Page 137 of Road Trip to Forever
“Yeah. He gave me his blessing. He said whenever I got my shit together and asked you out, it better be for real and it better be for life, because that’s what you deserve.”
“Fate,” she whispers.
“Fate,” I agree, kissing her forehead then her cheek. “I know your fear of being left isn’t going to go away overnight. I know you’re going to have moments of doubt, but I hope you never, ever doubt my love for you. In every lifetime, in every realm, in every universe out there, I find you, and you’re it for me. My one and only. The day I leave you won’t be by choice, Lola. They’ll have to pry my hands from yours because I’m not going to go willingly. And then I’ll find you again. You’re my soulmate.”
“How do you know?” she asks. “What if it’s not enough? You can’t see the future. You can’t predict what’s going to happen five or ten years down the road.”
“You’re right. I can’t see the future, but I know how I feel about you in this moment. Right here, right now. Because you and me? We’re inevitable. A sure thing. The grass is green, the sky is blue, and I love you. People search their whole lives for a fraction of what we have, and our lives are just beginning. Our love—my love for you—transcends well out of this world. Our souls are tied together, and my heart belongs to you. I’ve tried to love other people, and I can’t, Lola. I can’t and I never will be able to because they aren’t you. And that’s enough for me.”
Tears stream down her face, a waterfall of the pent-up emotions she’s been keeping inside. I might have scared her, saying too much too soon, but I don’t care. Even if she pushes me away, I’ll stick around, loving her long after she stops loving me.
“I’ve never been so scared or excited about something in my life,” Lola whispers. “It’s going to take some learning on my end, remembering to share my feelings instead of holding them in and thinking I can tackle everything by myself, but I want to try. You’re the only person I’d ever want to try with.”
“We’ll try together. I’m a pushover sometimes. I’m going to work on that. I give in to things too easily. I need to learn to stand my ground,” I say.
“I’m going to travel less,” Lola says. “With opening a store and my commissions through the roof, I want to be home more. Home with you. If you want to buy a house or stay in the city, I don’t care. Where you go, I go.”
“We’ll figure it out. We’re always going to figure it out. I promise you, Lola.”
“A sure thing, right?” she whispers and I nod, grinning at her like I’ve won the lottery.
“The most sure thing,” I say, then I kiss her. Then I kiss her again and again because I can, and that’s the most important thing that’s ever happened to me.
She laughs against my lips. “It’s funny.”
“What’s funny? Kissing me?”
“We drove all the way to Florida, but I don’t think it was for the fashion show. I think that was a road trip to forever. A journey to find each other and our future. Without the show, we might have gone years without saying anything about how we feel.”
“My next tattoo might have to be a car,” I say. “In commemoration of a trip we’ll remember for a lifetime.”
“Where would you put it?” she asks.
“Over my heart. The spot that’s yours.”
“Maybe I’ll get one too. We could match.”
“Matching tattoos? That’s a serious commitment.”
“I’m not scared.” Lola lifts her chin. “Are you?”
“No. With you, Lola, I’m never scared.”
FORTY
PATRICK
“Why am I so nervous?”Lola bounces on the balls of her feet and twirls her hair around her fingers. “This isn’t a big deal. People do this all the time.”
“It’s very obvious you don’t do this all the time,” I say.
She’s been on edge since I picked her up fifteen minutes ago, adjusting her ponytail eight different ways and tapping her hand against her thigh. Riding the elevator up to Henry and Emma’s apartment is amplifying her anxious energy, a current circulating through the small space. I don’t know if she’s about to charge into their place like a bat out of hell or go back to the ground floor and wait patiently in the car.
I’m following her lead.
“Says the guy who never panics about anything,” she grumbles, folding her arms over her chest. “A hurricane could come through and I don’t think you’d be stressed out.”
“That’s not true. I panic about plenty of things. I sweat through my shirt the first day of the fashion show because I was so nervous for you,” I admit, watching the numbers above the doors climb higher and higher. “Someone asked if I was ill and needed a doctor.”
