Chapter 17
EMMELINE
I swear this time I even googled date etiquette.
What do you say on your first date? Best conversations to get to know him?
Are you ready for it? Stay away from these subjects, or he’ll stay away from you.
Each article was filled with clear guidelines.
I just don’t understand why I couldn’t stick to them.
Maybe I should’ve written some cue cards to remind myself of what subjects to stay away from.
Seriously, Emmeline? Who asks a guy if he’s ever fallen madly in love? The man is going to jump into his car and leave you stranded. You’re in Aspen, an Uber home would cost between five and nine hundred dollars.
But my heart skips when instead of panicking, he says they didn’t deserve me. I die and go to heaven when he leans closer to me, grabs me by the back of the head and brings his lips to mine.
He’s kissing me. Softly, tenderly.
His lips feel like stardust at first until he kisses the breath out of me.
Every cell in my body vibrates as he licks my lips, encouraging me to open for him.
We take our time to explore, taste, and be gentle with each other.
It’s not just an ordinary kiss between two people hanging out on their second failed date.
It doesn’t matter what we’ve said or done, this is the highlight of my day—maybe my entire year.
I groan when he deepens it for a few moments before slowing it down.
My heart hammers loud and fast inside my chest. I feel dizzy and my legs wobbly. Thankfully, he’s holding me by the waist with his incredible arms.
“That was—” I say stupidly trying to find a word for what just happened, because kiss doesn’t begin to cover it.
“If you want me to apologize—”
“Oh please, don’t. I just … it was totally unexpected. But…” I touch my tingling, bruised lips trying to remember every second of what just happened and hoping to sear it into my memory.
“Let’s tackle our first adventure,” he suggests. I smile stupidly because he not only kisses like a devilish angel but he speaks my language.
“Adventure?” I ask, thinking about the mind-numbing kiss and wishing we had been somewhere else—somewhere more romantic.
“Trust me,” he says.
“It’s too early to use the word trust, isn’t it?”
He glances at me and smiles. “Of course, you’re right.”
As we continue walking, he says, “I just asked you to have a little faith in me for the next couple of minutes. You might enjoy where I’m taking you to.”
Why would he think that? Have I given him any indication that this trip was a good idea? Don’t get me wrong? I love to come to the Aspen festival every year. The bands that usually play are amazing. Driving while the leaves are changing is an experience I never miss.
“There is no concert schedule,” I inform him. “Unless there’s a museum in the area I don’t know about, I don’t think you can assume I’m going to enjoy this next stop.”
He smiles at me with one of those toe-curling smirks I’m starting to love. What is this guy doing to me? There are never butterflies swarming inside me when I spot a hot guy, but this one is making me lose my cool.
Actually, I don’t have any recollection of having a toe-curling, pulse accelerating, heart melting moments. But this man pushed me into that place, and I can’t seem to find my footing.
“And if I don’t like it?” I ask, giving him a challenging glare.
Where is my A game? Not that I have one, but why am I being so love struck?
Usually, I can make guys feel adequate. But this man is just throwing on the charm, being all gentlemanly and making me swoon.
It’s his kind, perfect, competent, and handsome men.
I’ve never been confronted with one of those guys before.
I bet this guy never takes no for an answer.
Why is he even wasting his time with me?
Okay, now I’m being insecure. But seriously, what does he see in me?
I look down at my clothes. There’s nothing special about them.
I’m wearing a pair of jeans, a turtleneck sweater, and my favorite boots, my hair is piled into a sloppy bun.
As we arrived at a small shop, I smile.
“I hate to admit it, but you’re right,” I concede.
But then, I stop myself wondering what made him think I would like an antique store. “Are we here for something special?”
“Take this as an adventure. We’re looking for treasure,” he answers with the best words, adventure and treasure.
Marry me, you’re perfect.
How does he know? I adore treasure hunting and antique shops.
“I remember going to my grandmother’s house,” I say. Right when we enter the shop I spot a frame in the shape of a fan. Inside there’s a collection of spoons. “She lived in Upstate New York, and her house was like a palace.”
I still remember the opulent house, surrounded by evergreens and a rock fence. She had a horse stable and a tennis court. I don’t remember everything in detail, but she had so many collectibles around the house.
