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“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“Why don’t we wait to talk until we get to my house,” he suggests, glancing over at me briefly.
“Yeah, okay,” I say with a tentative smile.
Given his death grip on the steering wheel, something is bothering him, although I’m not sure what.
His parents are taking Lola out for ice cream. Although I would have liked to join them to celebrate her special night, I’m thankful for the chance to talk with Dylan alone about my offer from the Collective. But that will have to wait until I figure out what’s on his mind.
I was so relieved when I saw Quinn and Andi at the play. I chatted with them afterward and told them about my residency offer. Quinn was overjoyed to hear the great news, but like Gavin, she’s disappointed that I’m planning to turn it down. On the other hand, Andi urged me to discuss it with Dylan before making a final choice. She firmly believes he’d be supportive of me going.
I have conflicting thoughts. Despite it being an amazing opportunity that I may never have again, I can’t jeopardize my relationship with Dylan and Lola.
When we get to Dylan’s house, he goes inside first, holding the door for me. As I brush past him and step into the entryway, his gaze remains fixed on the floor, like he can’t look at me.
“Okay, we’re here. Want to tell me what’s bothering you?” I ask.
He closes the door, the quiet click sounding louder amongst the tense silence.
There’s a mountain of space between us, and Dylan has a blank look on his face.
“I overheard your conversation with Quinn and Andi,” he states.
My eyes widen in understanding. “Oh, and what exactly did you hear?” I ask as I tuck my hair behind my hair. Based on his initial reaction, I’m assuming he missed the part of the conversation when I told them I wasn’t planning to go to Paris.
“I know you were offered an art residency and will be gone for three months.” He maintains a steady tone. “Do you know when you’re leaving yet?”
He’s so quick to conclude that I won’t stay. I don’t blame him after what he went through with Maddie, but I wish he would trust that I have him and Lola’s best interests at heart.
I take a calming breath, understanding that he must be hurting right now.
“Did you hear me say that I was going to Paris?” I ask gently.
“No, but why wouldn’t you? It sounds like an amazing opportunity—”
I hold out my hand to stop him. “The head of the program called Gavin this afternoon to get my information. His team is extending me an offer for a three-month artist residency in Paris. I’ve always wanted to do it, but I never thought I’d get the chance.” I nervously wring my hands as I explain. “I was going to talk to you about it tonight after the play so as not to ruin Lola’s big night. Plus, I didn’t want you to worry for no reason, since I don’t plan on accepting the offer.”
“You’ve already told them no?”
I shake my head. “I will once they send the official offer next week.”
“Why?” He appears perplexed by my answer. “If it’s something you’ve always wanted to do, why would you turn it down?”
“Because I know how much this would affect you and Lola. After everything you’ve been through, I don’t want to be another person who leaves you behind. You’re both incredibility important to me.” The words spill freely from my mouth.
I think I’m in love with you.
He moves closer, a downcast expression on his face. “Honestly, I figured you’d move on when you found something better.”
I wish he could see things from my perspective. The time I’ve spent with him and Lola has made me feel loved, cherished, and content. After years of wandering like a lost soul, being with them feels like the home I’ve been searching for my whole life.
He closes the distance between us to stand in front of me, and I gaze up at him.
“Don’t you get it? No one else can make me feel the way you and Lola do. Believe me when I tell you there is nothing better.” A blush creeps across my cheeks at my admission.
From the moment I met them, I recognized the unique bond they shared. I’ve always longed to be a part of something so extraordinary, and now that I’ve found it, I’m never letting go.
“Marlow, I—” Dylan pauses mid-sentence, glancing over my shoulder into the dimly lit living room. “What is that?” He gestures toward the painting, leaning against the wall. Striding past me, he switches on the overhead light for a better look.
