I nod, still trying to fight back the tears.
He turns towards me, pulling me in for a tight embrace. The dam bursts, and I burrow my face into his chest, trying to hide my sobbing state from everyone around us.
His hand rubs my back softly. “Don’t worry, Little Wing. No one can tell you’re upset. They probably think I’m just trying to cop a feel,” he says softly into my hair.
Grinning through my tears, I say, “Thanks, Bright Eyes. You’re the best.”
“Of course I’m the best, but I have a feeling the four orgasms I gave you today have more to do with that response than this hug.”
“Five, actually, but who’s counting, right?”
“Damn, I really am the best. I say, we get the bill and head back to my flat. I think we can do better than five.”
I giggle, leaning back and wiping away the remnants of tears. “Cool it on the fuck-me eyes, Romeo. The queen needs a break.”
Dylan grins. The bastard, he’s even got me using the nickname.
“What are you two whispering about?”
“Nothing,” I say, but Dylan’s response of, “The Queen,” is louder than mine.
“Oh, I’ve always wanted to meet her!” Lindsay exclaims, eyes bright, and elbows resting on the table.
“She’s pretty damn spectacular, but I may be biased,” Dylan adds, grinning.
“I used to fantasize about her as a teenager. Christ, I bet she’s a wildcat once you get past that prim-and-proper exterior,” Jesse joins in.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” I mumble
Dylan is laughing beside me, and I’m scanning the room for our waiter. God only knows where this conversation will go.
“I was obsessed with her when I was a kid. The whole idea of her and—”
“Let’s get the check!” My voice startles an older lady at the table behind us. “L’addition s’il vous plait!” I shout towards the waiter. He eyes me with annoyance, but strides our way, and sets the bill on the table.
“What’s the rush?” Lindsay asks, watching me rummage through my purse for my wallet.
“No rush, I’m not rushing. Does it look like I’m rushing?”
“It looks like you’ve got crazy eyes,” she muses. “And you’re trying to run out of here like your ass is on fire.”
“I’ll take that.” Dylan swipes the check from my hand.
“Okay, crazy, what’s on our agenda today?” Lindsay asks.
“Père Lachaise,” I answer, relieved by the subject change. I mean, my pussy, the queen, is great and all, but I’d much rather focus on something else.
“Jim Morrison’s grave?” she questions, grinning.
I nod. “You bet your sweet ass.”
She slams her hands on the table, standing up. “All right, let’s do the damn thing.”
10 years old and in Millie’s kitchen
“YOUR HEART DESERVES A smile.” Millie read the words aloud, her eyes scanning the construction paper hearts strewn across the kitchen table. “Well, isn’t that sweet, Lilah Belle.”
I sighed. Ugh. Lilah Belle. I preferred Brooke, but my grandmother favored the nickname. My full name, Delilah Brooke Morning-Rain Sawyer, wasn’t any better. It was a mouthful, especially for a ten-year-old. That’s why I liked Brooke; it was simple, easy to spell, and I could write it on my homework without wanting to throw my number two pencil.
Obviously, my mom and dad didn’t think the whole name thing through, but they were kind of weird. Millie called them “free-spirited hippies.” They had traveled all over the country with their friends since they were eighteen, and even stayed on the move after Ember and I were born. My parents’ income came from selling candles and jewelry and whatever else my mom crafted at flea markets. Not exactly a great life for kids. The fact that the state of Colorado took my little sister and me away from our parents when I was nine years old was proof of that horrible fact.
She held a pink heart in her hand. “What are these for?”
“To make people’s hearts smile.” I kept my focus, my eyebrows scrunching as I wrote h-e-a-r-t in purple crayon. The idea for these hearts came to me while I was daydreaming in Mrs. Franklin’s class. I couldn’t wait to get home. The minute I walked through the front door, my backpack hit the floor, construction paper and crayons were removed from my desk drawer, and I got busy at the kitchen table, not even bothering with my usual after-school snack of apples and peanut butter. I lost my appetite after seeing Laura’s sad eyes at lunch.
