“You’re nineteen. Plenty old enough for boys and love,” Grandma says softly.
“Ha. I don’t have the time or energy.”
Boys are… Well, they’reboys. And most are only interested in sex or…more sex. I’m not saying this out of some preconceived notion. That’s just how it’s been in high school and college so far. I don’t know why I should sleep with a guy just becausehewants it, especially when there are so many risks involved. STDs. Unwanted pregnancy. Okay, so you get an orgasm if the guy is decent in bed, but that seems like a consolation prize. And orgasms aren’t worth the hassle of sleeping with a boy, especially if you aren’t really sure.
If I sleep with a guy, it’s going to be with somebody I can’t imaginenotbeing with. Someone who I feel happy and content with just by being together. I want what my grandparents have.
“Such an unromantic child.” Grandma sighs, half serious, half teasing. “We tried to fix that by teaching you how to dance.”
“Which I appreciate, since I’ll be dancing like a dream when I meet the love of my life.” I smile. “I’m sure it’ll happen when I’m ready.”
My grandparents start laughing for some reason. Grandpa actually wipes a tear from one eye. “Aspen, little darling, love comes when you least expect it, not when you’reready.”
“Exactly.” Grandma nods. “If it comes only when it’s convenient, then it isn’t love.”
Chapter Eight
Grant
After getting Aspen’s text about the restaurant, I set my expectations low. It’s the best way to avoid disappointment. So long as there aren’t rats scuttling around my feet, I’ll be fine.
I step out of the cherry-red Maserati Dad gave me when I got into college. Actually, he gave a Maserati—our choice of color—to every one of my brothers. That’s how he parents, and I’m perfectly happy with it. Things might have gotten awkward if he tried to act like he cared all of a sudden.
The restaurant isn’t fancy, but it isn’t dilapidated or anything. It’s a quaint little place with a sloped red roof and faux-stone walls that fit right in with the whole Napa Valley Tuscan vibe.
I walk inside, and immediately get hit with the mouth-watering aroma of sizzling garlic and butter. Unlike the hoity-toity places that Mom likes to drag me to, which would have a string quartet playing Verdi or something, this joint has Ed Sheeran coming from the sound system.
For that alone, I like it.
A smiling hostess appears in a black-and-white uniform. “Hi! Can I help you?”
“There should be a reservation for two under Aspen Hughes,” I say.
“Oh yes, she’s here. This way.”
“Actually, hold on a minute.” I give her some instructions, making sure she understands she isn’t to let Aspen know what I’m doing.
“My lips aretotallysealed,” she says, making a zipping motion across her mouth.
“Thanks.”
She leads me to a small round table for two by a window that overlooks an illuminated garden full of flowering rosemary bushes. Aspen’s already seated, in a white Aquinas College T-shirt, faded denim skirt and strappy sandals. Although she isn’t wearing much makeup, she looks so pretty that I can’t even blink. Her coppery red hair is down and flowing softly around her shoulders, and the mellow light from the candles on the table gives her moss-green eyes a tender glow.
I don’t know why I thought she had the body of a Vegas stripper. She’s more like an erotic pagan goddess men must’ve worshipped in an earlier era.
Without thinking, I pick up the plumeria from the small centerpiece on the table and tuck it behind her ear. “Perfect,” I murmur.
Her cheeks turn pink, but she doesn’t remove the flower. “Is this how you hit on girls who give you a free dinner?”
I smile as I take the chair opposite her. “Only when they’re pretty.”
She stares at me, her plump lips slightly parted, as though she can’t decide what to make of the comment. Or me, for that matter. I hold her gaze and give her time to process.
Our server interrupts the moment. “Welcome to Benedicto’s! And Aspen, nice to see you again.”
She turns to him with a relieved smile. “Hey, Zack.”
The guy can’t be older than twenty-one. Maybe a college kid working part-time. Not somebody she’s ever dated, not from the soulful look he’s giving her. But he’d love to.
