“Different how?”
“I want you to think of it as a date. And while we’re on our date, I want you to consider whether you want to go on another one with me, and maybe a third and a fourth. Because I think that’s what I want. I want to try.”
George’s smile appears like a sunrise over a hilltop, slowlyascending until it’s fully formed, and its magnificent glow warms my face. “What about a fifth date?”
“I think I probably want that, too.” My voice shakes when I laugh. “It could be a disaster, and the timing isn’t terrific after everything that happened with Nate, but he feels like a blip.”
Here is the line I never thought I’d see the other side of. I take a breath, because I am crossing it.
“The twelve months we were together are nothing compared to what you and I have shared. To what we could share, if we choose to. I want to find out, George. I want to see what it would be like if we weren’t just friends. I want more. And I want you to decide whether you do, too.”
His gaze brims with tenderness. “Should we start over, then?” he says. “I don’t want to mess up our first date.”
I stand straighter. “Hello,” I say, a little giddy now.
“Hi,” George says, drinking me in. “You look beautiful, Frankie.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
The host shows us not to the very best seat in the restaurant, but outside, to a wooden table set beneath Sitka spruces, right where the forest meets the beach. At the center of the table is a note in thick card stock with the hotel’s seal at the top.
Have a magical evening.
—Kevin
George passes it to me as we take our seats.
“I spoke to Kevin about our reservation,” I tell him. “I asked if he could help me make tonight the most romantic of our honeymoon.”
His eyes sparkle. “Uh-oh.”
“I know,” I say. “But I talked him out of the violinist and the white swan he’d been planning to put in our bathtub while we dined.”
“I actually don’t know if you’re joking right now.”
A server delivers two glasses of pink bubbly to the table, with regards from Kevin. George and I clink our flutes together and take a sip, our eyes fastened on each other like the clasp of a bracelet.
There are strings of lights flickering in the branches and a basket of blankets for when it turns chilly. But right now, it’s perfect. There’s something sweet in the night air. Grassy stems of salt rush dance in the gentle breeze.
It’s a vegetarian meal, per my request. Kevin must have sweet-talked the chef, because these dishes aren’t even on the menu. We’re served a gorgeous wild mushroom ragù on homemade pappardelle—the chanterelles and porcinis are foraged locally. My grandmother on my dad’s side taught both George and me how to identify the mushrooms that grew in the woods after a heavy rain. George nudges me with his foot—he’s remembering it, too.
After we take our first few bites, I say, “I can make a pretty decent vegan mac and cheese.”
His eyebrows rise. “Vegan?”
“Uh-huh. I developed the recipe when Brie was on a plant-based kick.” I lean closer, lowering my voice. “But I’m worried about you getting enough protein. Do you need me to steal a chicken from a coop later? I won’t tell anyone.”
“Leave the chickens alone,” he says.
“You’re going to have a shake when we go back to the villa, aren’t you?”
George laughs, twirling a ribbon of pasta around his fork. “Leave my shakes alone, too.”
The whole time we’re eating, an eddy of anticipation swirlsthrough me. As George and I talk, I realize that while I’ve asked him to think of tonight as a date, it’s no different from any other meal we’ve shared. I don’t think I’d want it to be. But when the evening grows darker, all the things about George I haven’t let myself notice until this week begin to beckon. I think of how phenomenal our kiss was and wonder what else we’d be good at.
His eyes meet mine across the table, and I think he knows where my mind is, because his knee presses against mine and stays there.
I pay for dinner, despite George’s protest, then rise from the table and extend my hand. He puts his palm in mine. Without speaking, we walk down the short path to the beach, and I take off my sandals when the trail dissolves into sand. The moon is high, the water an infinity of black ink. I’m a little nervous, but as we stand next to each other, listening to the ocean, the salt breeze on our faces, I also feel like I’m where I’m meant to be. Standing on the edge of the world with George, ready to embark on a new adventure.
