Chapter Twenty-Six Trust the Timing
Chapter Twenty-Six
Trust the Timing
The sight of Hart, here in Nairobi, inside the school sends a shockwave of emotion rushing through me. I feel lightheaded. The mistakes I made, the fears I had about us ... everything melts away the moment I lay eyes on him.
“What are you doing here?” I ask again, my brain scrambled.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Everything I felt for him rushes to the surface. The weight of my emotions making me tremble.
“You told me in Aspen that I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted,” he continues.
I wince, remembering the awful words I hurled at him. Words that capitalized on his biggest fear of not knowing who he was or where he was headed. Words meant to hurt him.
“I never should have said that,” I admit, ducking my face in shame.
With two fingers he lifts my chin until our eyes meet. “That might have been true, at one time, but it’s not now. My Enneagram is a helper, my StrengthsFinder is adaptability, and my love language is physical touch. I know who I am, Alessia.” His tone is self-assured, leaving no room for questions.
“You’ve gone on a bit of a self-discovery exploration, then?” I ask, my head spinning to keep up.
“You could say that.” He inhales. “And I know what I want.”
My heart is racing. Tell me, I want to beg. Instead I inhale, composing myself. First, I don’t want to rush this moment, but I’m also suddenly aware that we’re not alone, that we have a large audience of students and teachers, and while they’re mostly preoccupied, this setting is far from private.
“Let’s talk somewhere quiet.” I turn and head down the hall toward the headmaster’s office. Hart follows.
“Is this your office?” he asks, looking around at the basic wooden desk and two chairs.
I close the door and shake my head. “No. This is the headmaster’s office, but I still need to hire someone for the role.”
Hart nods, and I take him in. His tall, commanding presence, chiseled jawline, and full mouth. I’ve missed him. His expressive eyes. Eyes that are currently drinking in my appearance with a guarded smile.
“When I got that call from you in Vegas ... I didn’t know what to think. You made me feel like an idiot for trusting you.”
“I’m sorry.”
His simple apology is heartfelt, and just hearing him say those words means everything. Even now, reflecting back, I realize that there’s nothing inherently wrong with him having a fun getaway weekend with his friends.
Leaning one hip against the desk, I face him. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what I said. The way I ended things.”
“You broke my heart,” he says simply. Laying the truth out in front of me like he’s unafraid or unashamed to say those words feels significant. He’s more mature than I give him credit for.
I open my mouth to say something—to apologize—but before I get the chance, he approaches and strokes his thumb along my cheek. “You were scared, and that’s fine, because I’m brave enough for the both of us.”
I want to sink into him and never let go. Feel his arms around me again. Pull his mouth down to mine and kiss the heck out of him. But the truth is, I really don’t know what he’s doing here. So instead, I pull a deep breath into my lungs and fight to steady my nerves.
“I can’t believe you flew all the way to Nairobi.” It’s a fifteen-hour flight from New York. He must have been following my social media to know that the school was opening today.
“As I told you, I wouldn’t have missed it.”
“So you said you’ve been figuring out what you wanted to do with your life?”
He nods, watching me quietly, intently.
“What would you do if you had no one’s expectations? What would you do for you that would make you happy?”
He moves closer, towering above me. I forgot how tall he is. He’s so big in my mind, in my memories, but I forgot how big he is in real life too. He looms above me, making me feel small. “I would spend a lifetime loving you.”
A single tear slips down my cheek, and he catches it with his thumb.
“I would give you babies and work alongside you here in Kenya, or wherever your work takes you. I would be the safe place for you to rest when you grow weary from changing the world.”
Emotion swells my throat. I can barely get the words out. “And that would be enough?”
He shakes his head. “No. One lifetime wouldn’t be near enough time, but it’s a start.”
His mouth meets mine in a long, slow, lingering kiss, one that sends sensation ricocheting through me, mending my shattered heart with each sweet press of his lips to mine.
I spent months fighting him, fighting these feelings, but I know now that was a futile effort. I can’t ignore how right I feel in his arms, how good we are together. On paper, we might not make sense, but I can’t deny how this feels—it’s like coming home.
“What about everything else?” Someone needs to be the practical one. Is he really going to stay here in Nairobi? What will his friends say? His parents?
