Chapter Fourteen Take a Big Scary Leap
Chapter Fourteen
Take a Big Scary Leap
San Jose, California
I have two weeks at home before I’m off to Nairobi again, and I spend the time with Scarlet, helping her prepare for the arrival of her new baby.
We wash boxes of baby clothes that Will drags down from the attic and sanitize bottles.
She asks me endless questions about my time in New York, and when I answer her, I can’t help the smile that pulls on my lips.
“I might be the pregnant one, but you’re the one who’s glowing.” She laughs.
I touch my cheek, sure I’m not actually glowing. “I’m taking your advice and having fun.”
“And he’s kind to you?”
“He is.” I think about how caring and nurturing he was when he discovered I was sick. Each new side of him reveals more about his character. He’s not at all what I expected.
“Well, I’m loving this energy. It’s a whole new you.” Scarlet smiles, satisfied.
He does seem to bring something out in me ... I can’t explain it. “I still think our age difference is bananas.”
She shrugs. “You’re like Olivia and Harry, the new Priyanka and Nick. Kim Kardashian and Pete Davidson. I think it’s cute.”
I guess precedents have been set. Hart and I aren’t alone, even if it feels like it.
My parents have an incredible marriage, and as an only child, I had a front-seat view of what commitment and devotion looked like.
And it certainly didn’t look like what Hart and I are doing.
Flying all over the world to continue an affair that’s most likely going nowhere.
Though I have to admit, it did feel good to stick up for him when we encountered his ex.
“You might think it’s cute, but my biological clock, on the other hand—not so much. I’m more aware than ever that time is of the essence.”
Scarlet makes a face. “You’re only thirty-seven, Less. Women have babies well into their forties. There’s time. And you could always freeze your eggs,” she adds gently.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t.” I probably should have done that years ago. But I thought Sean and I were on the right track, so I didn’t bother. Foolish of me. And I hate having regrets. But that is one of mine.
Scarlet places her hand on my knee. “All I’m going to say is you’re still young and you have plenty of time.”
I know she’s only trying to help, but she’s wrong.
I need to meet someone, date for a while, get married, then try for a baby.
That takes years. And even if it didn’t, this isn’t a timeline I would have chosen for myself.
She and Will have been together for twelve years.
That’s twelve years of Christmases and birthdays and anniversaries that I never got to share with someone special.
Twelve years of vacations and memories . .. I swallow past a lump in my throat.
“Well, thanks for the encouragement. I’ll figure it out.”
“Just tell him what you want,” Scarlet says.
“No, I can’t do that.”
She looks confused. “Why not?”
“To just come right out and say what you want?” I shake my head. “You really haven’t dated in a while, have you?”
“No, I haven’t.” She chuckles. “What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s just so . . . thirsty .”
A surprised chuckle escapes Scarlet’s lips. After that, we’re both quiet for a moment, and I’m not quite sure what else there is to say.
“You’ve always been a rebel, Less. You’ve always dreamed big and loved hard. It’s no surprise to me that you want it all. An amazing career. Adventure. A hot younger man.” She winks.
My life is a far cry from a Hallmark movie. She makes me sound greedy. Maybe I am.
“It’s really not fair,” she adds wistfully.
No, it’s not. I’ve sacrificed so many things for my work. I never thought marriage and children would be among them. But rather than dive into what-ifs that will only leave me feeling worse, I plaster on a smile and accept Chloe’s offer to have a tea party.
While I drink pretend tea with Chloe, Scarlet prepares lunch. She and Will move like a unit—one of them spreading peanut butter onto a slice of bread, the other securing lids onto plastic kiddie cups.
Crosby drops a cup of juice, and Will catches it midair before it has a chance to spill.
“Impressive,” I congratulate him with a slow clap.
He grins. “Didn’t you know? Saving the day is my specialty.”
“Yeah, but what are you guys going to do once you’re outnumbered?” I ask, digging into the container of take-out salad Scarlet has placed in front of me. There’s no point going home for meals alone when they insist I stay.
“The key,” Will says, unwrapping a deli sandwich, “is sticking to our zones, playing defense.”
“Zones?” I chuckle.
Scarlet opens for a bite of the sandwich that Will feeds her.
“The first few weeks, her main zone will be breastfeeding; mine will be handling these two.” He points between their son and daughter, who are happily eating peanut butter sandwiches.
