Page 91 of Road Trip to Forever
“The plan,” I say.
She huffs. “Fine. I can be patient.”
“Good.” I bring her to my chest, our bodies flush together. She draws her legs up, socked feet against my calves. “Sleep, sweetheart. There’s only a few hours until morning, and it’s going to be another long day.”
“I can’t wait to see what you have planned.” Lola yawns and closes her eyes. “I don’t care if it’s watching paint dry. Every day with you is my new favorite day.”
I hold those words close to my heart, alongside all the other things she’s told me. How when she’s with me, she thinks she can fly. How happy I make her. She’s handing over the keys to her heart, and I intend to protect it. Fight for it. Make her see that she’s worthy of a forever, and I have no plans to leave her behind.
Lola’s breathing turns soft and steady. Her hand stays in mine, grip slackening ever so slightly but never letting go.
I lie there for hours, knowing it wasn’t a shitty hotel room that made this moment feel like magic.
It washer.
She’s the magic, the brightest star in every sky and the reason I don’t want to go to sleep. Because sleep means a second away from her, and I don’t want to waste any time.
And as the sun starts to creep in through the curtains and my eyes get heavy, I whisper “I love you” into her ear, because I’ve never been more sure about anything—anything—in my entire life.
TWENTY-FIVE
LOLA
Patrick tieda scarf around my head when we left the house this morning on our way to my surprise. I can’t see where we’re going, but I know we’ve been in the Jeep for close to forty-five mintes. I’m fidgety and hovering near the edge of my seat, not used to sitting stationary for so long without any stimulation. He said we were close, and I’m growing restless with every mile we drive in the car.
I tap my foot. I braid my hair and fiddle with my bracelet, turning it clockwise then counterclockwise. I count to a thousand then I count backwards, wondering how much longer it’s going to be.
“Almost there,” Patrick says. It’s soothing and calm, a breath of fresh out. I relax with his voice and he reaches over, squeezing my knee. “I’m sorry this is taking so long. I didn’t anticipate us sitting in traffic.”
“That’s okay,” I answer. “Good things are worth the wait.”
The car slows, nearing a crawl. A window rolls down and a rush of heat kisses my skin. Warm air, music playing. There’s a low conversation, and a laugh I know belongs to Patrick.
I’d know his laugh in the dead of night. It’s one of my favorite sounds in the world.
“Are we spending time outside?” I ask when the car moves again. I figured as much, when he told me I could wear shorts and a tank top but no jeans.
“And inside.”
“Is it a museum? What museums do they have in Florida? Ones with fossilized mosquitoes?”
“Or a reptile one, featuring the world’s most terrifying creatures. As fascinating as that would be, it’s not a museum. It’s better, I hope.”
The engine shuts off, taking the air conditioning and radio with it. I sit up in my seat and turn my head from side to side despite not being able to see anything.
“Are we here?” I ask
“We are, but I need you to pop in your AirPods. It’s going to amplify the surprise,” he says.
“Earphones and an eye mask? People are going to think I’m being held against my will,” I say.
Patrick unbuckles my seatbelt and the polyester moves across my chest. I feel his hand linger on my hip and his fingers flex against my thigh, the space where the denim ends and bare skin begins. Every place he touches me is a zap of electricity, a lightning bolt of awareness.
My senses are heightened without sight, hyper-aware of the small space we’re in. The rising temperatures from seconds in the sun and the lack of noise, no sounds except for our breathing.
I remember how it felt when he slipped his palm under my shirt. Ran it up my stomach and over my ribs. Fanned his fingers out and outlined my breasts with his thumb, mumbling in my ear when I rocked back into him and arched my spine.
I want to do it again.
