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“I don’t have to believe in love,” he says, “to respect the fact that you do.”
Something lodges in my throat and I nod, keeping my eyes on his strong, tanned hands. Wanting to reach out and slide my fingers through his.
We grab plates and the food and head out onto the patio. Ace joins us and Anthony uncorks a wine bottle, pouring us a glass each.
“Thanks for not gloating,” I say.
“About what?”
“I didn’t get you love by the end of three dates. I know, I technically lost the bet.”
He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I never expected you to.”
“Ouch.”
Anthony rolls his eyes. “Not like that. Like I told you, dating just isn’t for me.”
“I know. But anyway, thanks for not rubbing it in my face. My one and biggest failure.”
He snorts and takes another bite of his pasta, his hair nearly ink-black beneath the evening sun. A sliver of tanned skin and dark chest hair peeks out from the V of his button-down.
“Like I said, Summer, you should embrace mediocrity.”
“I can’t,” I say. “Not when you’ve invited me to a house that’s practically the Garden of Eden come to life. How will I ever be able to settle for anything less?”
“Your apartment doesn’t have a lot of room for an infinity pool,” he points out.
“No, nor does it have an ocean view.”
He clears his throat. “I called the windsurfing company earlier.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” he says. “They can give you a private two-hour session tomorrow. Would you like that?”
My fork and knife drop to the plate with a clatter. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious, if you’d like to.” But judging from the way he leans back in his chair with that half-smile on his face, he can already read the excitement on mine.
“Of course I want to! Where is it? Are you trying it too?”
He shakes his head. “No, this one is all yours. It’s a beach close to here. We’ll drive there.”
“Windsurfing,” I murmur, looking down at my plate. It had been an impulsive addition to the bucket list. The one I’d written two weeks after I cut Robin out of my life. A way to reclaim myself and my goals and interests. To promise myself to push the boundaries.
Windsurfing had been a crazy, wild, totally unlike me suggestion. I was raised inland. But here it was, coming true.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
“Yes, because I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this. I might be awful at it.”
“If you’ve never tried before, you probably will be,” he says. “All beginners are.”
“That’s true. Nothing to worry about then.”
“The instructors are professionals. They’ve seen hundreds of beginners before.”
I eat in stunned silence, contemplating my luck. The man in front of me. The weekend plans I have to look forward to. Anthony looks at me every now and then, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
