Page 84 of Road Trip to Forever
I want him, and I’d give up everything to have him.
I don’t want him just as a best friend. Not as a physical release of pent-up frustration, only keeping him around for a night.
No.
I want his body, his brilliant mind, his gracious heart.
I want his dreams and his nightmares.
I want his bright Saturdays and every Monday after. The dreary days. The middle-of-the-road Wednesdays way down in the middle of November when there’s nothing to look forward to. I want them all.
“Nothing is wrong. Everything is perfect,” I say. “Thank you, Patrick. This is—” I close my eyes, at a loss for words. How do you convey the depth of your gratitude when someone does something so incredible for you thatthank youisn’t nearly sufficient enough? “You’re my favorite person in the world.”
“Out of all of them?” he asks.
“Every single one.”
He laughs. He presses a kiss to my forehead, to my cheek, to the tip of my nose. I want to tilt my chin up and capture his mouth with mine.
“You’re my favorite person in the world too, Lola. No one else stands a chance.”
I’m falling in love with you.
I’m falling in love with you.
I hope you’re falling in love with me too, because I don’t think I can bear it if you’re not.
I have to tell him.
TWENTY-THREE
PATRICK
Lola is jittery.
She’s rearranged the books in her arms eight different ways.
Alphabetical order first, then a rainbow pattern. Shortest page count to longest was next before finally deciding to put her favorite novel—the one with a purple cover and yellow writing—on top with an exhilarated grin.
Her head is on a swivel, looking left then right. She laughed—loudly and vivaciously—during Mia’s talk. Teared up when she listened to how the love stories were crafted and created, a little bit of reality and a little bit of fantasy behind the prose and plot ideas. Jumped to her feet and cheered during the standing ovation at the conclusion of the panel.
Me? I’m just happy she’s happy.
There are a handful of other men here. Partners of some of the audience members doing their best to look enthusiastic. A dad with a teenage girl at the back of the room, leaning against a wooden post with his arms crossed over his chest. A couple in front of us, with matching heart tattoos on their wrists and holding hands while they wait in line to get their books signed.
“It’s almost our turn,” Lola whispers. “What should I say to her?”
“What would you want someone to say if they came up to you and talked about your designs?” I ask.
“I think it would be similar to my conversation with Vivian. I’d want to know that they enjoyed what I created. That they saw a part of themselves and related to it, even if it was just some fabric stitched together. I’d like to know it meant something to them.”
“Then that’s exactly what you should say to Mia.” I move my hand to her lower back and give her a gentle nudge forward. The couple in front of us steps away, letting out dual squeals of excitement as they fawn over the signatures and notes written in the interior of their books. “Ready?”
“Ready.” Lola perks up and stretches out her hand to the redhead behind the table. “Hi, Mia. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Hi there,” Mia says. She smiles and shakes Lola’s hand. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Lola.” She sets her stack of books down and glances up at me. “And this is Patrick.”
