Page 143 of Road Trip to Forever
“This cannot bethe same place as five hours ago,” Jo says, wiping sweat from her brow. “Look how big it is.”
Our friends came to the store armed with coffee and donuts, ready to get to work. We’ve spent all morning knocking down walls and pulling up ratty pieces of carpet, taking them to the dumpster out back. It’s laborious and far from glamorous, but it’s the start of something special. The first shuffle toward a very big and very important step in making my dreams come true.
“The windows are my favorite part,” I say. They’re floor-to-ceiling glass on either side of the door, natural light flooding across the hardwood floors we discovered an hour ago.
“Are you going to keep the chandelier?” Rebecca asks, pointing at the crystal light fixture above our heads.
“I like it,” Emma says. “It gives the room character.”
“I think it’s going to stay. Light is always a good thing. It’ll look nice when we get furniture in here,” I decide.
I glance over to the other end of the room where the guys are hard at work rolling paint onto the walls. Three sides are green, like the color of Patrick’s eyes. The longest wall on the back side is a bright pink to match the exact shade of the Vivian Lee dress that kickstarted my dream.
It’s going to take a few months to get the place fixed up and ready for customers. Add in the legal side of things, and I’ll be happy to open by Christmas. Still, I can already see the vision coming to life.
I can’t believe this place ismine, something I’m creating from the ground up with the best of friends—and the best partner—by my side.
Patrick looks at me over his shoulder and smiles, as if he senses me thinking about him. He tilts his head and lifts his eyebrow. I nod, one of our silent conversations passing between us.
You good?he asks.
Better than good,I answer.I’m great.
He sets down his paintbrush and walks over, dodging a tray of spilled nails and ducking under a ladder.
“You’re going to have bad luck,” I say.
“Oh well. This was fun while it lasted, right?”
“Right.” I spin in a circle and put my hands on my hips. “What do you think?”
“About the room or the way your ass looks in those jeans? Spin again, but slower this time.”
I flick his ear. “Can you be serious, please?”
“It already looks great.”
“Are you sure you want to invest your money in me?” I ask. “Fashion is a fickle industry. There’s no guarantee I’ll be successful. I could go years without making a profit, and I don’t want you to have any regrets about your decision.”
“I’m always going to bet on you,” Patrick says. “Win or lose. Money or no money. I don’t care. You know what Idocare about? Seeing you happy. This place makes you happy, so I’m all in. And I know, I justknowyou’re going to be successful, Lola. A few years from now you’ll be so busy you won’t have time for your boyfriend, a principal who’s pulling macaroni out of a kid’s nose.”
“You’re not wrong about a lot of things, but you’re wrong about that, Patrick Walker,” I say. “I will always have time for you. No matter where I travel. No matter how long I’m gone. I’m always going to come back to you. You are my home.”
“You can go away for as long as you need to. I want you to see the world. I want you to do everything you want to do, honey. Take all the classes you can find and learn from every designer out there. I’m always going to be waiting for you with a light on whenever you get home.”
It’s an agreement, neither of us having to give up a part of ourselves to make the other happy. Maybe I’ll get him to take that trip to Japan. Maybe I won’t. It doesn’t matter, because at the end of every day, Patrick will be there. Just like he’s been there for the last twenty-four years.
“I’ll always bring you a little souvenir,” I promise.
“Lola Jones, you are too good to me.”
Patrick kisses me and we ignore the cheers from our friends. The hoots and hollers and the unenthusiastic mumble offinallyfrom Jack. I kiss him back with every fiber of my soul because he is the stitching of my entire being.
“You all didn’t have to give up your Saturday to come help,” I say to the group when we pull apart. “I’m sure there were more fun things to do with your day than pulling nails out of the wall.”
“We wanted to be here,” Jo says. She tugs me away from Patrick and slings her arm around my shoulder. “That’s what friends do.”
“It’s really so you don’t forget about us when you’re famous,” Emma adds.
