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“That’s great news. Although there are going to be grenades, regardless,” he says with a sigh. “No matter which way my dad goes, there’ll be consequences.”
We hit St. Kilda Road and cross with the late-afternoon crowd. There are high school students in uniform, and tourists snapping pictures and pointing at all the landmarks. An older couple walk beside us, hand-in-hand, a small white dog tugging on its leash in a way that makes them both laugh.
Something twinges deep in my chest as Sebastian snakes an arm around my waist. I keep telling myself I’m done with relationships—done with trying to find love—but whenever I see people together, it makes my heart want to burst. Why can’t I accept that love isn’t for me? I don’t make good choices.
Case in point: one Sebastian Foster.
Sexiest man down under, in my humble opinion. Kind, honest, great with his mouth. He gets joy out of helping people follow their dreams. Could he literally be any more perfect?
But it would never work because I’d be asking him to choose between me and his family.
See, bad decision.
My skirt swishes as I walk and there’s a little friction between my legs. And no, it’s not because my choice in underwear is as bad as my choice in men. It’s because of my little shopping trip. That’s right, I went to an actual sex store to buy myself something naughty. In person. I don’t know how people coped before online shopping, to be honest. Making eye contact with a cashier while purchasing a travel-friend, butterfly-shaped clitoral stimulator is not a horror I recommendanyoneexperience.
But like I said, I have a plan for today.
I’m carrying a picnic basket in one hand that’s full of cheese and fruit and fresh bread from the bakery in South Melbourne that I love. Sebastian thinks I wanted a romantic afternoon before we say goodbye.
I do...kinda.
“This looks like a good spot.” Sebastian crouches to check that the grass isn’t too wet since there was a bit of rain overnight.
I appreciate how considerate he is. He takes note of small details and understands how to make someone feel comfortable. I bet his mentees love him. For a moment, I feel sad that he’s walking away from a career he so obviously adores to take over a business that doesn’t seem to excite him. Anytime he’s mentioned the company, it’s only been in the context of talking about what other people want—his stepbrother, father or grandfather.
Not whathewants.
His career choices are none of your concern.
Sebastian throws the picnic blanket down and smooths out the wrinkles. Watching him, I’m struck by how easy this feels, like we’ve been doing it forever. Like this is any other sunshine-filled day where we’re stealing time away from the real world to be together. To enjoy one another.
I could paint grey hairs and crow’s feet and laugh lines onto this image and it could be us in thirty or forty years.
The thought whacks me in the chest and for a second I can’t breathe. I’veneverfelt that before. Ever. Not with my first fiancé, nor my second. I’ve never seen the future of a relationship with such clarity as the image I have in my head right now. I’ve never had the certainty that something could grow and evolve and improve and last.
I could be with Sebastian forever.
I know it clear as day, like I’m accessing part of my heart that’s never before been opened. I’ve always had doubts before, thoughts I’d hushed and squashed and tucked into a little mental box. Even in the early days with both my exes, I’d worried.
Maybe this is why rebounds are a bad idea—you think it’s all sunshine and roses until it’s not.
But this isn’t a rebound. These feelings are real.
“Pres?” He looks up at me, standing at the edge of the checkered picnic blanket, holding a wicker basket containing our treats. It’s like someone has turned me to stone. “You okay?”
“Of course.” I shake myself out of my thoughts, promising myself I won’t make the mistake of choosing the wrong man again—no matter how much he feels like the right man. “I was taking in the scenery. It’s so beautiful here.”
“I’ve missed this part of Melbourne.” A breeze ruffles his dark hair and he looks so obnoxiously good, like he’s sitting in the middle of aGQcover shoot. His long legs are encased in dark denim and they stretch out in front of him. His leather jacket hugs broad shoulders and the T-shirt underneath is a soft and touchable grey cotton.
“Won’t you miss your mentoring work in Sydney? Or do you think you could do something similar here?” I fluff my skirt out and sit, setting the picnic basket down beside me.
“I doubt I’ll have time for anything but work. The company needs a massive change of direction and a total overhaul of its tech infrastructure, not to mention they’re a good six or seven years overdue for a brand refresh. It’ll be...all-consuming.”
“You don’t sound excited.”
He shrugs. “It’s...daunting. But I can make it happen.”
Not that hewantsto make it happen, or evenneedsto make it happen, but just that hecan. It’s the weakest and least inspiring of the three verbs. But that’s not why we’re here. I have to let go of the feeling that I need to help him or that I’m an ear for him to bend. We’re nothing to each other, just two adults with chemistry.
