Read Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas for Free Online Page B

seemed to do anything without a logical reason, never took a day off, probably never turned down a pretty winding
     road just because it was there.
    Matt couldn’t have been more different. He seemed to take an interest in just about everything on the planet: he was a gardener,
     bird-watcher, avid reader, pretty good cook, basketball player, crossword-puzzle champion, and, of course, he was very handy
     around the house.
    I remember looking down at my watch at one point during our ride. But I wasn’t doing it because I wanted our date to be over;
     I was doing it because I wanted it
not
to be over. I felt so damn happy that day. Just taking a ride with him, going absolutely nowhere.
    I breathed in everything around me: the sea grass, the minty blue sky, the beach, the roaring ocean. But mostly I breathed
     in Matthew Harrison. His freshly laundered plaid flannel shirt, his jeans, his glistening rose-brown skin, his longish brown
     hair.
    I breathed Matt in, held him there, and never wanted to exhale. Something very nice was happening.
    Now, you may be wondering about Matt Wolfe, the lawyer? Well, I called Matt several times, but all I ever got was his answering
     machine, and then he never called me back. It is a small island, though, so
maybe he knew.
     
    Nicky,
    I saw Matt Harrison every day for the next two weeks. I almost couldn’t believe it. I pinched myself a lot. I smiled when
     no one was around.
    “Have you ever ridden a horse, Suzanne?” Matt asked me on Saturday morning. “This is a serious question.”
    “I reckon. When I was a kid,” I said with a light cowgirl drawl.
    “A perfect answer—because you’re about to be a kid again. Right now, today. By the way, have you ever ridden a sky blue horse
     that has red stripes and gold hooves?”
    I looked at Matt, then shook my head. “I’d remember if I had.”
    “I know where there’s a horse like that,” he said. “In fact, I know where there are lots of them.”
    We drove up to Oak Bluffs, and there they were. God, what a sight.
    Dozens of brightly painted stallions stood in a circle beneath the most dazzling jigsaw ceiling I’d ever seen. Hand-carved
     horses with flared red nostrils and black glass eyes galloped in their tireless tracks in a circle of joy.
    Matthew had brought me to the Flying Horses, the oldest carousel in the country. It was still open for business, for kids
     of all ages.
    We climbed aboard as the platform tilted and rotated beneath us, and we found perfect steeds.
    As the music began, I clenched the silver horse rod, rising and falling, rising and falling. I fell under the carousel’s spinning
     spell. Matt reached out to hold my hand and even tried to catch a kiss, which he succeeded at admirably. What a horseman!
    “Where did you learn to ride like that, cowboy?” I asked as we rode up and down, but also around and around.
    “Oh, I’ve ridden for years,” Matt said. “Took lessons here when I was three. You see that blue stallion up ahead? Blue the
     color of the sky? Wild-blue-yonder blue?”
    “Reckon I do.”
    “He threw me a couple of times. Man, did I take a nasty spill or two. That’s why I wanted to make sure you got National Velvet
     first time out. She’s got an even temper, lovely coat of shellac.”
    “She’s beautiful, Matt. You know, when I was a kid I did ride some. It’s all coming back to me. I used to go riding with my
     grandfather out in Goshen, New York. Funny I should remember that now.”
    Good memories are like charms, Nicky. Each is special. You collect them, one by one, until one day you look back and discover
     they make a long, colorful bracelet.
    By the end of that day, I would have my first in a series of beautiful charms about Matthew Harrison.

K ATIE

     
    K ATIE WOULD never forget the very first time she saw M att H arrison. It was in her small, comfortable office at the publishing house, and she had been looking forward to the meeting
     for days. She had loved
Songs of a