Epilogue
The sun shines down upon us, scorching the Italian countryside. August is the month when Southern Europeans escape their cities for the Mediterranean Sea, and here we are, doing the opposite.
The top is down in the car. Nate is driving, one hand on the wheel and one on my bare knee. He loves to keep it there when he drives, and I love it there, too. And in the rearview mirror, Siena. I look at it getting smaller and smaller behind us as we drive further into Tuscany.
We started our trip up north. Lake Como, Milan, before heading to Venice for a few days. That was amazing. Everything I could have hoped for and more. Then, we drove down to Tuscany.
Which is also more than I could have hoped for.
Italy is beating my already high expectations, surpassing them on the regular. It’s terribly hot, but I’m enjoying that, too. Living in breezy sundresses and having my curls permanently in a ponytail.
I’ve rolled down my window, and the winding, narrow road takes us through the groves of olive trees. Old, gnarled, and beautiful. The air smells like heat and dry earth.
“How are you feeling?” Nate asks. “About completing your list?”
I put my hand over his. “Looking forward to doing the very last one tonight.”
He smiles at me. “Good thinking saving it for last.”
Dancing in the moonlight. We’re going to do that right before midnight… The last hour of my twenty-ninth year.
Rolling in with an entirely check-marked list in that final minute.
“I feel good,” I say. “Looking back at everything we’ve done… I can’t believe this has been my life.”
Every major art museum in Europe that I had on my list is checked off. The crazy thing like take a hot air balloon is accomplished, and so is the sleep in a tent,which Nate and I did together and vowed to never do again.
“Has been?” he asks. His thumb moves in a slow circle. “You have lots of time. I can’t wait to see your ‘40 Under 40’ list.”
I smile. “I think I’m done with lists.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. After tonight, I’ve done it all. Well, except for one thing on the list.”
“The threesome,” he says.
I laugh. “No, that one has been officially struck off the list. No, the whole buy my first art piece thing… Maybe it was stupid of me to pull out from the auction last week, but it just didn’t feel right.”
“Then it was the right move,” Nate says. “It should feel right.”
I hmm a response and look back at the rolling hills of Tuscany. The scenery reminds me of that painting my grandma has, the one that inspired it all. Nate has seen it now, too, back in upstate New York. Introducing him to my family had been nerve-racking… Until they actually met, and I realized I shouldn’t have been nervous at all. Of course, he loved them. And they loved him.
He’s easy to love.
“I think you’re right. When I know, I’ll know,” I say. Working with art every day is a privilege, but it’s also made me picky about what I want in my own little collection.
Living with Nate has also made me very choosy. I’m surrounded by stunning pieces morning, afternoon, and night.
“The hotel for tonight seems amazing,” I tell Nate. Lean out of the car and into the sunshine. It’s late afternoon. “Do you think the pool will still be open when we arrive?”
“Might be,” he says, but there’s something in his voice. A secret…
I look over at him.
He looks at me, a sparkle in his eye.
“What are you planning?” I ask.
His lips curve into a crooked smile, and he looks back at the winding road. “We’re not heading straight to the hotel.”
Instead, he drives us to a residential address that I don’t recognize on the GPS. It’s close by, though, that much is clear. The route leads us through a beautiful tiny village with streets so narrow that Nate has to slow the car to a crawl. We finally drive up a cypress-lined road to a small farmhouse.
“Here?” I sit up straighter and peer out. “What’s this place?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” he says warmly. Pulls the car into a parking spot right outside the small dwelling—dark earthen walls and a roof that blends in with the surrounding Tuscan landscape. A few chickens walk by the side of the house, clucking rhythmically as if unhappy with our intrusion into their domain.
The front door is open.
To the right is… is that an easel?
I get out of the car, my eyes wide. “Nate…?”
A woman with curly, gray hair that falls to her shoulders and warm eyes walks out of the house. She has an apron on.
It’s covered with paint smudges.
She might be in her sixties or seventies, but there’s an ageless beauty to her.
“Signora?” Nate asks.
The woman smiles and nods, and says something in rapid Italian. She calls for someone inside the house, and out comes a teenage boy of maybe fourteen. He waves at us.
“I’ll translate,” he says in accented English.
The puzzle pieces are slowly falling into place, and I look from the lady to Nate and back again.
“You’re Giulia Conti?”
She nods and holds out her hands. They’re tan from the sun, with short nails, and covered in color stains. “Si,” she says. That’s the only part I understand.
Her—is that her grandson, maybe?—translates. “Nonna says your boyfriend here told her how much her art means to you. She’s very happy you’re here. Come in. We have lemonade inside.”
“Come,” the woman says in English. “Come, come.”
I step after her into the small studio. And everywhere, on the walls and even leaning on the ground, are paintings of the Tuscan countryside. Sun-filled images, or veiled in rain, in winter, and in summer. Rolling hills and olive groves and small picturesque towns.
She’s the artist whose painting is hanging on my grandmother’s wall.
“Nate,” I whisper.
“Good surprise?” I can hear the smile in his voice as he stands beside me.
“The best surprise,” I murmur. My eyes have already caught on a large painting overlooking the Tuscan hills at sunrise. I turn to the lady. There are so many questions I want to ask. How she got started, where she paints, who she is… and with the help of the trusty but obviously bored teenager, I get to ask them all.
We leave there an hour and a half later, having been offered drinks and snacks, and with three paintings in the trunk.
