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She lifts a shoulder. “Sure, I performed well in a classroom setting. But I could be a disaster waiting to happen in real life.”
“That’s what on-the-job training is for. And I can already tell you’ll be an asset to any company lucky enough to have you. You’re sharp, personable, and have a good heart.”
She nibbles at her lip, sending fresh fantasies about what I’d like to do to her mouth flooding through my head. “You really think that’s an asset?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, my dad’s a nice guy, but I wouldn’t say he has a good heart. Not when it comes to the company’s bottom line. He’s from the tough as nails, show-no-weakness school of business.” She sighs and sets her fork down beside her bowl. “I’m sure he’s going to spend a good chunk of my on-the-job training trying to toughen me up. Bring out my ruthless side.”
I arch a brow and reach for my wine, after all, hoping it might slow my racing thoughts. “Do you have a ruthless side?”
She tilts her head thoughtfully, causing her now dry, glossy curls to slide over her shoulder, exposing her neck. “I’m sure I do. Most people do, I think, given the right circumstances. I’ve just been lucky enough not to have my ruthless side forced to the surface.” She spins her wineglass in a slow circle on the table, gazing wistfully at the golden liquid. “But I don’t want to be ruthless for a job, any job, even one that’s my family’s legacy.”
I’m about to ask her what that legacy is and, more importantly, what she wants her legacy to be, when the grandfather clock in the living room starts to chime.
Sydney sits up abruptly. “Is it eight already?” She reaches for the napkin in her lap, drawing it across her mouth before standing to push her chair in. “Excuse me, I have to run upstairs for a minute. I’ll be back to help with the dishes.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I assure her, grateful our talks of ruthlessness and legacies have made it possible for me to stand without embarrassing myself. “What do you need to do upstairs? Anything I can help with?”
She hesitates beside me, sending her sweet smell rushing through my head and making the urge to draw her against me almost unbearable. “You want to see? You can come along if you want, but I’ll warn you…it’s a little weird.”
“I’m not afraid of weird.” I drop my napkin beside my now-empty bowl.
Sydney’s mouth hooks up on one side. “You don’t seem like you’re afraid of much.”
She’s right. I’m not afraid of much.
So why are you so spooked by the chemistry between you two? I wonder as we head toward the circular staircase in the living room. Is it just a case of not wanting to cross a line with a woman who’s so much younger than I am? Or is it something else entirely?
Maybe I’m not afraid of starting something with Sydney; maybe I’m afraid of how hard it will be to stop wanting more of her. I can already tell one or two nights wouldn’t be enough. If I feel her under me, around me, coming on my cock, I’m going to need to feel it at least a hundred times.
Two hundred.
And neither of us is in a place for something like that to come easy.
We’re both transitioning into new phases of our lives, but those phases couldn’t be more different. She’s diving into her career full force, and I’m continuing to step away from an active role in mine. She’s starting her young adult life, and I’m spitting distance from middle age.
We might both love wildlife and daydream about hiking in Spain, but only one of us can take a month off next summer to do it. As much as I feel drawn to her, I should look for a partner closer to my own age or continue to fly solo.
Solo is good. I’ve been happily single for nearly two years and haven’t had a serious relationship in far longer.
It’s been so long that I thought my fantasies about whirlwind passion leading to the kind of close, loving family I couldn’t make work the first time around were a thing of my past. I’m old enough now to know that not all dreams come true. That’s just life, and it’s better to be grateful for what you have than waste time lamenting what you’ve missed.
But there’s something about Sydney that makes me want to throw all that out the window, to believe in miraculous twists of fate and mystical second chances.
So many factors had to align for us to have this night together. Wouldn’t it be arrogant to think I know better than a universe that’s conspired to connect me with this incredible woman?
At the top of the circular staircase, Sydney reaches out to flick a switch on a lightbox fixed to the railing. All around us, blue lights flicker to life in the floor and ceiling, until the large circular landing glows softly in the darkness.
“Wow.” I step out onto the wooden floor and turn slowly, taking in the windows on every side of the old lamp room.
“Right?” Sydney smiles as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Sometimes, on clear nights, I’ll bring a sleeping bag up here and sleep on the floor so I can watch the moon rise over the ocean.” She points toward another smaller circular staircase to our right. “That leads to the third-floor guest bedroom. It’s nice, too, but the windows are smaller. You can’t see as much as you can down here.”
“It’s incredible,” I say with a shake of my head. “If this place were mine, I’d be up here all the time.”
Sydney hums beneath her breath. “You say that now, but it can get spooky up here. Especially once you know the legend of the woman in white.”
I arch a brow her way. “This is the tragic tale you were going to tell me over dinner?”
