Page 109 of One to Watch

“A graceful cloud. Yeah. I can do that.” Sam sounded like he was psyching himself up.

“Are you sure?” Bea asked. “Really, we can skip it—just head back to the hotel and drink our wine.”

Sam nodded. “Let’s do this.”

“Alors, allons-y!” Albert cheered, and led them over to their balloon, which was absolutely gorgeous: It was made of nylon, but treated to look like old-fashioned canvas, ivory with a pattern of vines and flowers in tones of sepia and muted rose.

The fire was whooshing into the balloon’s opening, and Bea expected the launch to be filled with jerks and bumps, like an airplane taking off, but it wasn’t at all—when Albert’s support staff untied the ropes that had been tethering the balloon to the ground, they simply floated off into the air. Bea also assumed it would be loud, but it was nearly silent, just the sounds of the fire and the soft wind as they drifted past countless vineyards, where thousands of grapevines were showing their first hint of green.

“This is breathtaking,” Bea said reverently, not wanting to break the spell. She turned to Sam. “You doing okay?”

He nodded. “A graceful cloud.”

“That’s us,” Bea agreed.

“Maybe if you hugged me a little? Help steady me?”

“You’re shameless.” Bea laughed, but she nuzzled into his arms all the same, and it felt so good to hold him, the countryside spread below them like a picnic.

“So, what do you think?” Sam asked her.

“I think it’s amazing,” Bea replied.

“No, I was asking—what I said to you in New Jersey. We haven’t really talked about it.”

“Oh.” Bea looked up at him. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Was it too much? Too soon? I’ve been nervous.”

“No, not at all. In fact, I actually …”

“What?” Sam urged, tipping up Bea’s chin.

“I should tell you—God, this is embarrassing.” She felt her face flush.

“I’m a grown man afraid of a hot-air balloon, so whatever it is, I think I can handle it.”

Bea tried to smile, but her heart was suddenly pounding. “What you said to me, um. No one’s ever told me that before. In a romantic context.”

Sam frowned. “Are you serious?”

Bea nodded. “I know I’ve made a whole thing about how young you are, but sometimes I feel like I’m the young one.”

“Have you ever said it to anyone?”

Bea shook her head. “I haven’t.”

She’d wanted to say it to Ray—at least, she thought she had—but he’d never given her the chance.

“Okay.” Sam nodded, taking this in. “How did it make you feel to hear that I love you?”

“Exhilarated.” Bea smiled. “Really, really happy—and also terrified.”

“Sounds serious.” Sam was only half-joking. “Can you tell me why you felt scared?”

“I can try,” Bea said quietly, taking a moment to feel the sun on her face, the breeze in her hair, the strange steadiness of this good man standing beside her in the sky.

“I’ve spent a lot of time falling for people who weren’t really available,” she said carefully. “Which means, sad as it sounds, that a lot of my romantic life has taken place in my own imagination. Picturing what it would be like if we were together, extrapolating meaning from subtext, from things left unspoken. But then you go and tell me that you love me, and …”