“Everything else will fall into place.”
I love his optimism, even if I don’t currently share it. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because. Love is worth it,” he says simply.
He’s right of course. Love is always worth it. And ours has endured so much, yet it has persisted. It endured breakups, an age gap, and living on different continents. It had to fight through the opinions of others simply to have a shot at existing. Yet here we are.
“I need to tell you something.” I fill him in on Hayes’s proposition.
A look of frustration laces his features. “You should have taken the money.”
Confusion rocks through me. “What are you saying?”
“What I mean is, you should have ignored him but still gone ahead and taken the money for the school. He can afford it, believe me.”
“Oh. That never even crossed my mind.”
“That’s because you’re a good person.” He takes my hand, gives it a squeeze. “And I’m sorry about Hayes.”
“What’s his deal anyways?”
Hart shrugs. “I wish I knew. He used to be different. His parents are even more demanding than mine. I think it left its mark.”
“That’s sad.”
“It is,” he agrees. “I think he’s bored with life. He’s seen and done it all, and all it’s done is left him feeling empty. He doesn’t know how to deal with that.”
I nod, feeling the slightest bit bad for Hayes, even though he doesn’t deserve my sympathy. “There was something else,” I admit.
“What is it?”
“He said something about wealthy, powerful men ... how they often trade up for a younger spouse.” I dare a glance up at him. “Even your parents ...”
Hart frowns, looking bothered. “First, never take advice from Hayes. Second of all, some people are broken. It doesn’t mean we will be.”
His answer is enough. At least for now.
Drawing strength from his closeness, I nod. “Okay.”
He touches my cheek and gives me a meaningful look.
“Alessia, I don’t want you as a trophy. I want you for you .
I want a woman I can discuss weighty topics with, who’s warm and loving, who serves others, and would literally give someone the shirt off her back if they needed it, someone who I know will be the best mother to my children.
Those traits aren’t replaceable. You’re not replaceable. ”
Emotion lodges in my throat, and for a moment I’m speechless. He leans in and brushes his mouth against mine. The kiss is filled with tenderness and longing.
“I saw the announcement about the coding program. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“I thought it meant you had moved on,” I admit.
“I don’t think I could if I tried.” He laughs, gathering me into his arms.
“This is going to be complicated, you know?” His eyebrows push together, so I clarify. “You and me. It’s going to be complicated.”
“It’s the simplest thing in the world, actually. I love you and you love me,” he says, touching my cheek.
Physical touch, indeed. Flustered, I press on. “People will see our differences, even if you don’t.”
“You love me,” he repeats, his mouth lifting.
“I love you.” I’ve felt it for months, but finally saying the words out loud is a revelation.
And then he kisses me again, and any other objections I might have had are pushed aside.
When the grand opening celebration finally ends several hours later, we head out together, holding hands. I show Hart my apartment, the view from the balcony. The tiny kitchen.
“It’s small, but it’s clean,” I say. I can’t imagine it’s what he’s used to.
He nods, spying the copy of Little Women he gifted me sitting on a shelf.
I gaze at him, in disbelief that he’s actually here—standing beside my beige couch and mismatched end tables with a lopsided smile. My back hurts and I’m tired, but my heart has never been more full.
Turning to him, I wrap my arms around his trim waist. I breathe in his scent, wanting to memorize everything about this perfect moment. His mouth finds mine, and we kiss and kiss until his eyes darken with arousal.
His hands skim my hips, pulling me close. “You’re not going to run away from this again, are you?”
I shake my head, looking up at him, his perfectly chiseled features. His one-sided smile.
“I don’t think I could if I tried,” I say, borrowing his line from earlier.
Our reunion starts off sweet but soon turns frenzied. “How are you so sexy?” he whispers, kissing my neck, my shoulder, my collarbone.
“How ... are you ... so good at this?” I gasp, enjoying every touch of his lips to my skin.
After, when our limbs are pleasantly heavy and intertwined under the tangled sheets, he gazes at me. His arm is beneath my pillow, and I run my fingers through his hair. It’s so soft.
“Thank you for fighting for me, for coming here,” I whisper.
“There’s nowhere else.”