“A palace filled with treasures from all over the world. Every piece had a story. She collected spoons from every country she visited. Decorative plates hung on the walls of the breakfast nook.”
“The house was like a friendly museum filled with treasures and I loved listening to her stories. Her library was composed of rare and antique books, classics, from all around the world. She was a translator, I remember that well because I wanted to be just like her.”
“A translator?”
“Yes, she traveled all around the world with dignitaries and celebrities,” I explained. “Sometimes, she’d even work at ruins with archeologists. I can’t even remember how many languages she spoke, but the woman was interesting.”
I find an old pocket watch with an inscription I can’t read. Though I love what I do, I regret not following in Grandma’s footsteps. I always wanted to be like her and travel all over the world meeting new people and collecting memories.
“I collect books because of her,” I explain to him as I continue walking through the past. “Antiques, are a different story. There are times when I find something worth keeping for myself, other times I restore antiques only to find them a new owner or a new purpose.”
Jack kisses my nose and says, “If I’d known you’d be this happy, I’d have brought you straight here.”
“How did you guess?” I have to know. No one really knows about my passion for antiques.
“I took a wild guess. You were in your element when I stepped into the bookstore. I hoped this would bring you equally as much joy. Tell me more about your grandmother.”
There’s not much to tell him about her, but I try to fill in the blanks, recalling mostly the objects she possessed.
“Is your grandmother still alive?”
I shrug. “We stopped visiting her a long time ago, I wouldn’t know.”
“What about you? Do you know your grandparents?”
“Mom’s parents died in a car accident when I was about four. Dad’s parents are pretty cool.”
I’m glad he tells me about them openly. Family history is what forges people’s personalities. It doesn’t define them, but it affects who they become.
“How about your other grandparents?” he asks, showing me an old creepy doll. “This would haunt me in my dreams.”
I shrug. “Only Mom’s mom. My parents had us late, my mom was forty-three and my dad was fifty-two. I don’t think his parents were around anymore when we came along.”
“Your family seems scattered,” he concludes.
Scattered is the tip of the iceberg, buddy.
“Yeah, we aren’t close.” Try at all. “My parents expected a lot from us. I became a bit rebellious.”
He glances at me and shakes his head. “You like bookstores, museums, and play classical music,” he says giving me another curious look and chuckles. “Typical problem child.”
“You don’t know my parents,” I offer.
“Confession time,” he says. “What kind of trouble did you get in?”
“I skipped curfew, partied, and even had a few flings at sixteen.” I gasp and pretend to clutch my pearls.
“Of course, I always kept my grades up and never missed a lesson. They never caught me, unless my sister tattled on me. My system worked most of the time,” I explain with pride.
“You’re a hero,” he concludes. “My parents would’ve caught us.”
“Did I mention they were old?” I remind him. “When we were teenagers, they were in their sixties. Too tired to stay up and check on us. Not that they cared what we did, just that we’d take care of them when they got too old to take care of themselves.”
But look how that turned out, I think to myself.
“…How do we always end up working our way to serious subjects?” I ask.
Instead of waiting for his response, I say, “Let’s make a deal.”
“A deal?” he asks curiously. “Are we negotiating? What’s next? Sign some crazy NDA?”
I laugh, thinking of the infamous Jackson Spearman and his stupid contracts.
“Let’s keep things light for the next few dates,” I ignore the comment because I’ve been doing great not thinking about Spearman today. “We’ve already shared too much.”
“There’s something about you that makes me want to talk more. I’m so comfortable around you it feels like I already knew you,” he explains. “Some might say, we met in another life.”
He laughs. “I don’t believe in things like mystical connections or people knowing each other even before they met, but with you…I just trust you.”
“Is it funny that I feel exactly the same?” I ask. “It’s like we’re on the same wave length.”
“Should we buy something?”
“Nothing is calling to me,” I say. “How about you?”
“Maybe on another trip we’ll find something meaningful. Today isn’t the right day.”
“I think I like you, Jack.”
“Is that right?” He arches an eyebrow. “That’s good because I like you back.”
He gives me a gorgeous smirk and brushes his lips against mine.