Page 39 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

“A little?”

“Okay, a lot.” I chuckled. “My aunt and uncle used to take me to the races. At first I just went for the pretty horses, but when I got older I started getting into it on a more, shall we say, adult level.”

I gave him a look. “Why are you even going to the races if you don’t know how to bet?”

“Because I own one of the thoroughbreds racing today. Genghis Bob.”

I stared at him for a minute. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Yes, I am. I don’t often get to watch him race, so I figured I should go out for moral support. You never know, it might just help. It certainly can’t hurt.”

“Bob’s not a bad horse, Jonathon. He’s barely even three years old, right? He should be coming into himself soon.”

We reached the track, and a flood of memories came rushing back when I saw the tall lampposts and the big, thick rectangle of the stands. Jonathon drove to a section of the parking lot I’d never been to before, spoke to the guard, and they pulled up the black and yellow arm out of his way. We parked literally right next to the building.

“I guess it’s good to be an owner.”

Jon chuckled. “It has its perks. Would you like to meet Genghis Bob and his team?”

“Sure.”

We headed down to the stables, the smell of wet hay and livestock strong in the air. The occasional whinny or jangle of tack and harness permeated the dense air. Jonathon led me into a private stall where a glossy red horse stood complacently staring out the window. From time to time his ears would flicker, and he’d give a little whinny.

“Looks like he’s upset,” Jon said. “I wonder if I should have a doctor check him out?”

“He’s not upset, he’s anxious. Eager.” I smiled as I took in the horse’s lines. Good musculature under his sleek and shiny coat, a bright look in his eyes, and a liquid grace to his movements. Pretty much the perfect horse. “They know that when they’re at the track, it’s time to race. Horses like Bob enjoy it. It’s a thrill, what they live for. That’s what makes him a potential champion.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Jon admitted. “It’s the first positive view I’ve heard about Bob yet.”

A race official approached Jon and they started talking. I know he wasn’t trying to be rude, but I kind of got left out. As I gazed about, waiting for him to finish, I spotted Milton Carlyle, the oldest member of the zoning board and also the least likely to succumb to my tasty baked goods.

He was speaking to a jockey next to an adjacent stall. I sidled that way, putting on my best smile. When he finished speaking to his jockey, Carlyle turned around to find me staring at him.

“Hi,” I said. “What a beautiful horse. Are you the owner?”

His chest puffed out ever so slightly. “Why yes, he is. Still in His Original Box, or Boxy for short.”

“Wow, he’s one of the favorites to win today. You must be very proud.”

“Well, I can’t take all the credit. I just pay for everything.”

I laughed obligingly and kept up the schmooze. I let it slip that I was thinking of advertising my bakery on one of the racetrack banners. He asked which bakery, and when I told him ‘Breadcetera’ I could tell there was a glimmer of recognition.

I went on to talk about how I was hoping to expand, and the legacy of our business in the Village. I never actually asked him to vote in my favor for the corner lot, but I know I made an impression.

I rejoined Jon and he seemed to have barely noticed I was gone. He turned back to me. “Sorry about that. Some stuff I had to sign. Let’s go up to the stands.”

“Can you bet even though you’re an owner?”

“Only on my own horse in his race, but any other races are open.”

I grinned. “Then it’s time for a crash course in track betting.”

He smiled back. It felt good to just be with him, without worrying about the whole corner lot deal.

In fact, I was starting to wonder if my team were wrong. Maybe Jonathon DID like me. I know that I liked him. With a capital L.

I just hoped that when the dust settled, I wouldn’t wind up with a broken heart.

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