Chapter Ten Don’t Be Afraid to Take a Detour #2
After about twenty minutes, I’m feeling rattled.
Where is he? It’s dark outside, but Hart doesn’t seem to be on the porch, so I’m guessing he went over to talk to his cousin in person.
I decide to go get ready for bed, changing into sleep shorts and an oversize sweatshirt.
Then I brush my teeth and go into my bedroom and close the door, wondering what pulled him away so suddenly.
In the morning, a shirtless Hart is up early, preparing coffee and blending protein shakes in the kitchen. A pair of gym shorts hangs low on his hips, and the expanse of his wide chest and flat stomach is enough to distract me from the weird ending to our night.
“Morning,” I say, taking a seat at the counter and struggling to keep my eyes to myself.
“Morning.” He smiles. “Coffee?”
Rather than discuss what happened last night, Hart places a mug of steaming coffee in front of me and begins rattling off options for our day together. I told him I need to leave early the following morning, so this is our last day together for who knows how long.
“I’m sorry I had to deal with something last night,” he offers, looking tense.
“Is everything okay?”
He nods. “It’s fine. My cousin is a jackass.” It’s not an explanation, but I don’t want to pry, sensing he’ll open up and tell me if he decides to.
“That night we first met in Florence ... Hayes is the cousin who slept with your girlfriend?”
He nods. “Sophia wasn’t what I’d consider a girlfriend, but yes, we were seeing each other and I thought it was exclusive. Apparently she didn’t care which of us she ended up with, so long as his last name was Winthrop.”
It’s clear how much that stung. And I could see how that would make a person feel irrelevant, replaceable—which was how he described one of his biggest fears when we shared our secrets that night at the hotel bar. I wasn’t quite so open.
He sets a glass containing a protein smoothie in front of me, and I try a sip. It’s good. “Are you close with your parents?” I ask him, watching the way he skirts topics concerning his family—like it makes him uncomfortable.
“Yeah. Not really. Sometimes things seem so scripted with them—rehearsed. It makes it hard for me to trust people’s true intentions.”
That must be hard. Especially for someone like him who seems to lay all his cards on the table.
“I think that’s why I was so taken by you that day in Nairobi. You were so determined, and brilliant and capable. Night and day from the high-maintenance, pampered types I’m constantly surrounded by. They rarely lift a finger and would despise getting dirty.”
It’s true that I’ve never been accused of being high maintenance. “I like being pampered sometimes.”
He laughs. “Noted.”
After we’ve both showered and dressed for the day, a driver picks us up in a private black SUV. We decide to visit a few wineries and do some window-shopping along First Street.
Later the driver takes us to a grassy spot—it’s the perfect lookout to appreciate the rolling hills of his family’s vineyard.
He pulls a tote bag from the back of the SUV.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“You’ll see.” He joins me on the blanket I’ve spread out and pulls a mini charcuterie board from the bag, wrapped in layers of plastic to hold everything in place—cheeses and sliced strawberries, a pile of crackers, grapes, olives, and cashews.
I dig in right away, popping a cube of semisoft cheese into my mouth. “This is good.”
Hart uncorks a bottle of sparkling wine, and I fetch two glasses.
“And I got something else.” He grins. Then he pulls out a plastic bag of chocolate chip cookies tied with a ribbon.
“My hero.” I reach for them.
He shakes his head, keeping them just out of my reach. “These are going to cost you.”
“The price?”
He curls his finger, urging me closer. I crawl across the blanket on my knees until he threads his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck and draws me close enough to press his full lips to mine.
I pull back, feeling dazed and much too into him.
“For you,” he says, placing the package of cookies in my hand.
“Why don’t you date a younger woman? Your cousin thinks you should.” The words pop out of my mouth before I can filter them. I blame the wine. And perhaps how comfortable he makes me feel.
“First, Hayes is the last person I would ever take relationship advice from.”
“I’m serious, though. I want to know.”
He considers my question, swirling the wine in his glass.
“You know who you are, and it has nothing to do with me, and that is rare. Younger women want different things. They want me to be something they’ve built up in their head that they think I should be.
They want me to buy them dinner and designer handbags.
With you I just get to be real. I get to be who I really am. ”
It’s probably the best compliment someone’s ever paid me. To feel completely at peace, to know that you’re accepted and seen is ... immeasurably comforting.
“You also know what you want out of life, and I find that incredibly sexy.”
Warm tingles spread through me.
Hart helps himself to a cracker and urges me to eat too.
While we do, he tells me about the history of the land we’re sitting on and how his grandfather fought with the city council about rezoning the land for the vineyard. It’s fascinating, and the view is dynamite.
“I need a picture of this.” Gesturing to the green hillside, where giant white puffy clouds float lazily by. It’s like something out of a painting. It almost doesn’t look real. “I don’t have my phone.”
“Use mine,” he says, handing me his iPhone. He’s leaning casually back on his elbows with the sun in his tousled hair, and my gaze lingers on his strong jaw and perfect mouth.
“It’s locked.”
“Passcode is 7615,” he says.
I type it in and take the picture, then text it to myself while my brain fixates on the fact that he just gave me his passcode.
That’s like giving someone the keys to the kingdom.
He must not be worried about me snooping, not that I would.
But it seems if he were concerned about me finding texts from other women, or incriminating photos, he wouldn’t have just handed over his passcode so willingly.
He’s been so vulnerable and open with me that I’m struck by the need to do the same.
“You asked about my biggest fear once.” I meet his eyes. “In Florence. Rather than answering, I quoted a line about how the sacrifices we make shape the people we become.”
“I remember,” he says carefully.
“I—I’m afraid of ending up alone.”
His brow creases. “I don’t think a woman as beautiful as you should ever worry about that.”
“Well, it’s true. I want to find my person.”
And have a baby.
But I’m not brave enough to voice those words. They’re too personal. It’s not his burden, certainly not at age twenty-five. It’s mine alone.
He looks intense, and he lifts himself up and moves closer. “I’m going to kiss you now.” His voice is low, raspy.
Hart kisses like he does everything else—slowly, deliberately, and with a sense of purpose. He tastes faintly of wine, and I run my fingers through his hair, urging him closer.
How I’ve found myself here, I’m still not entirely sure. The sheer number of beautiful women who would give anything to take my place in the arms of a very attractive, very eligible bachelor like Hart is staggering. But it’s me he invited here. I still can’t quite wrap my head around that.
When he pulls back, I gaze up at him, dazed and slightly tipsy. “I really like how you kiss me.” I feel self-conscious as soon as the words leave my mouth.
I shouldn’t have admitted that.
This is a temporary arrangement—something fun and rebellious for us to indulge in—an escape from real life.
Admitting how much I was enjoying him crossed the line.
But Hart doesn’t correct me or tense up.
Instead he meets my eyes with a desire-filled look and gives me that irresistible dimpled smile that makes my heart pound. “I really like kissing you, Alessia.”
The way he says my name is like a gift. And my admission seems to have ignited something inside him. He leans back and tugs me down with him.
It’s in this moment, lying with him in the shade of an olive tree, my head resting on his chest—listening to the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart—that I realize how dangerous this is. A girl could fall in love with Hart Winthrop very easily.
But this is a temporary pit stop on the journey of life. That is all this would be. All it could ever be.
He all but said so himself.