Page 4 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
Any other twentysomething guy would have tuned me out by now, but Hart is still listening intently, his chin resting on his hand, leaning close.
“Anyway, he wrote this line in one of his books that essentially asks”—I clear my throat—“you’ve sacrificed your entire life to be who you are today. Was it worth it?”
Hart doesn’t speak for a few seconds; he just lets those words sink deep into his psyche. Then his brow creases. “Shit.” He draws out the word.
I nod in agreement. “I know.”
And now I don’t have to tell him that my greatest fear is that I’ve sacrificed the wrong things, that I’m not who or where I want to be. Or that I’m fearful none of it will be worth it.
Lifting the glass to my lips, I take a long sip of cabernet.
“When are you leaving?” he asks.
His question drags me from our stolen moment. “Tomorrow.” Realizing that it’s getting late and that my wineglass is now empty, I should probably pull myself away from his gorgeous hazel eyes and kind smile. If I don’t, I’ll order another glass of wine, and then I don’t know if I’d be so resolute about not following him back to his hotel room, should he suggest it again. “In fact, I should probably go pack.”
I signal the bartender and ask for my check.
“I’ve got it,” he says, handing the bartender his credit card.
I don’t like the idea that I’ve taken advantage of his kindness. I all but cried on his shoulder and quoted some rather depressing literature. I can’t let him buy my drink too.
“This should cover my half,” I say, grabbing a bill from my wallet.
When I set it on the bar in front of him, my hand brushes his, and he seems almost surprised by my gesture, giving me a curious look. Maybe girls his age are happy to let him pay. Probably so.
“Thanks for listening. It was nice meeting you, Hart. Good night.”
“Good night, Alessia. And for the record, I think your ex is an idiot.”
Chapter Two
Say Yes to the Unexpected
Nairobi, Kenya
Six Months Later
You never expect your life to change on a Tuesday.
“Hey, Scarlet,” I say, pressing my phone to my ear.
“Please tell me you’re coming home for the baby shower,” my best friend says. This is her third pregnancy in six years—her last, she’s sworn. I’ve yet to make it to a shower.
“Believe me, I will try.” I tuck a copy of my presentation into my portfolio.
“You work too much, Alessia.”
Scarlet’s right. I’ve missed so many engagement parties, weddings, and baby showers over the years. But part of that was by design. It’s hard to face the reality that while I’m here in Nairobi, life is going on elsewhere in the world, and seeing my closest friends find happiness and glowing with pregnancy is ...hard.
I don’t have any firm plans to head back to the States for a few weeks, but before I can let Scarlet down again, the phone alerts me of an incoming call. I check the display and groan.
“What?” she asks.
“Sean’s calling me.”
“Ignore him.” Her tone is filled with venom. One of the greatest things about having a best friend is that they automatically hate your exes by default.
When Sean and I ended our engagement, Scarlet took me to a place called Smash & Go—where you can suit up in protective gear and smash the hell out of dishes, vinyl records, bathroom tiles, and ceramic vases with bats and sledgehammers. After we’d unleashed our aggression, she took me out for martinis and truffle fries. It’s really a winning combo in terms of breakup therapy. I highly recommend it. Then I was impulsive and booked myself a solo trip to Italy ...
