Zero Hour

He opened the door for her and stepped outside. There, waiting by the curb, was a Victorian-style carriage with a docile chestnut-colored horse standing patiently in front of it.
“This is Inchworm,” Kurt said, patting the glossy brown animal on the shoulder. “I’m promised he’s the slowest, most sure-footed horse in all of the western territories.”
Hayley grinned broadly and scratched the horse behind the ears. He whinnied and seemed to like it.
“Nothing wrong with being slow and sure-footed,” she said to the animal. “Or thoughtful,” she added, turning to Kurt.
He held her hand as she climbed in. “Watch your step,” he said. “Inchworm has never lost a passenger, and we don’t want to start with you.”
She settled in, smiling so brightly her cheeks hurt. Kurt climbed in beside her and took the reins as she investigated the picnic basket he’d packed.
“How long do you think it will take to reach the stadium?” she asked.
“How long do you have?”
“All day,” she said. “And all night.”
Kurt nodded. “In that case, we’d better take a shortcut.”
He pulled on the horse’s reins, and Inchworm began to move, plodding slowly and living up to his name. Hayley slid over to Kurt, wrapped an arm around his waist, and laid her head against his shoulder.
“This is my kind of speed,” she said.
Kurt put an arm around her and pulled her close. It suited him just fine as well.