Page 39 of Tempted Hearts
We’d made our way back to Monterosso—on the train since we missed the last ferry—and shared a pizza for dinner. If I realized how few bars there were, I might have suggested lingering after dinner for another drink.
“There’s a rooftop on our hotel.” I nodded toward a wine store. “Since you’re a Sciacchetrà fan, and it’s a local wine, I’m sure they have it in there.”
“Sounds good.”
It wasn’t until we were at the register when I mumbled “One point Jules” that Cole realized he’d inadvertently admitted to liking the wine. Which meant, in my book, having fun.
He didn’t even argue but instead gave me a grudging look of acceptance.
We walked to the hotel in silence. I had no idea what Cole was thinking, but for myself, thoughts raced and jumbled together in an orchestra that was anything but in sync.
Being goal-driven is fine.
The words of my amazing therapist flitted through my head.
But don’t be so locked into a defined future outcome that misses the glimmers.
I’d never heard the word used that way before, but since then I couldn’t stop looking for them.
I was still wondering if Cole was a glimmer, or just the opposite, after we stopped in the lobby to snag two glasses by the water station and made our way up to the rooftop.
“You’re obviously goal-driven,” I said, Cole opening the bottle with the wine opener he’d purchased. “How do you balance knowing what you want, planning your future, but allowing for glimmers?”
I took the wine from him, momentarily lost in the sight of his hands. They were mature, powerful… utterly male.
“Glimmers?”
“Tiny sparks,” I said. “Stuff that makes you feel something without warning. A laugh you didn’t see coming. A view you weren’t expecting. Someone who…”
I hesitated for a half-second, lifting my glass to buy time.
“Someone who surprises you.”
He watched me closely, and I had to look away before I said something stupid.
“My therapist says I spend so much time bracing for disappointment that I miss the tiny good things. Glimmers are like… reminders my whole life doesn’t have to be a crisis to fix.”
I shrugged, trying to play it off.
“It’s easy to plan out your whole future and still miss the moments that actually matter.”
Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I could tell Cole was watching me.
“He, or she, sounds like a wise person.”
“She.” I chanced a look over at him. “I haven’t talked to her in a while, but she’s pretty incredible.”
“Did you start therapy for a specific reason?”
His voice was quiet, Cole’s tone thoughtful. Easy to answer honestly to.
“Yes. I was at a crossroads in my career, feeling unsure about my future. Someday I hope to be a full-time writer—I’ve been working on a thriller—but haven’t made the time. She helped me see that it was okay not to have the answers yet. Piecing together a career to pay the bills—some community college teaching, some tutoring and freelance jobs—wasn’t anything to be ashamed of.”
He looked genuinely confused. “Why would you be ashamed of it?”
Again, I shrugged, trying to pretend it hadn’t been an existential crisis in my life a few years ago. “Everyone around me is so stable. I’m like a hot mess express pretty much twenty-four-seven, and my career is exhibit A. But I learned a little uncertainty is okay. Now I look for the glimmers that help shape what’s to come. Like my highest-paying freelance job that I got by talking to a guy sitting next to me in the airport. I saw what he was reading and took it as a glimmer, struck up a conversation, and it turned out he was the editor of a mid-sized publishing house. We ended up talking the whole flight. Two weeks later, he emailed asking if I’d take on a freelance developmental edit for one of their authors.”
He was staring.
