Page 64 of That Weekend in Paris
I laugh, pick up a clean fork, and hand him a bite. “There you go,” I say.
“That is amazing,” he says, savoring it.
“Yes, I’m sure I will be wearing it for the rest of the vacation,” I say, deliberately putting down my fork. “I think I’ve exceeded my carb quota for the day. In fact,” I say, “I could use some serious activity today. What do you think?”
“What do they offer?” Klein asks.
“I was looking at a brochure in the room, and they do offer riding.”
“Remember I said I’ve never been on a horse before?”
“I do, but there’s a first time for everything.”
“And what if I’m a complete failure at it?”
“We’ll just walk,” I say. “Go for a nice ride out through the countryside. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
“I guess I’ll be a sport and give it a shot.”
“Great,” I say, excited. “Because it’s been a lot of years since I’ve been on a horse, but I can’t think of a more beautiful place to ride. You will love it,” I assure him.
“Promise?” he says.
“I promise.”
Dillon
“When you are on a great horse, you have the best seat you will ever have.”
?Winston S. Churchill
OF COURSE, NEITHER of us has riding clothes, so after a quick call to the front desk, we opt for jeans. They have a slot open at ten o’clock, so just after nine-thirty, we leave the château and walk down the path that leads to the stables. Like the château, the barn here is designed to make you feel like you’ve stepped back in time. It’s spotless and neat, the wood features newly stained and varnished, all the metal recently painted black as well.
We step inside the main entrance located at the middle of the barn. A long aisle reaches end to end, stalls on either side. Most of the horses appear to be outside, but a few heads pop over the stall doors at the sight of us. A horse whinnies, and I wish I had thought to bring some kind of treat with us.
“Hello, there.” A young man in a bill cap approaches us. “You must be Dillon and Klein. I am André. I have you down for a ride this morning.”
“Yes,” I say.
“So have either of you ever ridden before?”
“I have,” I say. “Just kind of backyard stuff.”
He turns to Klein. “And how about you?”
“No, actually, I never have.”
“Then you are in for a nice time,” he says. “The horses here are really pets and love their life, so we’ll have a beautiful ride out through the vineyard and then back around by the orchard. You chose a beautiful day for it.”
“Will there be anyone else on the ride?” Klein asks.
“You are my only two guests this morning.”
“Oh, okay,” Klein says, and I can tell that he is relieved.
“Follow me, and I’ll introduce you to your equine companion for the day.” We walk behind him down one length of the aisle to a pair of grooming stalls, where two horses stand waiting for us. They’ve already been tacked up except for their bridles, standing quietly in the crossties attached to their halters. “This is Samuel,” André indicates, patting a hand on the black horse’s shoulder.
“He is a charmer this one and will do his best to clear you of any peppermints you might have in your pocket. Speaking of which, I’ll give you some inventory.” He reaches for a jar to the side of one of the stalls, hands me a few, and Klein as well.
