Chapter Eleven When in Doubt, Dance It Out #2
I nod, fingers curled around my glass. Fun. It’s almost a foreign concept. I’ve been so focused on finding a husband, someone who checked all my boxes, that I almost forgot that people dated, hooked up just for fun. Just for the thrill of it, with no plan or expectation or ulterior motives.
Footsteps make us both turn.
It’s Hart. He’s striding over to us in a slight jog. “Of course I find you here. It’s one of my favorite spots.”
When he stops beside me and leans over to kiss my cheek, Vaughn rises to her feet.
“You okay, V?” Hart asks.
“Yes. I need to go find something to eat. The prosecco has gone to my head. You two have fun, and I’ll see you inside.”
“It was nice to meet you, Vaughn. Thanks for the drink.” I raise my glass.
“You bet.” She winks at me and then sets off.
Hart sinks into the chair beside me.
“Hi.” I grin.
“Hi.”
“Your friend Vaughn is nice.”
“Mm-hmm.” He kisses me again, cupping my cheek to pull my mouth to his. My stomach dips. Why is it always like this with him? My body just reacts—without my permission, without any pretense.
“Why’s this your favorite spot?” I ask.
“You can see the stars. You can’t see them in the city.”
I look up. He’s right. The stars are brilliant—glimmering silver and everywhere.
I didn’t even notice; I was so caught up in my conversation with Vaughn, worrying if he’d slept with her and listening to the details of his past. I need to pull myself together.
There’s a saying about not seeing the forest for the trees.
And I don’t want to miss this moment. I have a cute guy beside me and a cold glass of bubbly, and the night sky is lit up with the beauty of God’s creation.
“Are you sure you have to go back to New York tomorrow?” he asks, breaking the silence.
I only have tonight—and most of the day tomorrow.
Because like a real grown-up, I scheduled a meeting on Monday morning in New York City.
Another meeting with a prospective donor and then a media interview that my PR team has lined up.
Part of me regrets it. Being here with him makes me want to cancel all my plans and lean in to this crazy adventure for however long it lasts.
“I’m sure,” I say.
“Maybe we can meet up while you’re there.”
“Maybe,” I say, feeling uncertain. I do have some important meetings this week, and the man beside me can be a distraction—the best kind, but still.
He leans over and kisses me again—slowly, leisurely, like we have all the time in the world.
“I’ll be in New York this week. My grandparents are celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary, and there will be a big party at the Waldorf on Tuesday. You should come with me.”
He says it so casually that I almost laugh.
“I am not going to your grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary.”
“Why not?”
“ Why not? Because that would be completely inappropriate. What would people say?”
“I don’t care what they say. Come with me. Please.”
I soften to his pleas. “What if I meet you after the party?”
He considers this. “You won’t come to the party?”
“I will not come to the party,” I confirm.
He chuckles. “Okay.”
His eyes are on mine, and his look is filled with longing. I want to know more about Mia, but the moment’s not right.
Before I can plot how to bring it up, Vaughn approaches again.
“I need your help,” she says, peering at me with a wild look in her eyes. “You can’t ask me what it’s about, and we can never talk about it again. Are you in or out?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “I’m in,” I say.
“Then let’s roll,” she shouts, excited for reasons I don’t understand. Volume seems to be her downfall—or, more specifically, keeping it at a normal level.
I down the last of my prosecco and rise from my seat. I give a little wave to Hart, who’s grinning oddly and watching our exchange.
“Where are you going?” I call out after her.
Vaughn’s maxi dress drifts behind her as she runs down the beach. “Hurry!” she calls out over one shoulder.
What on earth?
I push my legs faster, struggling to keep up. Finally, she stops and looks around.
“Here,” she says, pointing to a crate.
Out of breath, I stop beside her and look down into the crate. “What is—are those lobsters?”
She nods. “Carmena was getting ready to make lobster rolls. I stole them.”
“You what ?” I glance at her, wondering if she’s crazy—like actually insane.
“They’re still alive .” She points at the crate.
She’s right, I realize. Their claws have been secured with thick rubber bands, but the creatures are otherwise crawling and moving around inside the crate.
“What’s your plan here?”
She turns to me, grinning like a nut, and holds up a pair of scissors. “One of us holds them; the other snips the rubber bands.”
“I’ll snip.”
She laughs, the sound almost hysterical. “I grabbed them when Carmena left the kitchen, but then realized I needed scissors”—her eyes lift to mine—“and an accomplice.”
I laugh. “Happy to be of service.”
Though I do wonder how angry Hart, or Carmena, will be when they realize what we’ve done.
We release several hundred dollars’ worth of lobsters into the ocean, laughing maniacally.
I don’t know much about lobsters, and I don’t know if these are from this ocean, can survive in it, or anything, but Vaughn seems to think this is a better place for them than in Carmena’s pot, so I go with it.
By the time we make it back, the guys have started a massive bonfire on the beach, and no one seems to be the wiser that we will not be dining on late-night lobster rolls.
