Page 69 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
Remembering the Hart I first met in Italy, I realize how much has changed. The guy I met there tried to cheer me up and offered to rough up my ex. I know him so much better now. Know how fragile he really was, how much he has to offer the world, how much he tries to take care of those around him.
Once we’re alone in the hotel suite, Hart turns on music and lights a fire in our bedroom’s fireplace, which manages to be both cozy and undeniably sexy. I turn to face him, uncertainty swimming inside me. His hands slide up the side of my neck and into my hair. His eyes are half-closed. He brings his mouth to mine and kisses me slowly. So achingly slowly that every emotion I’ve tried to deny rushes right to the surface. This kiss feels like the answer to a question I didn’t know I had.
I never feel helpless—in my work and in my life, I’m confident enough to call the shots. To make hard decisions and deliver tough messages when needed. But that’s exactly what this man makes me feel—utterly helpless. Powerless. I can’t stop myself from falling even when I know I can’t possibly stick the landing and will be hurt upon impact.
When he pulls back, I feel painfully naked, though I’m fully clothed. He sees everything. All the parts of me that I try to keep hidden. The quiet insecurity. The secret parts of my heart that are fearful and uncertain. The question mark about us, and if this growing thing between us could ever really work.
He seems to recognize this moment has shaken me. “Nervous?” he asks.
“Maybe,” I admit. “Would it be crazy if I said yes?”
He takes a step closer, his fingertips grazing my shoulder. “Not crazy. Honest.”
He coaxes me to the bed, and we lie side by side. He watches me with a look of wonder, stroking one finger along my cheek, my neck, like he’s memorizing the feel of my skin. The only sounds are my heartbeat and the crackling of the fireplace. The weight of the moment and what comes next is undeniable. I wait for some sign—something from the universe that whispersturn back now—but it doesn’t come. I touch his jaw, turning his face to mine, and kiss him again.
He takes his time with my sweater, slowly drawing it over my head. Appraising me with a soft look. Pressing a tender kiss to my shoulder. Unhooking my bra. Another kiss against my spine. I can feel how much he wants me. The wait is maddening, and my heart hammers out a wild, frantic rhythm. I’m entirely at his mercy, needing this moment more than I ever expected to.
“Hart,” I beg, impatient, wondering what on earth he’s waiting for.
“Swear I’m good at this,” his deep voice murmurs.
He adjusts himself and finds the right angle, joining us as sensation surges through my body. It’s too much. But also exactly enough. Being with him this way is excitingly new and also deeply familiar, all at once.
I sigh in sweet relief, gripping his shoulders, running my hands over the expansive muscles in his back. Hart is just as overcome. He pauses for a moment, whispering a murmured curse word against my throat.
Then there’s nothing left to say. There is just him, and me and this moment. Time seems to slow, and I drink in every perfect detail. The sound of his jagged breaths, and the way he moves.
I haven’t been with anyone since Sean, and even that was ...boringis the wrong word.Obligatory, I decide. Like scratching an itch. Being with Hart is like detonating a nuclear bomb. I’ll never be the same. A torrent of emotions I’m unprepared for rocks through me, stealing the breath from my lungs; all sense of time and space disappears.
After, I feel delirious, in disbelief at what just happened. This unconventional, sometimes confusing, but blooming new relationship.
We lie together on the bed, the sheets tangled around us.
I’ve never felt this safe. This sure. This steady.This loved,my brain supplies. No, I correct myself. This isn’t love. This can never be love. Of all the things this is allowed to be—fun, daring, hot, temporary—love cannot be one of them.
Cuddling, we talk about mundane things ... what age we lost our first tooth—I was six; he, nine. He got a real sailboat from the tooth fairy, which sends me into a fit of giggles. I got a dollar. I don’t know exactly how much money his family has—I only know it’s in the billions—but all the money and influence in the world mean nothing to me, because to be here with him, in this moment, my head resting on his shoulder, is the most valuable thing in the world.
Chapter Eighteen
Put Yourself First
In the morning Vaughn has made us all breakfast sandwiches, and after we eat, we congregate in the living room, gathering supplies for a day on the mountain. Ski goggles. ChapStick. Tissues. Ski gloves. Hand-warmer packets. And of course our lift tickets for Aspen Snowmass.
Hart looks boyishly handsome in his navy blue wool base layer and thick ski socks.
After what happened between us last night, I should feel self-conscious. Maybe a little awkward. Instead I feel liberated. He made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world last night. Cherished. Worshipped. And waking up in his arms was the sweetest blessing.
He gives me a secret smile and presses a kiss to the side of my neck.
“Get a room,” Vaughn says, rolling her eyes, but her voice is filled with humor.
I press my hand to Hart’s firm chest, making some space between us, and fix him with a look that saysbehave.
“Are you ready for this?” he asks, a hint of amusement on his perfect features.
“I think so,” I say while sipping from a bottle of water. My father taught me to ski, and we spent many winter breaks at Breckenridge.I’ve found plenty of water is the key to mitigating the effects of the high elevation.
My phone rings, and I check it to see that it’s Joslyn. Frowning, I decide not to answer, and text her instead.
