Page 3 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
Hart holds the door open for me, and we head down four flights of stairs, our footsteps echoing in the stairwell.
Finding an open barstool is not difficult because the small bar in the lobby is almost deserted. I order a glass of cabernet, and he does the same.
I have a little more time to study him as I sip my wine, and I come to the conclusion that while young, he looks like he comes from money. From his finely tailored clothes to his gold watch to the perfect scent of his crisp cologne. It’s something I’ve learned to recognize since it can be helpful in my line of work to gauge potential donors.
I can feel his eyes on me also, the familiar buzz of attraction stirring between us, but I’m sure it’s one sided. I’m probably old enough to be his mother. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that I’m much too old for him.
“So, why are you here in Florence?” I ask, brushing off the sensation.
“A mix of work and pleasure,” he says, evading the question. “What about you?”
“For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to get away from everything for a while. Here—in this terribly romantic city. I’m clever like that.”
His mouth lifts in a half smirk at my poor attempt at humor. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His tone is sincere, genuine.
I inhale deeply and sigh. “I have to be, right?”
“Offer’s still good ... all I need is a name.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “That’s okay. I’ll get there.”
“And you’re sure coming back to my room wouldn’t help?” he asks with a lopsided grin.
It’s such a shock that I don’t know how else to react, so I laugh. “Wow. That’s quite the invitation. But, uh, no. No, thanks. I’m sure that would not help.” I’m flattered by his attention; I’m just not flattered enough to do something stupid.
He leans back in his seat, his attention still on me. “What’s your biggest fear?”
“Really?” I blurt. “No small talk or anything? You just want to jump right in withthatgem of a question?”
He lifts one shoulder, smiles. “I want to know.”
I debate it for a minute. Surely, I shouldn’t tell him the truth. It’s too ugly. Too raw. But his genuine smile has a way of disarming me. I haven’t felt so immediately comfortable with someone in a long time—maybe ever.
He reaches over and drapes one arm along the back of my chair. He’s relaxed, comfortable. And he’s looking at me like he wants to know all my secrets. “Tell me.”
“You first.” I bring my wineglass to my lips and take a sip, watching him.
His hazel eyes fill with some faraway look. “Being irrelevant. Replaceable. Like I don’t matter.”
“Is that what that phone call was about?” The words fly out of my mouth before I have time to stop them.
His eyebrows crease in frustration, but he answers in a soft tone. “Kind of. Not really. I found out my cousin and my ex were hooking up while she and I were together.”
Yikes.“I’m sorry.”
“That’s just the way it goes sometimes.” He swirls the wine in his glass.
“I feel like you’re winning at whose breakup was worse.” Like this is some game we’re playing.
He quirks a brow at me and then smirks. “Your turn.”
Part of me hoped he was going to be a gentleman and let me off the hook. No such luck.
“Do you know who Richard Bach is?”
He shakes his head. “Is that your ex?”
“No.” I chuckle. “Richard Bach is an author. He wrote many great books, some of which you were probably assigned to read in school. He’s known for writing philosophical but also accessible literature. His books oftentimes seem like they’re about one thing, but they always have a deeper meaning, like about our own mortality or leaving your comfort zone behind in order to grow.”
