inside, enjoying whatever it was they’d ordered, all of them adept with their chopsticks. At least he was okay at that, his skills honed from eating Chinese food from thin cardboard boxes while on the road.

“Why don’t you go ahead and order for me,” he said, putting the menu aside. “I trust you.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

“What am I going to try?”

“A bunch of things,” she said. “We’ll try some anago, ahi, aji, hamachi… maybe some others.”

He lifted his bottle, about to take a sip. “You do realize that sounds like gibberish to me.”

“Anago is eel,” she clarified.

The bottle froze in midair. “Eel?”

“You’ll like it,” she assured him, not bothering to hide her amusement.

When the waitress came by, Sophia rambled off the order like an expert; then they settled into easy conversation, interrupted only when their meal arrived. He gave her an abbreviated overview of his childhood, which despite his chores at the ranch had been fairly typical. His high school years included varsity wrestling for three years, all four homecoming dances, both proms, and a handful of memorable parties. He told her that in the summers, he and his parents would take the horses up to the mountains near Boone for a few days, where they’d go trail riding, the only family vacations they ever took. He talked a bit about his practices on the mechanical bull in the barn and how his father had tinkered with the bull to make the motion even more violent. The practice sessions had started when he was still in elementary school, his father critiquing his every move. He mentioned some of the injuries he’d suffered over the years and described the nerves he felt when riding in the PBR World Championships – once, he’d been in the running for the championship until the final ride, only to finish third overall – and through it all, Sophia listened raptly, interrupting him only occasionally to ask questions.

He felt the laserlike focus that she trained on him, absorbing every detail, and by the time the waitress had removed their plates, everything about her, from her easy laughter to her slight but discernible northern accent, struck him as charming and desirable. More than that, he felt like he could truly be himself despite their differences. When he was with her, he found it easy to forget the stress he felt whenever he thought about the ranch. Or his mom. Or what was going to happen if his plans didn’t work out…

He was so absorbed in his thoughts, it took a moment before he realized she was staring at him.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“Why?”

“You looked almost… lost there for a minute.”

“Nothing.”

“You sure? I hope it wasn’t the anago.”

“No. Just thinking about what I have to do before I leave this weekend.”

She furrowed her brow, watching him. “Okay,” she finally said. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” he said, thankful she’d let it pass. “I’ll drive to Knoxville after I finish up and spend the night. On Saturday night, I’ll start driving back. I’ll get in late, but it’s the first weekend we’re selling pumpkins. I got most of the Halloween stuff set up today – José and I built a great big maze out of hay bales, among other things – but a lot of people always show up. Even with José pitching in, my mom still needs extra help.”

“Is that why she was mad at you? Because you’ll be out of town?”

“Partly,” he said, pushing a bright pink sliver of ginger around his plate. “She’s mad because I’m riding, period.”

“Isn’t she used to it by now? Or is it because you got hurt on Big Ugly Critter?”

“My mom,” he said, choosing his words with care, “is worried that something’s going to happen to me.”

“But you’ve been injured before. Lots of times.”

“Yes.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

He didn’t answer right away. “How about this?” he said, laying his chopsticks down. “When the time is right, I’ll tell you all about it.”

“I could always ask your mom, you know.”

“You could. But you’d have to meet her first.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just go out there on Saturday and try.”

“Go ahead. But if you do, just be prepared to be put to work. You’ll be carrying pumpkins all day.”

“I’ve got muscles.”

“Have you ever carried pumpkins all day?”

She leaned across the table. “Have you ever unloaded a truck filled with meat and sausage?” Her expression was victorious when he didn’t answer. “See, we do have something in common. We’re both hard workers.”

“And we can both ride horses now, too.”

She smiled. “That too. How did you like the sushi?”

“It was good,” he said.

“I get the feeling you would have preferred pork chops.”

“I can have pork chops anytime. It’s one of my specialties.”