by T. I. Lowe
“Open your eyes, Jewels,” he says to me as he pats my arm again. I obey and find that we are crossing a long bridge overlooking a wide river.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“On an adventure.”
I try to rein in my curiosity and just enjoy the moment. It’s something I’m just starting to fully understand as I’ve gotten a little older. It seems in life we are too worried about what’s next and we lose the gift of the present. I take in the sights and let the future wait a while longer.
Dillon’s words about an adventure reminds me of a time long ago when were just young’uns. It was late one night, when an eleven-year-old Dillon pushed into my room and demanded I go on an adventure with him. I, like the follower I have always been, agreed.
“It’s time we set out on our own, Jewels,” he had whispered with a backpack and his guitar slung on his back, looking all so serious.
I grabbed a bag and threw who-knows-what in it and followed him right out the door without asking one question. I didn’t notice until we were outside under a nightlight that his eyes were swollen and still damp from crying.
“You okay?” I whispered.
He had shrugged his shoulder before grabbing my hand to guide us on our way. As we walked down the lakeshore, he glanced back towards his trailer. “I’m just no good for her. Cora doesn’t need me. All I do is screw up. It’s time I leave her,” Dillon said bravely as he swiped another stray tear from his cheek.
“What happened?” I asked as I held tighter to his hand.
“I happened,” he said, and I knew he would not be telling me the exact details.
So I tried to be the best friend I was and stay by his side, even though I knew we would pay for the stunt later. I would have walked on fire for that boy and face the consequences bravely. More than likely, he had probably not done something on Cora’s ever-present to-do list she left him daily. And she had probably blown up at him and said hurtful words she really didn’t mean, but we all know that once a word is spoken, or yelled for that matter, you cannot take it back. Cora and Dillon’s life was not the one she had envisioned, and I think she hated herself most of the time for that.
We had walked along the lakeshore for what felt like hours, with Dillon telling me all about our adventure that we would never complete. He was so hopeful, and eventually his sadness had slipped away as we explored the underdeveloped shoreline of the lake in the dark and later the dawn of a new day. He promised he would become a rock star and take care of me. I had completely trusted him in my naïve mind. We had walked hand in hand until I couldn’t walk any farther, so Dillon pulled a sleeping bag out of his backpack, placed it on the sandy shore, and we curled up inside of it to sleep. Lying innocently with that boy felt like home, and I knew after that night I would always be homesick without him. I loved him all my life even though I didn’t fall in love with him until several years past that night.
We woke midmorning with Aunt Evie standing over us. “Get home now, Dillon,” she said sternly, and he obeyed immediately, without uttering one word in argument.
He spoke quickly over his shoulder as he took off down the shore. “Sorry, Jewels.”
I looked at him, confused as to how abruptly our adventure had ended and him doing nothing to continue it. I had reluctantly looked back to Aunt Evie to wait apprehensively for what was to come.
Her face looked more sorrowful than mad, and I didn’t understand it at the time. “Jillian, you know you cannot do this again.”
“But Dillon needed me,” I said, with my own tears spilling down my cheeks.
“Honey, running away won’t ever fix a problem. It will only add to it. Just be glad I found you before Cora did.”
“I hate her,” I said without thought.
“That’s a strong word, young lady. I don’t like you using it. That woman is doing the best she can. She may have a temper and her mouth gets the best of her, but you need to remember, she loves that boy with all of her being. Even though she may not know how to express it properly sometimes,” Aunt Evie said as she began making her way back down the shore with me following.
“He needs me,” I said. I didn’t want to focus on Cora. I only cared for Dillon’s well-being. “Please, Aunt Evie. Please don’t let Cora hurt him for running away.”
“She won’t. She feels bad for last night. She’ll be relieved he is okay.” She had tried to soothe me because I was pretty upset. “Let’s just keep it to ourselves that you were with him.”
“Why does she hate me?” I asked through tears. I was young still, and adult actions were so confusing. Why did it matter that I was with him?
“She doesn’t hate you, Jillian. I just think she wish she loved that boy as easily as you do.” I had thought then that she didn’t answer my question, but I let that go.
“Dillon Bleu is the easiest to love, Aunt Evie. And you know it,” I said firmly, crossing my arms as we tracked alongside the lake, nearing the trailer park.
“I completely agree,” she said as we snuck the long way back to our trailer so Cora wouldn’t catch sight of us. I was surprised that Dillon and I hadn’t made it too far from home. It had felt like our adventure took us a million miles away from reality. Cora never caught that I was with Dillon, but he was still out of sight for a week after that stunt. I missed him terribly. I had no idea how awful it could feel to miss him in long stretches of years passing as I’ve had to do in my young adult years. It’s been crippling at times.