She chuckled, smacking her dishtowel on my arm. “Well, I can see that, but how are you going to do it?”
“I’m just going to do nice things to make someone’s heart smile, to make someone happy.” I shrugged. It seemed simple enough to me. My fingers clasped the purple crayon, proudly dotting the i and crossing the t. I glanced up at my grandmother as I slid the heart into the finished pile and grabbed another.
She was hovering, which was no surprise, Millie was a busybody. “Honey, you’ve got your grandmother more than curious.” She motioned her hand. “Give me some examples.”
I set my crayon down. It was hard being a kid with a nosey grandmother, especially when you were on a mission to finish fifteen construction hearts before dinner. “I’m just going to do nice things for people who seem sad or need help. Could you help me with some of the things I wanna do?”
“Of course,” she said with a smile. Her voice was soft and warm, like chocolate chip cookies.
My heart grew inside of my chest. “Well, there’s a girl in my class who never eats lunch. I think her parents forget to pack her food. And today, Laura looked so sad . . .” I paused, recalling what Millie said during our shopping trip last week. “Being sad about something or scraping your knee on the playground are examples of pain, right?”
Her head tilted to the side. “Yeah, they are . . .”
“And everyone’s pain has a color?”
She nodded. “Yes, Lilah Belle, everyone’s pain has a color. That’s why certain things or places can remind us of hurtful memories.”
“Just like pink polka-dots?” Even the words tasted awful.
She put her hand over mine. “Just like pink polka-dots.”
I didn’t know a heart could frown until I saw a bathing suit with pink polka-dots hanging from a rack. They filled my head with ugly thoughts, the kind of thoughts which were hard to erase.
I never wanted to see pink polka-dots again.
“So do you need my help with something for the girl in your class?”
For once, I liked my grandma’s nosey questions. They were better than ugly thoughts and frowning hearts.
I nodded. “I want to bring an extra lunch tomorrow. I’m going to put one of these hearts inside, and then, when Laura isn’t looking, I’m going to sneak it in her cubby.”
“I think that’s a really nice idea, honey. Tomorrow morning, I’ll make sure I have two lunches packed and ready to go.”
“Make sure to write Brooke on one and Laura on the other,” I added, emphasizing my name. Last week, she wrote Lilah Belle on every bag . . . talk about embarrassing.
She snorted a laugh. “All right, honey.” Millie turned towards the stove, but then stopped, and faced me again. “I have one more question. Why don’t you want Laura to know it’s from you?”
“You always said it was better to whisper our kindness than shout it from the rooftop.”
Millie stayed quiet, blinking several times. Her eyes glistened underneath the kitchen light. She mopped twice at her face and then smiled. “Brooke, you truly are one of a kind. I’m so proud that you’re my granddaughter.” She held out both of her arms. “Now stand up and give me a hug.”
My heart felt like it grew bigger again. I hopped up from my chair and hugged my grandmother with every ounce of strength my arms could manage.
Nobody gave hugs better than my Millie.
“That big heart of yours is a gift.” Her arms squeezed me tighter. “Never lose it, honey. Even when it gets you
in trouble, which it will, don’t let anything turn you bitter. One day, someone really special is going to need all the kindness your big heart has to give.” She kissed my forehead.
“Get me in trouble?” I didn’t understand. How could kindness cause anyone trouble?
Her hand brushed a lone curl behind my ear. “Just remember . . . de plus grandes la capacité pour aimer, plus grands la capacité sentir la douleur.”
I rolled my eyes. Millie had made it her life’s mission to teach me French. She often tested my skills by tossing out French phrases here and there, just to see what I could understand. “En anglais s’il vous plaît.”
“Parfait!” She clapped her hands. “Maintenant, vous faites mon coeur sourire.”
“Sourire coeur?” I tested the words. “Heart smile? I made your heart smile?”
Millie grinned, nodding in my direction.
I loved seeing that proud look on her face. “Okay, now tell me what you said before that?”
