The Longest Ride

for us for years. José. He handles what we can’t, essentially. And then when we have to, we’ll bring in crews for a couple of days to help shape the trees or whatever.”

She frowned. “What do mean by ‘shape the trees’? You mean the Christmas trees?”

“In case you were wondering, they don’t grow in pretty triangles. You have to prune them as they’re growing to make them come out the way they do.”

“Really?”

“And you have to roll the pumpkins, too. You want to keep them from rotting on the bottom, but you also want them to be round, or at least oval, or no one will buy them.”

She wrinkled her nose. “So you literally roll them?”

“Yep. And you have to be careful not to break the stem.”

“I never knew that.”

“A lot of people don’t. But you probably know a lot of things that I don’t.”

“You knew where Slovakia was.”

“I always liked history and geography. But if you ask me about chemistry or algebra, I’d probably be lost.”

“I never liked math that much, either.”

“But you were good at it. I’ll bet you were among the best in your class.”

“Why would you say that?”

“You go to Wake Forest,” he answered. “I’d guess you aced every subject growing up. What are you studying there?”

“Not ranching, obviously.”

He flashed those dimples again.

She picked at the railing with her fingernail. “I’m majoring in art history.”

“Is that something you were always interested in?”

“Not at all,” she said. “When I first got to Wake, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, and I took the kind of classes that all freshmen take, hoping I’d stumble on something. I wanted to find something that made me feel… passionate, you know?”

When she paused, she could feel his attention on her, focused and sure. His genuine interest reminded her again of how different he was from the guys she knew on campus.

“Anyway, when I was a sophomore, I signed up for a class in French Impressionism, mostly to fill out my schedule, not for any particular reason. But the professor was amazing – intelligent and interesting and inspirational, everything a professor should be. He made art come alive and feel relevant , somehow… and after a couple of classes, it just clicked for me. I knew what I wanted to do, and the more art history classes I took, the more I knew how much I wanted to be part of that world.”

“I’ll bet you’re glad you took the class, huh?”

“Yeah… my parents, not so much. They wanted me to major in pre-med or pre-law or accounting. Something that will lead to a job when I graduate.”

He tugged at his shirt. “As far as I know, it’s having a degree that’s important. You can probably get a job doing almost anything.”

“That’s what I tell them. But my real dream is to work in a museum.”

“So do it.”

“It’s not as easy as you might think. There are a lot of art history majors out there and only a handful of entry-level positions to go around. Plus a lot of museums are struggling, which means they’re cutting back on their staff. I was lucky enough to get an interview with the Denver Art Museum. It’s not a paid position, it’s more of an internship thing, but they said that there’s a possibility it could evolve into a paying position. Which, of course, begs the question as to how I’d be able to pay my bills while working there. And I wouldn’t want my parents to support me, not that they could afford it. I have a younger sister at Rutgers, and two more starting college soon and…”

She said nothing, momentarily daunted. Luke seemed to read her mind and didn’t press. “What do your parents do?” he asked instead.

“They own a deli. Specialty cheeses and meats. Fresh-baked bread. Homemade sandwiches and soups.”

“Good food?”

“Great food.”

“So if I ever go in there, what should I order?”

“You can’t go wrong with anything. My mom makes an amazing mushroom soup. That’s my favorite, but we’re probably best known for our cheesesteaks. At lunch, there’s always a long line and that’s what most people order. It even won an award a couple of years back. Best sandwich in the city.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. The newspaper ran a contest and people voted and everything. My dad framed the certificate and it hangs right by the register. Maybe I’ll show it to you one day.”

He brought his hands together, mimicking her earlier stance. “I think I’d like