I spear a cucumber with my fork. “I imagine that would be difficult to switch up.”
“Exactly.”
“What are we doing for your birthday?” Scarlet asks, stealing a potato chip from Will’s plate.
I wave her off. She is, after all, very pregnant. Her feet have swollen like crazy, and I can tell how uncomfortable she is. Party planning is the last thing I’d want to drop on her plate. “I’ll probably just take myself to get a massage or something.”
“That’s crazy.” She shakes her head. “We are going to celebrate you.”
“Scar.” I point to her belly. “You are weeks, or possibly even days, away from delivering that baby. Please don’t worry about me.”
“Is your boy friend coming into town?”
I don’t miss the way she calls him both a boy and a friend—but not my boyfriend, which he isn’t.
“He hasn’t mentioned anything.” Then again, I didn’t tell him it was my birthday or invite him here, so I’m assuming not.
“Well, if I have to waddle, or roll, then so be it. You deserve to be celebrated.”
“My parents are going to take me to dinner, and honestly, a massage or something is all I want or need.”
“Okay, well, I am going to call and make you the massage appointment—on my credit card. Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.” I chuckle. “That is more than generous.”
On the way home, a series of texts begin pinging on my phone. At first, I think nothing of it, but then I remember I’m not that popular. Curiosity has me fishing my phone out of my purse at a stoplight.
There’s a text from a friend named Theresa that I haven’t been great about keeping in touch with congratulating me.
Theresa: Tell me more about this younger man.
Another, from my friend Robin, appears on the screen next.
Robin: I need the deets on this, lady! WTG
My brain scrambles to keep up. The interview has been published. Managing not to crash my car, which is no small feat, I open my podcast app and click on the episode. And since it’s only a five-minute drive from Scarlet’s place to mine, I fast-forward to the end of the interview.
Listening to it, I feel fifty shades of self-conscious.
It’s just as brutal this time around. Maybe more so?
Because instead of hearing Hannah’s probing questions and the sound of my heart and stumbling through my responses, this time I hear both sides of the conversation.
I hear my awkward laugh and can practically feel the embarrassment pouring off me in waves.
I’m unsure of the best way to handle it. Ignore? Text Hart and admit I’m an idiot and mentioned him, though not by name, in an interview? I decide to do nothing and hope it goes away. It might not be the most mature strategy in the world, but right now it feels like my best option.
I cave and decide to mention my upcoming birthday to Hart, along with the news that I would soon be heading back to Nairobi. He books a plane ticket for the very next weekend.
It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen him, and although we’ve texted and chatted on the phone, I’m excited to see him again, if only to find out if the chemistry I’ve built up in my head is accurate, thinking it can’t possibly be.
I’m wrong, of course.
I take my time getting ready for our date, slipping on an Alice + Olivia dress from my closet that I bought years ago and have never had an occasion to wear.
It’s black with a mesh top and fitted skirt that ends at my knees.
I coupled it with a pair of sky-high black strappy heels, and I feel somewhat overdone, overdressed.
But when I meet Hart in the lobby of his hotel and his eyes find mine in the crowd of tourists, his lips part and the look on his face makes me feel incredibly sexy.
It’s addicting.
“You look incredible,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to my cheek. Even in my highest heels, he towers over me.
“Thank you.” I fidget with my minuscule handbag.
He looks very tempting in head-to-toe black—his pants, collared shirt, and jacket are all finely tailored and expensive looking.
We walk from his hotel to a fancy steak house that’s only three doors down. It’s a great restaurant and one I suggested when he mentioned he’d booked a suite in the nicest hotel in the area.
Inside, Hart gives the host his name, and I’m pleased to see he made a reservation. We’re led to a semiprivate table in the back of the restaurant.
We order wine, and a server appears to fill our water goblets, and then we’re alone.
“So, Mr. Winthrop,” I say, smiling, folding my hands on the table in front of me. “What have you been up to lately?”
He grins; it’s lopsided and filled with amusement. “I’m sorry. Did you just ask me a question? That dress is very ...” His lips part and he inhales, raggedly.
“Very what?”
“Very dangerous to my concentration.”
I hold his gaze, which is assessing, admiring. I feel like a treasured piece of art.
“I asked if you’ve been busy in New York since I left.”
He nods. “I have actually. I’m working on something new. I’m honestly really excited about it.”
I lean forward, wineglass in my hand, interested. “Will you tell me what it is?”