Page 64 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
He shrugs. “A local festival, I think.”
Despite the seasons changing into winter back home, here it’s a perfect seventy-eight degrees and sunny, without a cloud in the sky. It’s paradise. I’ve traveled quite a bit, but I’m certain I’ve never been anywhere this beautiful. Between the sweetly fragrant flowers, the humid air, and the waves crashing lazily against the shore, I feel like I’ve died and entered heaven.
Hart pulls up to a beautiful oceanfront home and punches in a code for the gate, which begins to slide open with a sound.
“Nice place,” I say, slipping off my sunglasses to look around.
“Thanks. It belongs to Hayes’s parents. He and I try to come once a year. Usually in the spring for surfing. But this is better ...”
The house is spectacular, a six-thousand-square-foot masterpiece of island luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the endless expanse of the Indian Ocean. A cozy living room with a huge plush white sectional. A formal dining room for twelve, which I don’t expect we’ll use. And a sleek infinity pool with several comfy-looking lounge chairs and big umbrellas for shade.
We make no pretense about sleeping arrangements, and after giving me a tour, he places my bags in the primary bedroom, along with his. He arrived yesterday and stocked the house with food in the fridge, fresh fruit on the counter, bottles of prosecco and sparkling water. Sunblock. Everything we would need for four magical days here together.
“Change into your swimsuit, and I’ll make us a drink,” he says, then kisses me softly on the mouth.
I nod, distracted by him.
I head to the bedroom and locate my swimsuit in my bag. I packed a bright-pink bikini, and now I wonder why on earth I’d felt so ambitious. I take the swimsuit to the bathroom to change. On the counter, lined up neatly, are Hart’s toiletries. Luxury skin care in sleek matte-black bottles, mouthwash, and an electric toothbrush.
I tie the strings of the bikini and then peer at myself in the full-length mirror. I may not be as young as the girls he usually dates, but I remind myself it’smehe wants here. And deciding that’s good enough for me, I head out to join him.
A lazy smile overtakes his face when he sees me.
“Everything okay?” I stride over, smiling.
“Everything is great. I think pink is my new favorite color.” His voice is husky.
We drink mojitos and swim in the pool, laughing and splashing each other.
Later, I park myself in the shade and watch him refill our drinks. His hair is wild, his shirt unbuttoned and drifting open in the breeze, and his shorts are dripping with water. And he’s the best-looking man I’ve ever seen.
Sinking into the lounge chair beside me, he hands me an icy cold cocktail.
“I know you missed your family and cookies, but is there anything else you missed?”
I turn toward him, shielding my eyes from the sun. “You want to hear me say I missed you?”
He sweeps a lock of dark hair from my shoulder, his fingertips leaving a blaze of heat in their wake. “Only if it’s true.”
I take a sip of my mojito, feeling brave. “It’s true. I did.”
“I missed you too.” His gaze lingers for a moment longer, and he touches my cheek, like he’s unable to look away, unable to stop touching me, even for a moment. “I like the way you look at me. You see me in ways that others don’t.”
I want to joke that he’s easy to look at, but I don’t, because I can sense he’s serious—I do see him for who he really is. He’s kind and generous and confident, but he’s also uncertain and searching for his purpose.
He touches my jaw, turning my face, noticing that I’m wearing the earrings he gave me for my birthday the last time I saw him. “You wore them.”
“I love these earrings, thank you again.”
“You deserve them.”
He asks for updates about my work in Nairobi, and I’m only too happy to talk to him about it. Sean merely tolerated my work in Africa, often turning grouchy and lashing out when it was time for me to leave again. Hart seems genuinely invested, like he’s rooting for my success there. Next I show him pictures on my phone of Scarlet’s new baby.
He gazes at the photos—and there are many—with little reaction. I have a massive soft spot for babies, and before I read too much into it, I remind myself that his lack of interest is probably just because he’s never met Scar.
At night we eat entirely too much grilled lobster and octopus, and we laugh, dancing to sleepy steel drum music and kissing under the stars. In his arms, I’m far from home, but I’ve never felt closer to it.
The following day we head off to explore the island, Hart showing me a few of his favorite spots—a local apothecary, where I buy scented bath salts and homemade soap, and a stop at a bakery, where he picks up a couple of squares of something called cassava cake, a traditional Maldivian dessert that he wants me to try. He says the flavor is coconut and jasmine-flower water. Sounds interesting.