“I said, the greater the capacity to love, the greater the capacity to feel the pain.” She brushed her fingers through my curls one last time, before moving back towards the kitchen counter.
I sat back down at the table in a daze as I silently repeated her words. Even though I didn’t understand their meaning, I committed them to memory. I had a feeling I’d need those words someday.
Her elbow moved up-and-down as the large knife chopped vegetables in smooth, easy slices. “Lilah Belle, one day, when you’re much older, you will visit Paris, and it will change your life,” she said over her shoulder.
Every time I’d ask why she loved Paris so much, she refused to give me an answer. Millie would only respond with, “Just promise me you’ll go.” If she gave me a dollar for every time I made that promise, I’d have a lot of dollars, probably enough to visit her favorite city. “How old were you when you went to Paris?”
She set the knife down, turning in my direction and resting her hip on the counter. A faraway look overcame Millie’s face as she stared towards the window above the sink. Her outer space face, I called it. If you didn’t know her, you’d think she was focused on something outside, but I knew better, my grandma was lost in her thoughts. Her fingers toyed with the necklace hidden underneath her white blouse, the charm sliding across its chain in a whisper. I watched in fascination as the necklace worked its magic, each back-and-forth motion slowly erasing the sad creases around her eyes.
She rarely took that necklace off, but when she did, I’d sneak into her bedroom and try it on in front of her mirror. The circle charm had three French words, and the prettiest flowers I’d ever seen. Blue petals and green stems, Millie called them forget-me-nots, but I re-named them fairytale flowers. Their magic filled my head with daydreams of springtime and sunshine and happy things.
Once her fingers released the charm, she answered my question. “I was only nineteen when I snuck off to Paris.”
“Snuck off?”
She grinned. “Yeah, I got on a plane headed for France when I was supposed to be driving to the beach with three of my girlfriends. My parents didn’t know I was in a foreign city until ten days later . . . when I didn’t come home with my friends.”
My jaw dropped. “Were they mad?”
“It was the maddest my father had ever been. No one knew where I was, and when I finally found the courage to call home, I had to hold the phone three feet from my ear because he was shouting so loud.”
“You flew by yourself on an airplane? To Paris?”
“It was my dream. And I didn’t just visit, I lived there for five years.”
“Five years?” My eyebrows shot up. “How did you pay for everything?”
Her honey eyes sparkled with amusement. “Once I turned fourteen, I saved every penny I made working part-time jobs when my parents thought I was busy with school activities, spending time with my friends or taking acting classes. Waitress . . . Maid . . . Seamstress . . . I did anything and everything. It was crazy that I was hiding part-time jobs from my parents because they were very wealthy. My mother came from old money and my father was a very successful businessman. But I knew my father would disapprove, so I refused to go to Paris on his dime.
“So, I saved every penny, and once I had enough money, I bought a plane ticket and lied to everyone I knew. Even my girlfriends didn’t know my plan until I had them drop me off at the airport. I can still see the shocked looks on their faces when I finally told them.” Her hand covered her mouth as a laugh escaped her lips. “Needless to say, once I got to Paris, I had enough money to stay in a hotel and keep myself fed until I found a job at a small café. It was the cutest place, owned by the sweetest husband and wife. They took pity on the lost American girl who found her way to their doorstep. I lived in an apartment above that café the entire time I was in Paris . . .”
I interrupted her. “Café? What is a café?”
“It’s like a little restaurant. They served coffee, croissants, yummy baked goods like cookies and cakes, and delicious sandwiches at lunch time.”
Millie tended to ramble whenever she talked about Paris, but I loved listening, eager to learn new things about her. “I can’t believe you moved to a different city all by yourself.”
“It was the best thing I ever did.”
“Did you buy your favorite necklace there?”
She glanced down at the charm resting on her neck. “Someone bought this for me. Someone who was very special and made my heart smile bigger than it ever has.” Her eyes met mine. “Of course, this was before you and Ember came along.” She smiled, but it looked tight around the edges, kind of like it didn’t belong there.
