Page 111 of One to Watch

Getting outfitted in life jackets (Bea was forced to wear a men’s XXL, which was comically long on her) and into the pedal boat was something of a production, but once they were off on the lake, surrounded by canoes full of camera operators, Asher and Bea pedaled through the green waters into the mouth of the gorge, where limestone cliffs towered over them.

“So, my kids loved you,” Asher said, unable to suppress a grin.

“Excuse me?” Bea was skeptical. “Gwen tolerated me at best.”

“Nope,” Asher corrected. “Last night she emailed me an article she thought you might enjoy about the handlers who work with animals in Hollywood. That’s basically Gwen-speak for ‘be my new best friend.’”

Bea was genuinely surprised. “And did they like the movie?”

“Bea, I swear to you, I’ve heard of little else since you left. Linus wants to know when you can come back to teach him how to contour his cheekbones to look like Katharine Hepburn’s.”

Bea cracked up. “Do you even know what contouring is?”

Asher looked affronted. “I’ll have you know I once spent two hours of my Saturday at a Sephora in Burlington learning exactly what contouring is and how one achieves it. It was terrifying.”

“I cannot believe you went to a Sephora class.”

“Yeah, well. I tried to persuade Linus we’d have more fun at a Revolutionary War reenactment, but he was unconvinced.”

“So, tell me, young grasshopper.” Bea gathered herself up very seriously. “What did you learn in Sephora school?”

“Well”—Asher traced the lines on Bea’s face with his fingers—“when you contour, you want to use bronzer under the cheekbones, here, and along the jaw. To create shadow.”

“Don’t forget the hairline.”

“Yes, of course.” Asher pressed his thumbs to the center of Bea’s forehead, then ran them down to her temples, massaging her gently. “The hairline.”

“Good.” Bea relaxed into his touch. “What else?”

“You highlight all the places that draw light—the cheeks, the bridge of the nose, and just above the lips.”

He rested a finger on her cupid’s bow, and she kissed it softly.

“Did you know you can also contour your décolletage?”

Asher smiled, somewhere between turned-on and incredulous. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. But I can’t show you that right now.” Bea was holding back laughter too. “Because it would be very dangerous to remove our life jackets.”

Asher shook his head and grinned. “Can I please just drop the pretext and kiss you?”

“I swear to God, you’d better.”

It was a little too cold to dine outside that night, but Bea insisted—they were eating at one of her favorite restaurants in the world: La Bastide de Moustiers, Alain Ducasse’s boutique Provençal property, where they also had rooms for the night. The restaurant’s terrace was built into the hillside, and all the tables faced outward so diners could eat while gazing at the beautiful mountains. The waitstaff brought out thick woven blankets to keep them warm, then course after course of the most bright, delicious food she’d ever tasted. They had the whole place to themselves to eat and watch the sunset, the mountains drenched in orange, then pink, then gold.

Once the food had been cleared and the light was almost gone, they nestled together, drinking a champagne toast, the intensity of their connection—how strong her feelings were getting, the fact that his children were now involved—both reassuring Bea and, in its own way, unnerving her.

“I didn’t expect this,” she murmured, “any of it.”

“I know.” He leaned in close. “After Vanessa, I thought I was done. For a long time anyway. But now …”

“Now?” she urged.

“I’m rethinking things.”

He kissed her, and she stayed close to him, caught between her curiosity and her desire to preserve the moment.

“You never talk about her,” Bea said quietly.