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The rational part of my brain knew I was just thinking that because I didn’t want this bubble to burst. Because, rationally thinking, going back to LA and to the house we’d lived in for years—together, but not together—would burst the bubble of perfection I’d found here.
I wanted this to last forever.
“Do you think Alma would sell this house to us?” I asked.
Luke stopped strumming. “Ah, probably not. She said it was her parents’ before.”
“I was thinking of selling the house in Malibu,” I admitted. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And when I went back there after I left the cabins, it really felt all wrong.”
“You never lived there,” he mused.
“Nope.”
“Maybe there were residual vibes from the eat-pray-love people,” he said, kinda joking, kinda not. “Maybe it just needs an exorcism, some sage burning, or whatever they do.”
“Pretty sure that’s something the eat-pray-love people would say.”
He might have meant that as a joke, but there was something underlying, like resentment?
“You know,” I said, gently. “I can’t change the fact I dated your sister.” His eyes shot to mine and I knew I’d guessed correctly. “There’s gonna be history and memories. I’m sorry. I wish I could shield you from that, but I can’t change it.”
He held his guitar, poised, ready to play. But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded. “Yeah. I know.”
“I don’t want it to come between us. I don’t want you to resent me or her. Or for it to be something we can’t overcome. But I don’t want you to be smacked in the face with it every time you turn around, either.”
“Is that why you don’t want to go home?”
I sighed, put my arms behind my head, and closed my eyes. “Partly. I don’t want to go back to any of it. Our families aside, of course. But the fame, the fans... it’s not as bad as it used to be. But here, earlier today, we totally walked around the market and the store, and nobody knew us. Nobody cared. It was awesome.” I didn’t really want to admit this next part out loud, but god, I needed to say it. “I just feel...”
“You just feel what?”
I turned my head to look at him. “I feel like I need to leave Atrous behind. It’s not who we are anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I loved it all: the tours, the concerts, the music, and getting to do it all with the guys. What we did, what we accomplished, the shit we saw. It was fucking insane.”
“But?”
“But that’s over. And I don’t know who I am.”
“Blake,” he murmured.
“No, don’t misunderstand. I don’t mean that I’ve lost all meaning or anything. I just mean... well, we were just kids, right? We signed at sixteen. Didn’t even finish high school like everyone else. We graduated via weblink because we were in Paris. Our lives were so far removed from ordinary. We were the pinnacle of fame and fortune—with the pressure, the stress, the injuries—and thenboom.” I snapped my fingers. “It’s over.”
He nodded slowly. “I get it. I do.”
“I just want to be normal,” I added. “I don’t even know whatnormalis. But this,” I gestured to the house, to him and me. “This is honestly the best thing to happen to me in years. I’ve been here for less than one day, and I want this, whatever this is, forever. I want to stay here, just you and me, and forget the rest of the world exists.”
He strummed his guitar a few times, smiling out at the ocean. “I dunno about forever,” he said eventually. “But maybe we could check out the real estate down here for a vacation place.”
I grinned at him. “For real?”
He laughed and strummed some more, one of the songs he’d played in the studio at the cabins. “And maybe I should sell my house,” he said.
“Back home?”
He nodded, strumming quietly. “It’s too big. There’s no point in having a party house when our partying days are well behind us.”
“True.” It was too big. That house could seriously have its own zip code. But then something occurred to me. “Um, did you still want me to live with you? Is that still... are we... What I’m trying to say is...?”
He laughed. “Are we still talking in complete sentences?”