“Who was it?”
Millie shook her head and quietly chuckled. “My curious little Lilah Belle.” Her fingers ran down her apron, pushing out the wrinkles near her belly. “I promise, when you’re a little older, I’ll tell you all the wonderful details about this necklace, but right now, I need to make dinner and you need to finish those hearts.” She winked, and then turned back towards the stove, quickly ending our conversation.
As I put my purple crayon to the paper, I kept picturing the weird smile that appeared on Millie’s lips when I mentioned her necklace. Smiles were supposed to mean happiness, but that smile didn’t seem happy, it looked like it hurt.
I wondered what the color blue of her necklace’s fairytale flowers meant for my grandmother. Were the pretty blue petals the color of her pain? Or were they the color of her love? Love and pain, they were opposites and had their own colors. At least, that’s how I thought it worked.
One day, I’d get her to tell me about that special someone who gave her the pretty necklace, and hopefully, she’d tell me all about it in French, while eating cookies at her favorite café in her favorite city . . . Paris.
RAYS OF SUN PEEK through the skylights of Dylan’s flat, serving as my natural wake-up call. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s a little past ten in the morning. I stretch my arms and legs, rolling onto my side, finding an empty space where Dylan should be. A folded piece of paper rests on his pillow.
Before reading Dylan’s note, I grab my phone off the nightstand and turn it back on. I’d been making a habit of turning it off at night . . . or anytime that involved Dylan naked and me getting mind-blowing orgasms.
Interrupt me once, shame on you. Interrupt me twice, shame on me.
Consider my lesson learned.
Little Wing,
I’m at Au Fait helping my dad with a few things.
Come by once you’ve woken up.
-Dylan
P.S. There’s fresh fruit and orange juice in the fridge.
And the pastries (the raspberry crème ones that make you moan) are on the counter.
P.P.S. You’re adorable when you sleep.
Attached is a Polaroid of me. I’m sound asleep—face smashed into the pillow and hair in disarray. If adorable is a code word for hot mess, then yes, Dylan is correct, I’m adorable when I sleep.
I’m
sniffing his pillow like a weirdo—yes, even I agree it’s ridiculous—when my phone starts blowing up with text notifications.
The first message I pull up is from Lindsay. It’s been less than twelve hours since I dropped her off at the airport, and I’m already sad she’s not here.
‘I’m in NYC. Safe and sound. Ready to sleep my ass off.’
‘I miss you.’
‘I miss you too, Brookie. Can we agree that going more than a month without seeing each other, is not acceptable?’
Before Millie died, it had been three months since Lindsay and I had seen each other. I refuse to let that happen again.
‘Yes! First thing I’m doing when I get back to L.A. is finding a weekend next month to come hang with you in my 2nd favorite city.’
’2nd favorite city??? Say it isn’t so. Don’t tell me you love L.A. more than NYC.’
‘Nope. But I think I love Paris more than NYC . . . ’
‘Dear God, how many times have you let Dylan come inside your mouth, Brooke? I think his sperm might be going to your brain . . . ’
‘You’re disgusting. I’m ending this conversation. I love you. Get some sleep ya filthy hooker.’
‘Love you too, sperm breath.’
Next, I find three picture messages from Ember. They’re from Teddy’s t-ball game last night. He looks so grown up in his little baseball cap and cleats.
And finally, a text from Jamie.
‘Don’t answer your phone. My dad is in London. God only knows if he’d try to fly you back to L.A. on the jet.’
‘Like I’d ever answer a phone call from Alistair when I’m Paris. As if.’
‘And here I thought we got past the Clueless movie quotes once you grew boobs (sort of) and let Connor Jacobs rid you of your “hymenally challenged” situation.’
I love him, but Jamie can be such an asshole sometimes. My boobs aren’t that small . . . Okay, maybe they are that small, but it’s not like I had a say in my genetics.
‘That was way harsh, Jai. (And don’t think I didn’t notice the little quote you threw in there)’
Forget (Changing Colors Book 1) Page 23
