Chapter Fourteen Take a Big Scary Leap #2
“I will. Soon.” He takes a drink from his own wineglass. “I just want to make sure it’s all going to come together like I’ve envisioned.”
“Well, now I’m intrigued.”
He chuckles. “I promise you’ll be the first person I tell.”
I’m curious, but I don’t press for details. “Okay.”
Dinner is fantastic, but it goes by too quickly. “Come upstairs for another drink?” he asks as we depart the restaurant.
I nod and feel the warmth of his hand on my lower back as he guides me to the elevator in the hotel lobby.
His suite is incredible—with a small kitchen, dining table for eight, and a sunken living room that contains two green velvet sofas.
Everything is decorated in rich shades of navy, maroon, and deep green, and the lighting is low.
It’s moody and romantic, and somehow seems to amplify all my many emotions.
There’s a bottle of expensive champagne chilling on ice, with two glasses and a silver-dome-covered plate.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“You have to have a slice of cake for your birthday. It’s practically mandatory.”
He’s planned ahead, and there’s something incredibly sexy about that.
I smile inwardly, remembering the times Scarlet told me that Will had never been more attractive to her than when he’d cleaned the kitchen or done all the laundry in the house—like the art of taking action was somehow irresistible.
Like he’s taken something off her plate or, in Hart’s case, made this moment all the more seamless and memorable without me having to ask for anything or lift a finger.
“Take a seat.” He motions to the couch.
I obey, slipping off my heels, then folding my legs on the cushion beside me.
He presses a couple of buttons on his phone, and low music begins, filling the room with a pulsing rhythm. Then he settles in beside me, uncorks the champagne, and pours me a glass.
I take a sip, even though I had two glasses of wine at dinner and feel slightly tipsy.
“Thank you,” I say, meeting his eyes. Even if I wouldn’t admit it, I’ve been silently dreading my birthday this year. To be single and alone on your birthday ... it’s not my idea of a great time. Especially not as I inch closer to forty.
“I got you something.”
“You did not have to do that—” I start, but he shushes me with a chaste kiss and then bounds up off the sofa and grabs a small box wrapped in silver paper and a black gift bag with silver tissue paper.
“Open this one first,” he says, handing me the gift bag.
I reach inside and pull out a book. I turn it over and discover a first edition of the first volume of Little Women , printed in 1868, with its green cloth cover and gilded lettering, and my heart stops. It’s an extravagant gift.
I hug it to my chest. “This is incredible. How did you find this?”
He grins. “I have my ways. I remember seeing the quote in your office.”
“I love it. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Now open this one.” He hands me the small box, which looks like a jewelry box.
I open it and discover a stunning pair of earrings nestled into the velvet. For a moment, I have no words.
“They’re pink diamonds from Africa,” he says. “Which I know is a special place for you. And these are ethically sourced.”
“This is way too generous; I can’t accept these ...” I try to hand him the box, but Hart only shakes his head.
“Please. I want you to have them.”
I crawl across the sofa to thank him with a kiss but end up in his lap.
“Hi,” I breathe.
“Hi,” he returns. “Did you have a good birthday?”
Nodding, I kiss him again—just because I can. “This is going down in the history books as one of my most memorable birthdays ever.”
“Ever?” he echoes.
“Well, except for my tenth, when I discovered that I’m allergic to marzipan and got sick all over the new backpack my parents had gotten me.”
He chuckles. “That does sound memorable.”
“But I like this one better,” I say, gazing at him.
His hand cups my jaw, and he brings my mouth to his. We kiss slowly, moving together leisurely, like we have all the time in the world. I know it’s a lie, but right now, in this moment, my birthday wish is that it could be true.
I excuse myself to use the restroom, and when I emerge, Hart is standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, admiring the view fifteen stories below.
“How long will you be gone?” he asks when I join him.
“One month. Maybe two.”
The idea of that shouldn’t fill me with a sense of loss. I haven’t known him that long. But he looks just as bewildered by this news as I feel.
“Spend the night with me,” he blurts.
“I don’t have an overnight bag.”
“Do you need one?”
“I mean . . . yeah.”
“I’ll call the concierge and ask them to bring up an extra toothbrush. You can sleep in one of my T-shirts.” He brings his face to the side of my neck and inhales. “Say yes, please.”
I don’t want to overthink this decision like Scarlet insists I do with everything else. Just for once I want to lean in to something that feels good, something just for me. I can be responsible later. In other areas of my life.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He tugs me close, kissing me while his hands stroke down my shoulders, my arms, ending at my hands, which he takes in his, lacing our fingers together.
He’s been so sweet to me. I remember what his friend Vaughn warned me about.
That he’d had his heart broken and not to hurt him, but that’s the last thing I want to do.
“Come on, I’ll see if I have something you can wear.”
I follow him to the bedroom, and he locates a T-shirt for me, placing it on the dresser.
Then he empties his pockets onto the desk.
Cell phone. A small tin of mints. A money clip containing several folded bills.