The memory fades and all I can think of is how true my words were way back then. I ease up from cradling against his back and place a kiss on the side of his neck. He squeezes my hand in approval before placing it back on the handlebar of the bike. Dillon Bleu is absolutely the easiest to love.
We are making it down the interstate at a pretty fast rate, and then Dillon veers off onto a country road. We pass farmland and come upon a peach orchard. He pulls the bike through the open gate and slows to a crawl as we pass between the rows of pink blossomed trees. The aroma is heavenly, and I’m just in awe at the beauty of this place.
Dillon stops completely and kills the engine in what feels like the very middle of the orchard, for we are surrounded by the floral landscape. He climbs off and turns around to me. He pulls the helmet off my head. He runs his fingers through my tangled hair and murmurs, “Sexy,” before picking me up and slowly kissing me. It’s an unrushed yet short kiss, and I’m surprised he ended it so fast. He steadies me on my feet and places my hand in his. “Let’s take a walk,” he says. So I silently follow by his side.
We walk amongst the sweet rows, leisurely. The trees are in full bloom, and I wish I had a camera. I live in Georgia and have never visited one of these luscious orchards until now. This place is heavenly and tranquil, and I wonder if it’s anything close to the Garden of Eden. I can’t get over how something so magnificent has been tucked so close and hidden right under my nose.
Dillon bends down during our stroll and picks up a delicate pink blossom that has drifted to the ground. He tucks it behind my ear and gazes at me as though he is taking a mental picture. I nearly feel the current pricking the air between us. It’s magical. He gathers my hand and kisses my knuckles as we continue our stroll.
I eventually break the silence with a question I’m not sure I want answered.
“How long are you here for?”
He glances at me before easing his gaze back to the trees. “Getting Mave healthy again is our main priority right now. So we are going on hiatus for as long as that takes. I’m guessing several months, at least.”
“Where is he?”
“A facility in Atlanta. He’s close.”
I shoot him a questioning look over his vague answer.
“Only me and Max knows exactly where he’s at. He’s embarrassed and doesn’t want anyone to know. You are the only other person who knows he’s in rehab.” He stops us. “Jillian, it’s important that no one else knows about this.”
“I get it,”
I say with some annoyance. But then I let it go. I keep forgetting how different our lives are now. I don’t have to worry about the entire world knowing my business and then smearing it in a heartless way through tabloids. “I get it,” I say again, but more softly this time.
“Max has rented a condo near him, so Mave’s not alone,” he says, and I think he is trying to reassure himself and not me. We stand in silence for a few beats as I watch the stress drain away from his features and replaced with contentment as he refocuses on me. “Dance with me, pretty girl.” He pulls me to him before I give him a reply.
We are already swaying under the sweetly perfumed trees, when I say, “We don’t have any music.”
He chuckles softly and places my hand over his heart. “We always have music with us. Right here,” he murmurs as he gently taps my hand. He pulls me even closer. My head is resting over his heart now, listening to the internal music of him. It’s a song I could get lost in. I melt completely when he begins to hum in a melody that matches it. As he hums, Dillon works his fingertips along the curve of my neck, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. Every so often the humming ceases with him placing whispers of kisses along my chin and the corners of my mouth. I love how the humming vibrates deeply in his chest and connects with mine. He is so vibrant and alive, and in my arms where he belongs. This man feels like my home. It feels so right for us to finally be back together.
Time passes—minutes, hours, or maybe a lifetime as this man leads me in this private dance. I just want to spend the rest of my life right here in this orchard and never return to the messy reality that needs addressing. But I decide I won’t ruin this day. This moment. I will let it take care of itself in another undetermined moment we can live in soon enough. I promise myself that tomorrow, I will do it tomorrow, but then I think better of it and promise the day after tomorrow.
We dance in this lovely orchard until the day begins winding down, with neither one of us wanting it to end. Dillon eventually pulls me back over to his bike and settles us back on top before heading out of the orchard and back onto the road.
He rolls us up to an Italian bistro. The garlic and basil aroma wafting through the air sets my mouth to watering. After a star struck hostess receives Dillon’s autograph, she places us in a private section near the back. Dillon is so slick, too. He promised the staff they could take as many photos with him as they wanted, as long as they allowed us to eat in peace first. He’s definitely a pro at this, treating all of them as his dearest friends and them eating it up.