I bought one for me.
One for my grandmother.
And Nate bought one for his collection.
He told Giulia that he was an art collector, and her eyes lit up, just as they had when I told her about my job. She didn’t have a business card, but I asked her to write her information down for me.
My first art purchase. Check.
It’s a bit intense. All of it, a full-circle moment, completing the list and being here, in this beautiful environment, with the man I love beside me.
He lets me have it. Looks over at me from time to time on the drive to the hotel, but by now, he knows that it’s the weight of the emotions that’s keeping me silent.
We check-in at the little boutique five-star hotel. It’s on a hill with magnificent sunset vistas.
I haven’t gotten used to traveling with Nate, yet. I hope I never will. These hotels, these surroundings… the large rooms and beautiful décor, amazing service. We have dinner right away on the outdoor patio, sitting under the setting sun. Drinking wine and sharing tiramisu for dessert.
It’s late when we get back into our suite, and I open the double doors to our balcony. It overlooks the rolling hills, and I breathe in deeply. The air smells like blooming flowers and dry earth. The oppressive heat faded along with the sun, replaced by a warm nighttime breeze.
I lean out over the railing and just breathe. It doesn’t take long before a tear tracks a path down my cheek.
Nate is unpacking behind me. I hear him pour a drink, the ice clinking. And then, his approaching footsteps.
“You’re enjoying this?” he asks.
I turn to face him. His eyes widen, clocking the tears on my face, but I smile. “Yes. I’m feeling overwhelmed with gratitude right now.”
“Oh?”
I pull him closer, locking my hands behind his neck. His skin is tan from weeks in the sun, his hair longer than it usually is. A tendril falls over his strong forehead and across his concerned eyes.
“Two years ago, I was afraid of my career path, unsure about everything, hurt and trying to heal, and… scared about turning thirty. Or rather, about being twenty-eight and starting over.”
His lips tilt upward. “Because twenty-eight is ancient?”
“It’s not. All my fears were ridiculous. But that’s the thing with fears, you know? They don’t go away just because you know intellectually that you’ll be okay.”
“I know,” he says and runs a hand along my waist. “Trust me, I do.”
“And now, look at where I am two years later. Where we are…” I shake my head and smile. Emotion makes my voice shake. “Imagine if I hadn’t moved to London. If I got a position in Boston or DC or Paris instead.”
He shakes his head, a tiny movement. “I don’t want to imagine it.”
“Me neither. One wrong move, and you and I might never have happened.”
“But we did,” he says.
“But we did,” I echo. “And I’m so grateful for that, too. With a million possibilities, and billions of people on this planet… I’m so glad I was at that bar that night. Even with the detour I took to get here, where I belong.”
Nate’s eyes are warm. “I love you, Harp.”
“I love you, too. So much.” I rise on my tiptoes to kiss him. He kisses me back with soft, slow brushes of the lips while his hands glide to my lower back. And then, he starts to sway.
Oh.
Our dance. I rest my head against his shoulder and close my eyes.
“The final thing on your list,” he murmurs. “And with only an hour to spare before midnight.”
“Efficient,” I whisper back.
He chuckles and runs a hand down my bare arm, raising goose bumps along my skin. In his arms, is my favorite place. Doesn’t matter the country, the time, or the circumstance.
“Happy birthday, baby,” he whispers.
“You’re early.”
“I’ve always been early when it comes to you.” His voice is a bit hoarse, and he presses his lips to my temple. “And I’m looking forward to spending your thirties together.”
I smile against his skin. There is one thing I wanted to tell him. One thing we’d spoken about over the last few months. Something he told me to tell him. Let me know when you’re ready.
I reach into the pocket of my linen dress. Pull out the folded list.
He smiles down at it, worn now at the edges. “Time to cross out the last one?”
“I added an extra item at the bottom, to really round out the list,” I say. “Even if it happened before I ever wrote anything down.”
He unfurls the paper. Narrows his eyes before a smile curls his lips. “Meet the love of my life,” he reads.
“Mm-hmm. Sorry. Was that cheesy?”
His smile widens. “I love cheese, baby, you know that. List officially complete, then.”
“List officially complete,” I say. I fold it back up and toss it in the direction of the bed. Reach for him again.
But he doesn’t step into my hold, and his smile has faded.
“Nate?”
“I had something else planned for today, too,” he says, reaching into the back pocket of his pants.
“Another surprise?”
His lips twitch. “Yes. Definitely.”
There’s a velvet box in his hand. My breath catches.
“Harper,” he says and drops down to one knee. Here on the moonlit Tuscan balcony, a heartbeat before my thirtieth.
I press my hands to my face. “Nate,” I whisper.
“I love you. Even when it was painful, when it was unrequited, when I tried to stop—I have loved you. I can’t stop loving you. I never will. Being with you these past two years has been the best time of my life, and by a mile, baby. I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without you.” He opens the box, his dark eyes on me. There’s a ring nestled inside the velvet. “Will you marry me, Harper, and let me spend my life making you happy?”
I can’t speak. Can barely breathe. But I nod, another tear running down my cheek. “Yes. Of course, I will,” I finally squeeze out.
He smiles—a wide, bright, glowing smile that makes my heart stutter. Slides the ring onto my left hand.
And so, another decade of my life begins.
I have no idea what it will hold… but I know I’m going to make it the best one yet.