Page 36 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
I told him in London, on the walk to the restaurant the night we had dinner, that after the first of the year, my work with the school in Nairobi would steal most of my time, and it’s true. That’s a few months away. The old Alessia would overanalyze and overthink this to death. At least, according to Scarlet. For once I don’t want to do that.
“Okay,” I say softly.
“I’m going to send a car for you.”
“I can drive myself. It’s only an hour or so from here.”
“Whatever you prefer.” He pauses, voice dropping lower. “So you’ll come?”
“I’ll come.”
I almost talk myself out of going like six times.
After I’ve packed and unpackedtwice, I stand in front of the mirror and dab lip gloss onto my lower lip.
“Not everyone gets the fairy tale,” I say to my reflection.
I’m not foolish enough to believe otherwise.
Maybe this is all I’ll get—a good life, friends who love me, work that feeds my soul ... and the occasional hot fling. It could be worse.
Buck up, buttercup.
I get in my car and drive to Napa.
It’s a perfect cloudless sky and seventy-five degrees outside. The drive passes by quickly, and when I get closer, I turn down the Lana Del Rey song I’m listening to and pay attention to the GPS.
The Winthrop family owns the Caelum Winery, which Hart told me meansheavenin Latin. It’s not open to the public, and they don’t have wine tastings, but it’s a real working winery with a small vineyard, where they produce wine that’s bottled and enjoyed by the family or donated to charity auctions.
Apparently, there’s a large estate home and then a small guesthouse, where he and I will be staying. Hart filled me in on the details when I asked about the sleeping arrangements.
The GPS indicates that I’m here, but I wonder if this is right. There’s a very long gravel driveway—at least a quarter mile long—that leads to what can only be described as acastle.Estate, my rear.
I turn onto the long driveway, slowing so I don’t kick up too much gravel, and take in all the details. It’s absolutely breathtaking. Before I make it very far, two men on dirt bikes come roaring up, and I slowto a stop. They park beside me. One of the men pulls off his helmet. It’s Hart.
It’s been over two weeks since I last saw him, and somehow, he’s even more handsome than I remember. I forgot how tall he is, how strong and lean his body is. He’s dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, which he manages to make look incredible.
He treats me to a secret smile, then hops off the bike and kicks down the kickstand before jogging over to my car window, which I’ve rolled down.
His hair is disheveled from the helmet, and his skin is lightly tanned from the sun. His dimpled smile does something weird to my stomach, causing it to pitch.
“Hi,” he says, pressing his hands onto the doorframe of my car and leaning down toward the window, where he studies me.
“Hi.”
The other man has hopped off his bike and removed his helmet as well.
Hart tips his chin toward him. “This is my cousin Hayes.”
“Hello.” I give him a weird little wave.
I didn’t expect to meet any of his family.
Hayes is tall and lean, like Hart, and about the same age. He has haunted gray eyes and longer hair, but you can tell they’re related. I can’t help but wonder if this was the cousin he told me about in Florence—the one who slept with his girlfriend.
“It’s nice to meet you. Welcome.” He nods, tipping his chin at me.
Hart gives him a casual handshake, and they exchange a few words that I can’t hear; then Hayes puts his helmet back on and takes off on the dirt bike.
