Page 66 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
“Documentary,” we say at the same time, and I grin.
“You get the snacks? I’ll get this cued up?”
“Deal,” I say and head off toward the kitchen with a smile. I feel lighter than I have in ages. I carry back a bag of organic popcorn, nacho-cheese-flavored snack mix, macadamia nut cookies, and bottles of water and settle in beside him with a smile.
The next day we go to lunch at a beachfront restaurant and sit on the patio, enjoying cocktails and fresh seafood; later we swim in the pool and cuddle on the lounge chairs. I read on my tablet while he naps in the hammock. It’s domestic and comfortable, but I’m fully aware it’s not my real life.
My real life will be waiting for me in Kenya when I fly back in another twenty-four hours. It’s council meetings in the village and long days. It’s the stress over wondering if I’m doing enough—making enough progress. I don’t want to think about that just yet, though.
Later, he books a private boat for us, and we snorkel along a beautiful reef teaming with fish and colorful coral. Not even the sunburn on the edge of my bikini where I forgot to put sunblock can dim my mood.
We attempt to play tennis on the court at the house. I told Hart that I’d taken a few lessons as a child. Turns out I’m no match for him. His serves are aggressive, and his form is perfect. And even when I sense he is trying to go easy on me, he bests me. I’m left sweaty and laughing, calling a truce if only for the beating to stop.
“You’re better than you think,” Hart says encouragingly, swatting my behind with his tennis racket.
Now we’re lounging again—this time inside in the air-conditioning. I reply to a few emails on my laptop while Hart lifts my feet to his lap, massaging my arches with his thumbs.
On the edge of turning forty and at risk of ending up as a single cat lady, I make a decision right then and there that I’m going to grab hold of these fleeting moments.
Even if this thing with Hart is short lived. Even if it leaves me feeling like a bit of a cougar, Scarlet’s right—I deserve some fun. Momentary happiness is better than none at all, and he makes me happy.
He seems to sense the decision I’ve made, even though I know that can’t be possible, but he takes my computer from my lap, closes it, and sets it on the coffee table in front of us. I’m about to protest, but the realization that we don’t have much time left together and the hungry look in his eyes silence me.
He runs his fingertips along my bare thigh, kisses my neck.
“What am I to you?” I ask him, fully aware that young people today probably don’t place labels on things the way I’m used to. And that this trip has shifted how I feel about him.
“You ...” He sighs. “You are a breath of fresh air. The answer to a question I didn’t know I had.” He hauls me closer—until I’m in his lap—and meets my eyes. “I think about you constantly. And when we’re apart, I feel like something important is missing.”
His words crash through me, and suddenly my hands are in his hair. His tongue is in my mouth. My breathing is much too fast. He’sveryaroused and, based on the firm outline of him, very ...large.
Last night was very sexy, but also very one sided. Not that Hart complained. He has more patience than most guys his age—I’ll give him that. I wasn’t ready for more. Not when I wasn’t sure about us. Today I feel more certain. I slide from the couch to the floor, and he studies me with a look of wonder, like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, running his hand along the side of my neck.
I move closer, untying the front of his shorts.
“Alessia ...” His voice drops an octave lower, and an electric current rushes through me. “You don’t have to ...”
I give the shorts a tug, and his protests quiet.
I start tentatively, feeling unsure if this is the best idea. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this, and in my memories, it was not all that pleasant. With Hart, the experience couldn’t be more different. The way he artfully arranges my hair over one shoulder so he can watch me with a look of adoration painted across his features. His pleasure-filled sighs, the caress of his hands on my cheek and my shoulder feel appreciative, worshipful.
He lets me take the lead, and I shower him with affection, moving my mouth at a leisurely pace until his chest heaves with a final deep groan of satisfaction.
After, he lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss on the inside of my wrist. “You. Are. Incredible,” he says, breathing hard. The way he looks at me is dangerous. Like he could fall in love with me.
“Yeah, well ... don’t go falling in love with me,” I warn him jokingly.
He must sense there’s a kernel of truth to my warning because he meets my eyes. “Maybe it’s too late.”
My heart riots, and I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a mini panic attack. “I’m not comfortable dating a younger man. What will people say? What will myparentssay?”
“You haven’t told them?”
I bite my tongue. I don’t want to admit their disapproval to him. “All I’m saying is that people will think we’re a joke. I can already hear the comments now. About how I’m a cougar and a cradle robber.”
He brushes me off.
“I’m serious, Hart.”
