Page 41 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
Scarlet’s words ring in my head again.No feelings. Just fun.But when he says things like that, it’s hard to turn off my feelings.
“And you are very—” I can’t speak another word because there’s suddenly a mouth on mine—a warm, intoxicating mouth.
My skin tingles at the sensation of his thumb stroking my cheek. Just for the weekend, just once I want to let myself have fun. And if I get swept up in the perfection of this moment, in his raw attraction, in him, so be it.
A notification on Hart’s phone pulls us apart. He gets a text message that seems to annoy him, because he reads it quickly, then shoves the phone in his pocket with a clenched jaw.
We get back to the guest cottage as the sun is setting, painting the endless expanse of sky in shades of orange and red. It’s magical, very romantic.
We settle onto the wraparound porch with a glass of my favorite red from today.
I sink down into a lounge chair and release a happy sound.
“Smile,” he says, holding his phone as though he’s taking my picture.
I try to sit up, but Hart shakes his head. “Don’t move. You’re perfect like that.”
I relax back into the chair and tilt my chin toward the sky, smiling, not because he told me to but because I’m happy. I imagine how I must look—my hair is slightly wild from the bike ride, and I’m sure my cheeks are flushed. He takes the picture and then pockets his phone.
“I’m glad I came,” I say, swirling the wine in my glass.
“Me too. Obviously.” He smiles; his dimples make me tingle. Whatever the text message said seems to have been forgotten. “Come on. I’m going to make you dinner,” he announces, pulling me up from the chair.
“You’re going to make me dinner?” My eyebrows raise. “What about Hayes?” I figured we’d meet up with his cousin later at the main house for a gourmet meal prepared by their chef.
“Fuck Hayes.”
Okay then.
Inside, I take a seat in a stool at the counter while Hart peers into the refrigerator.
“Bagels with lox?” he suggests.
“For dinner?” My nose crinkles. He really is a New York boy. I’ve never had lox in my life.
He shrugs. “Why not?”
“No.”
Chuckling, he surveys the contents of the fridge. “Okay, what about ...” He comes up blank. It’s kind of adorable. For once he’s out of his element.
There is good olive oil and a head of garlic on the counter. “Spaghetti aglio e olio?” I suggest.
“Yeah, nice try. I’m not making Italian food for a real Italian.”
I laugh. “I’ll help you.”
Cooking with him is effortless, just like everything else. We work well together in the small kitchen, our movements a coordinated dance, him stirring the boiling pasta on the range with a dishcloth hung over his shoulder, me tearing pieces of basil on a chopping board, swaying to the music he’s put on.
After we eat and the dishes are stacked in the dishwasher, we cuddle side by side on the couch while he shows me pictures on his phone. His travels this spring to Bangkok and Cambodia, where he and his friends went on a backpacking trip. They look young and carefree without the burden of responsibility that I carry around with me.
“This is Isaac.” He lingers on a photo of him and a guy his age; their arms are slung over each other’s shoulders, and they’re standing at the top of a steep bluff, looking winded but happy. He’s young, but he seems to have collected a lot of life experiences. I rest my head on Hart’s firm shoulder and breathe in the scent of him.
He scrolls back too far, and there’s a photo of a girl with long blond hair wearing a purple bikini on a yacht. She’s wearing a backward baseball cap—his, I presume—and she’s blowing a kiss at the camera. In this brief moment, the truth of us together, cuddling and making dinner, becomes painfully, brutally honest. I don’t often feel like I’m inadequate, but something about her youthful appearance, her presence on his phone, the idea that she is most likely a conquest of his ... it unsettles me.
He swipes at the screen quickly to get rid of it, but it’s too late. The damage to my psyche is done. She looked all of twenty-two, impossibly young and fresh, beautiful and carefree.
Before he can offer an explanation, his phone begins to ring.
