Page 72 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
I draw a slow breath, my panic subsiding just a little. “Thanks, Scar.”
“You bet. And I’m serious. These people’s opinions don’t matter. That said ... there could be something to the idea that it’s improper because of his family’s investment.”
My hands shake, and I sink to the edge of the bed, clutching the phone. It was something that occurred to me, a nagging doubt in the corner of my brain, but I told myself I was overthinking it and it would be fine—like you do when you want to believe everything will turn out okay.
“Are you still there?” Scar asks.
“I’m here,” I confirm. “I’m just ... processing.”
“Look, I know you care about him, and I’m not questioning that. But getting involved with someone whose family is investing millions in your charity could look ...complicatedto other people.” She says these words gently, while my emotions spin out of control.
“What do you mean?” I ask even though I’m pretty sure I know exactly what she means.
“It might raise questions about your motives or even the legitimacy of your foundation. I just don’t want anyone to assume things about you or your work when you’ve put so much into it.”
Her words leave a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Yeah,” I say weakly.
“You know what, don’t worry about it tonight. Go do something fun, and try not to worry.”
I highly doubt that’s possible, but I tell her I’ll try.
While I wait for Hart to return, I stew, working myself up into a frenzy. Vaughn calls out to see if I want another mimosa, but I tell her no, that something’s come up. I’m still hiding in the bedroom when Hart returns from snowboarding. His smile falls when he sees me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, coming to my side, where I’m sitting on the bed. His cheeks are flushed from a day spent on the mountain, and I hate that I’m about to obliterate his happy mood.
“We made the gossip columns. And it’s my fault. I mentioned I was dating someone on a podcast interview I did.”
He lets out a big breath of relief. “Oh. That’s all? I thought someone died.”
I pull up the article on my phone and show him. He barely glances at it, seemingly unconcerned. “See, I told you our age was a thing.” I point at the phone, waiting for him to be as outraged as I feel.
He brings one arm around me. “Well, it shouldn’t be. I like you and you like me.”
He says it like it’s so simple. “How are you so calm right now?”
“Don’t look at that stuff. Just don’t read it. It’s a bunch of nonsense. The tabloids are always digging into my activities and my love life.By tomorrow everyone will have moved on to some other celebrity relationship. The best thing to do is to ignore it.”
It’s basically what Scarlet told me, too, but it’s easier said than done. Because before it was just my own voice inside my head telling me this wouldn’t work—now there are countless strangers online echoing the same sentiment. But somehow when Hart presses his lips to my temple, the strangling knot of anxiety in my chest eases. But can it really be that simple?
That night we have dinner at the White House Tavern, where it’s nearly impossible to get a reservation, especially in peak season, but of course it’s no problem for Hart. It’s an intimate setting, with wood-paneled walls and delicious food. He and I end up ordering the same thing, to which Vaughn replies, “Awe.”
We smile at each other.
Despite the panic I felt earlier, now I feel relaxed and happy—a glass of red wine in hand, my muscles enticingly sore from a day spent skiing, and a gorgeous man by my side. I try to tell myself Scarlet was right. The opinions of strangers don’t matter. And Hart seems unconcerned, which is a comfort too.
As I watch him, I’m stuck by a somber thought. Sometime in the future, when he realizes I’m all wrong for him and moves on with someone closer to his own age, I’m going to miss this.This.Him with windburned cheeks and a youthful glow, holding my hand quietly beneath the table, while his friends laugh about which trails bested us and which we should attempt again tomorrow.
Vaughn leans forward on her elbows, and the topic of conversation shifts. “Do you want kids?”
My breath catches in my lungs, I’m so caught off guard. She isn’t asking anyone in particular, more like she’s posed the question to the table.
“No,” Hayes says simply.
Whit shrugs, then grabs his pint glass and polishes off the rest of his beer.
Hart looks contemplative. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. Someday, maybe.”
I think about the adoption paperwork still sitting on my desk in Nairobi, and my chest gets tight. I want a baby, desperately. Even if I have to adopt, even if I have to become a single mother ... and meanwhile I’m dating a twentysomething who hasn’t even thought about it. Cue my rising panic.