A ticket for the valet. No condom. My heart suddenly picks up speed.
I’m unsure of what comes next. He makes me feel so out of my element.
“Come here,” he says.
I cross the room on bare feet and step straight into his arms. He kisses me, and I’m overcome. He guides me to the bed without breaking the kiss, and we sink down together with him on top of me. We kiss for a long time, so long I wonder if we’ve set some kind of world record.
“Happy birthday,” he whispers, gazing at me when he finally pulls back.
Wow. Happy birthday, indeed. I’m pretty sure I can die happy now. Well, maybe not just yet. There’s something else I want first.
I turn to him, pressing my palm to his chest. “Can we have cake now?”
He dissolves into laughter, which he tries to hide with his fist. “Sure.”
While he leaves the room to get the dessert, I take the T-shirt and go into the bathroom to change.
My reflection in the mirror catches me by surprise. I look ... happy. My skin is slightly flushed, and I have messy bedroom hair, but my glow is unmistakable.
I exchange a glance with Hart. He gives me a soft, secretive smile—like he’s enjoying the view of me in his T-shirt, which skims the tops of my thighs.
We eat cake in bed, debating the best podcasts after discovering we share an affinity for them.
Later, I brush my teeth and prepare for bed, snuggling in beside him.
I feel like I’m eighteen again, sleeping in his oversize shirt.
It smells like him. His clean, masculine scent that I’ve come to love.
Scarlet ends up having the baby on my birthday—which is the day after Hart flies home.
Thank you for the best birthday present ever , I text her.
It’s a fast delivery, being her third, and once Will texts me they’re ready for visitors, I go to see her at the hospital. I bring her flowers and hemorrhoid cream—it’s not my first rodeo either. I bring along a cardigan for me—it’s always freezing in hospitals—and as I said, not my first rodeo.
We chat for a while, and I hear all the details of baby Cullen’s entry into the world. He’s a perfect little bundle, swaddled and asleep in her arms. I love seeing her like this. Exhausted, but filled with joy.
“How’s your boy toy?”
I tell her that Hart ended up flying in for my birthday, and about our romantic dinner out and the pink diamond earrings.
“Are you having fun?”
“I am.”
“Is that all it is?” She lifts one eyebrow.
I shrug, unsure.
“Do you really see a future with him?”
“For once I’m trying not to overthink it.” I consider telling her about the horrible, bumbling dope I was on the podcast, but decide against it since there’s only so much abuse I can take in one day.
Scarlet looks like there’s more she wants to say, and I brace myself. “Why do you think it is that you’ve chosen a man who’s unavailable to you emotionally?”
An ache throbs inside my chest, and I can feel myself growing defensive. “Hart’s not emotionally unavailable.”
She looks down at the baby and says, “Okay, how about unable to give you the things you desire?”
I don’t like this game, and I want to go home. I don’t have an answer that will satisfy her, so I shift in the stiff chair, drawing my cardigan around myself.
She presses a button on the bed that raises her a little. “Look, it’s not my place, but I saw how miserable you were wasting all those years with Sean. I’m happy you’re having fun, but I don’t want to see you make the same mistake twice.”
Her warning brings all my insecurities about Hart right to the surface, almost as if she could read my mind. Since I have no response, I ask if I can hold the baby.
She nods, and I stand to gather up all eight precious pounds of him, supporting his head in my hand.
Sinking back into the hospital chair with him in the crook of my arm, I admire him, his tiny lips, his little eyelashes that rest against his cheeks, the soft dusting of golden hair on top of his head.
It’s almost unbearable how perfect he is.
“He looks just like Crosby did,” I say to her, still smiling down at him, my heart aching with something I can’t quite name.
“That’s the first thing I said to Will when I saw him.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes, the hum of the air-conditioning and the weight of my thoughts the only sounds. When did everything get so confusing?
“Maybe I don’t need to be a mother,” I whisper, stroking his soft cheek, my chest tightening. “Maybe I can just be an awesome auntie to your kids.”
Part of me wants to believe it, but the words feel hollow, echoing in the space between us.
“Don’t do that,” she says, her tone gentle but laced with disappointment.
“What?”
“Minimize your needs. You’re the most nurturing, loving person I’ve ever met. You were born to be a mother.”
Her words hit me hard, breaking through the wall I’ve tried to build.
A tear slips silently down my cheek, followed by another.
The emotion wells up inside me, unexpected, overwhelming.
“I don’t know what to do,” I choke out, my voice trembling with the weight of everything I’ve tried to keep inside.
“I don’t, either, but promise me one thing.” Her eyes find mine. “Trust in yourself.”
I promise her that I will, even though I’m not entirely sure what that means. Then a flash of memory comes to me. Alone on that rooftop in Florence ... “What’s crazy is the night I met him, I was in the middle of praying that I would meet someone.”
Scarlet’s eyes widen. “That’s interesting.”
I wave her off. “I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.”
Scarlet doesn’t look quite as sure.