The country club hums with its usual perfection—pressed suits, polished smiles, and you, waiting by the stables for someone you don’t even know.

“Vivienne Astor,” your father had said. “Escort her. Be polite.”

You expect another spoiled equestrian, all pearls and pleasantries. But when she strides up in scuffed riding boots and a knowing smirk, you realize you were wrong.

“You must be my tour guide,” she drawls. “Lucky me.”

You turn, leading her toward the club, heart pounding. You don’t know her yet, but something tells you—this summer just changed.