Page 57 of Losing Forever
I sit beside her and open the folder. Inside are real estate papers and a flyer with pictures. I lift the flyer for a closer inspection. “This looks like the house from thatTwilightmovie.”
She tilts her head to the side. “You sawTwilight?”
At least she doesn't look as sad anymore. I shrug one shoulder. “A girl I dated wanted to see it.”
“Oh.” And the sad expression is back.
“Did you grow up in this house?” I ask.
She stares at the pictures on the flyer. “Yeah.”
“Did you like it?”
A small smile curves her lip. “Yeah.”
“It looks nice, lots of greenery.” I try to imagine her in this setting, so opposite of life in Florida.
“It was magical.” She sighs and points at a picture of the rear of the house and backyard. A three-tiered deck leads down a hill to a grassy area surrounded by trees. “This is all woods, filled with white pine, and fir, and giant sequoias. The moisture in the air makes the smell of them amazing.”
She closes her eyes and breathes in as if she's there.
“I've never been to Washington. But the way you describe it has me adding it to the list.”
Her eyes open, filled with curiosity. “What list?”
I set the folder on the bed beside me. “Places I want to visit. Things I'd like to do and try.”
“What places do you want to visit?”
I stand and peruse her room. “Lots of places. My family didn't travel much when I was growing up. My dad couldn't leave his businesses for long, so we stayed close. When I traveled for games in college, we only ventured to local bars.”
On her dresser sits a stack of books on color therapy, a couple of magazines on house decorating, and a framed picture of a field. Two different colored flowers fill the field—purple and yellow. They meet in the middle.
I pick up the frame. “What is this?”
She comes up behind me and takes the frame from my hand, setting it back on the dresser in the same position as before. “It's the lavender and sunflower fields in Provence, France.”
“Have you been?”
“No. The timing has to be right. The lavender only bloom from the end of July to August.”
“You know a lot about it.” I face her.
She nods.
“Would you like to go?”
Surprise flashes in her eyes. “Is this an invitation?”
Is it? Shit. I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. I was just asking, but I can’t say that without hurting her feelings. The back of my neck heats.
“I never thought about visiting France before.” I shrug and continue to the bed, picking up the folder. “Was anything damaged or stolen from the house?”
She searches my face, no doubt taken aback by my change in subject.
I’m an ass. Truth is, I don’t know what I want. Would I mind going on a trip with Braylee? No. Do I want to go to France with her to a place that’s clearly special? Not at the risk of screwing up beforehand. The end of July is over a month away.
I’m not a long-term guy. I’d fuck up between now and then. It’s what I do—what I’ve always done. Even though part of me wants to agree to go just to put a smile on her face, I can’t risk giving her hope, only to disappoint her and ruin what should be a special vacation.
