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Aster maneuvered the car onto a small road running parallel to Eli’s house.
“Would it ease your conscience to think of it as helping Eli waste his father’s money? You’re doing him a favor by letting me spoil you for your birthday. He probably has a check written to the charity of your choice waiting on board.”
“Which one of you came up with that?”
“We worked on it together.”
Aster stopped the car in front of what was indisputably a private, single-runway airfield. He turned to her in his seat. “We can cancel if you really want to. But I did also conspire with Eli and Justine to get you off work tomorrow. And Roy and Alannah are on Pawntès duty.”
“What . . . does all that mean?” A part of her wanted to resist the stupendous generosity in front of her, and another part wanted to leap into the unknown via the small private plane in the distance. It was all wrapped up in so much kindness, thoughtfulness, love. Romantic and platonic, from would-be lovers and too-involved friends. She didn’t know how to accept it.
“That plane is set to take us to one of Bentley’s family properties. Their big vineyards are in California, obviously, but they have a little one over in New York with a bed-and-breakfast attached. We’ve been there before,” Aster said as he threaded their fingers together across his car’s center console. “I have a reservation. For dinner and a room.”
It might have been the fault of Aster’s burning sincerity as he waited for her answer, but Molly felt like kindling too close to his open flame.
She gave up. Gave in. “I did give you permission to woo me,” she said, already anticipating his self-satisfied smirk.
Instead, he looked deadly serious. “I love you so much.”
Molly’s heart caught against her ribs. He grinned, stepping out of the car and circling it to open her door. “Come on,” he said as he offered her his hand. “There’s champagne waiting for us.”
Between the private aircraft, the best champagne she’d ever had, and the short flight that had them on the ground in another state in under an hour, Molly felt trapped in a whirlwind—or perhaps a whirlpool—by the time Aster opened the door for her at a charming, lost-to-the-wilderness-looking place.
Inside—after the obligatory logistics of check-in and bag drop-off—they were ushered directly into a large, vaulted space with walls lined in enormous oak barrels. Candles crowded a table set for two in the center of the room.
Molly expelled a soft, breathy noise, feeling like the air had been literally stolen from her lungs by the simple intimacy in front of her.
“Private dining? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, should I?” She was melting like the candles.
“Three years ago, we came here for your birthday,” Aster said, leading the way to the table. “And as you now know, I proposed.” He pulled out a chair for her. Of all times, this felt like the best to indulge on a trip down memory lane. Without living there, she wanted to visit, memorize it with a fresh perspective.
“And then we were married by the end of the next year,” she started, spoken like a question, but intended to sort the information in her head, adding this beautiful visual to accompany it. “This was after everything with your parents, right?”
“Yes. That Christmas dinner was during our first year dating. And I have no regrets, before you try to ask.”
“I wasn’t going to.” She smiled, and despite her best efforts to control her curiosity, a question found its way out regardless. “But. You don’t—have any regrets about cutting ties with your family? Giving up the ability to do things like this”—she took in the room around them—“whenever you want?” It seemed like so much, too much, to lose.
He reached for her hand, a now familiar gesture between them.
“Barring the fact that I’m painfully, irrationally in love with you, there’s no version of my life where I could ever do better than what I have with you, wealthy or not. Their money isn’t worth a fraction of this.” He squeezed her fingers, thumb running along the top of the ring. “You make everything in my life better. Sometimes I feel like this is a hopelessly one-sided relationship. One where I get everything and I can’t understand why you’re still here.”
She swallowed, struggling to meet his eyes. “Is that what you’re so afraid of? That I’ll decide I don’t get anything out of this?”
“Every day,” The pressure of his hand in hers remained steady. A beat passed before he admitted the rest. “Especially since it happened.”
It had consumed nearly every aspect of her life since she’d woken up with blank spaces in her brain. She carried it with her every day, and he did too.
“Well, that’s preposterous. In the five months I’ve had to experience what it’s like to be in a relationship with you, I’d say I’ve gotten a lot out of it, and I don’t even have the full story.” She held up her fingers to count things off. “I’ve gotten unwavering support”—one finger—“patience”—another—“balance”—a third. “You can be as single-minded as I can, and you’re probably the first person I’ve ever known to effectively slow me down when I need it.” A fourth and fifth digit joined her count. Then she mimed sipping a coffee. “The dinosaur mug!”
Aster blinked. Evidently overwhelmed by her surety, he looked down at the tablecloth, grinned, and then let out a single laugh. Astonishment, Molly wanted to call it. It twisted her heart to think he’d find any of that astonishing in the least.
A server appeared. Wine was poured and orders taken. Grateful distractions enjoyed.
“Does that bottle say it’s the ‘Bishop Vintage?’” Molly asked, squinting at the elaborate script on the label.
Aster flashed her a knowing grin, vulnerability shoved back into whatever sequestered corners he kept it in. “Bentley is surprisingly sentimental. This was the harvest from the year we were engaged. He’d mentioned it was ready for us.”
“Speaking of Bentley,” Molly started, taking a sip of what was allegedly her own bespoke vintage. “We had a little heart-to-heart. Are you aware he thinks he’s been flirting with Eli?”