Whit is dragging a huge piece of driftwood through the sand, and Hart is standing with his hands on his hips, surveying the fire.
Blankets have been placed around the perimeter, forming a large ring, and a few people have claimed their spots—lounging and enjoying the warm, crackling roar.
Vaughn and I share a secret smile, still jogging toward the group. I feel like I’m eighteen again, sneaking out to go party with my friends. I stride over to Hart.
“Anything I need to know about?” There’s amusement in his eyes.
“We had to eighty-six the lobster rolls.”
He laughs. “I should have known with Vaughn.”
It makes me wonder if she’s some kind of animal rights activist or maybe a vegan. I take his cup and bring it to my lips. “What’s this?”
“A local beer. Try it.”
I taste citrus and something bright and slightly bitter. It’s not bad, but I’m really not a beer drinker.
I must make a face, because he chuckles. “I’ll bring you whatever you like. Reserve a blanket for us, would you?”
I breathe in the scent of brine and settle on a blanket next to Monty, who gives me a kind smile. “How long have you known Hart?” I ask.
“Since high school. We met in freshman orientation and bonded pretty quickly after that. He met Whit and Isaac in college, but I’ve known him the longest. Well, aside from Vaughn. He really likes you, you know.”
Before I can ask him any follow-ups, Hart returns, joining me on the blanket and handing me a glass of prosecco and one of his hoodies.
“In case you get cold,” he says. There’s something warm in his gaze. He settles in behind me and pulls me close. I lean back against his chest. I can feel the warmth of him everywhere, his arms around me holding me close, but also inside my chest. Warmth blooms inside me simply from being near him.
Someone turns on music—Coldplay’s “Hymn for the Weekend”—and we watch, laughing as Isaac dances, entertaining us. The others clap and cheer him on while Hart chuckles softly near my ear.
Chris Martin sings through the speakers: “You make my world light up,” and “I just can’t get enough.” Hart strokes the inside of my wrist with his thumb. I feel so much in this moment—calm, relaxed, and happy.
Hart glances at his watch and whispers, “I’m twenty-six now.”
And I’ll be thirty-eight next month. “Happy birthday,” I say.
He kisses me—slowly. Not caring who might be watching. The music drifts over the ocean breeze, and soon, Vaughn tugs me up to my feet.
“Dance with me!”
I should feel self-conscious, strange even.
Instead, I laugh and sway my hips in time to the rhythm.
Hart watches me with a soft, hooded gaze.
It goes without saying that I don’t quite know what I’m doing .
.. dancing, or being here with him, or with my life in general.
But there’s a rule I choose to abide by: when in doubt, dance it out.
Later, Hart has shown me to one of the unoccupied guest rooms and some member of the staff has already brought up my overnight bag, along with fresh towels and a couple of bottles of water. I’m half-surprised there’s not a mint on my pillow.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Mia?” I blurt without any finesse—any foresight. I’ve possibly had too much to drink.
A look of confusion passes across his features, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know. Did you want to have the whole ex conversation? Did you want to go through our pasts? Share body counts?”
I watch him, remembering the way his thumb stroked my cheek while he kissed me during our picnic in Napa.
“Yes ... no.” I cross the room to sit beside him on the end of the bed. “Maybe ...”
“What do you want to know?” he asks.
“Have you ever been in love?”
“Yes.” He meets my eyes with such a heated look, I have to look down.
He smiles a knowing half smile and then kisses me. Hard.
His lips leave mine to explore my jaw, my neck, my ear.
We kiss and kiss and kiss until my heart is pounding in my chest and I don’t know what will happen next, but I sense that whatever it is has the power to change me—maybe forever.
A big part of me wants to throw all my rules out the window, but Hart, it appears, is thinking more clearly, because he finally pulls back with a soft sigh.
He touches his forehead to mine. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad I’m here too. Your friends are nice.”
“They are. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Mia.”
It’s okay, I want to tell him, but no words come out, because the truth is, I am curious.
He meets my eyes, his own curiosity winning out. “Has there been anyone since Sean?”
I shake my head.
I haven’t thought about Sean, haven’t experienced any sadness or heartache since meeting Hart, I realize. Even seeing Sean in person felt like ... nothing.
“Will you tell me about her?”
He hesitates, looking uncertain. “Sure. What would you like to know?”
Was that a picture of her on your phone I saw in Napa?
“How long did you date for?” I ask instead.
“About a year.”
“Did you love her?”
He shrugs. “At the time, I thought so. Now ... no, I don’t think I did.”
It’s obvious that she hurt him, and since I’m not the type to pick at a wound, I let it go. I don’t want to have to rehash my entire relationship with Sean with him either. It’s in the past. No sense in dwelling on it.
“Sorry, I’m not good at all this ...” He rubs one hand over the back of his hair, straightening it.
“It’s okay.”
Before I can analyze what that might mean, Hart rises to his feet. “Get some sleep. I know you had a long day of travel. Good night.”
“Good night,” I echo.