Luckily, the manager is a man and he has taken on the task of personally waiting on us. I was worried we would be stuck with some girl drooling over Dillon the whole time, and I just don’t think I’m ready to deal with such. The chef requested that we allow him to serve up a special dinner, and so we are sitting here enjoying an antipasto platter while we await our main entrees. I pop an olive in my mouth and eye my company. This man blows my mind. It’s hard to reconcile the boy I knew with the celebrity rock star before me now. He’s shoveling in a chunk of fresh mozzarella and tomato in his mouth, and he doesn’t seem to be any different than the Dimples I know. But he is…
“What’s on your mind, pretty girl?” He lifts an eyebrow.
“I’m worried I don’t know you anymore,” I say.
The manager scoots back in with two monstrous plates of pasta, placing them in front of us. They are overflowing with linguine dressed in red sauce and loaded down with huge shrimp and slivers of garlic.
“Thanks, man. This looks amazing,” Dillon says before taking a generous bite. I follow suit. It is so delicious. The manager seems pleased and leaves us be. “You know me. I’m still me.” He does his best to reassure me before taking another bite.
“Tell me something,” I say.
“Like what?” he asks around a mouthful of pasta.
“I want to know something about your adventure. Something epic.”
Dillon wipes the corners of his mouth and takes a long swig of his tea. He seems to be deciding what to share with me when a grin sneaks along his face. It makes me impatient.
“Tell me something,” I say again. I nudge his leg with mine under the table.
“I met this guy named Eddie, last year,” he says nonchalantly and takes another bite of his food.
I drop my fork. “No way!” I gasp.
“Yes way.”
“Please tell me he is as cool as I’ve always imagined.”
“Nope. More than cool. The dude is epic.” He smiles as he uses my word. Well, I wanted him to tell me something epic, and he sure didn’t disappoint. “We hung out after the Music Awards last year. The next thing I know, we were on a plane heading to Hawaii. We spent a week out there with him teaching me how to surf.” He grabs a piece of freshly baked bread and works on sopping up the thick, red sauce with it.
“No!” I gasp again in disbelief.
“Yep,” he says before cramming half the piece of bread in his mouth. “Epic,” he says again as he chews on the chunk of bread. I’m too blown away to eat anymore.
“You realize how jealous you just made me,” I say.
“I may have a few CD’s with his name autographed on them for you.” He looks up with those deep-blue eyes twinkling and a wide grin stretched out over his handsome face.
“What? Where the heck are they?”
“Waiting for you in California. Eddie really digs my song, “Pretty Girl on My Mind,” so I told him our history behind the song. I also told him you were in love with him.” He gives me a sharp look and I smirk at him. “He thought I should make you wait for the CD’s until you came back to me.” Dillon seems to slip into a somber mood. He finally pushes the nearly empty plate away and eyes me from underneath the thick fringe of eyelashes. “I’m still waiting, Jewels,” he whispers.
I slide my hand over to his and entwine our fingers. “I’m right here.”
“Yes. But you still feel unattainable.” Dillon says this to me, but I have always felt as though he is the one unattainable.
Before I can answer, the manager is back with a large square of tiramisu and two spoons, along with two coffees. We leave the conversation and politely dig in. After taking care of the bill, Dillon spends a good chunk of the next hour in the restaurant making everyone’s day. It feels like hundreds of pictures have been taken and he’s signed everything imaginable, before we finally slide out the door. We don’t make it back until well past sundown. Dillon rode us all over the state before declaring our day done, and I have to admit I have fallen in love with his beastly bike. When we arrive back to the cabin, we find two suitcases and Dillon’s guitar on the screened-in porch.
“Ben?” I ask.
“Tate. I’ve promoted Ben to project manager,” he says, and again my thoughts drift back to how very little I know about him anymore. That sinking feeling I had at the restaurant has returned, but I shake it off as best as I can.
“You’re making yourself right at home?” I ask as he pushes his stuff inside and unpacks some.
He glances up with all seriousness. “You’re my home, Jewels. So yes, I am.” And I can’t agree with him more.
Dillon grabs the guitar and my hand, leading us to the back deck. He sits up on a deck chair and serenades me, under the moonlight and before the welcoming lake, in an alluring spell. Oh, how I wish every day concluded in this exact manner. This man looks magical with the moonlight filtering over his handsome features as he loses himself in the lyrics of his songs. It amazes me how effortless it is for him to create such beauty in mere melodies and chords.
No matter how much I’ve denied myself of this man, there is no denying how much I am in love with him.
Chapter Fifteen
I couldn’t sleep last night. I watched Dillon slip into sleep almost immediately after his shower. Not me. I’m scared he is going to hate me. And I’m scared Will is going to hate me too.
After the restless night, I’m having a hard time waking this morning. I’m dozing in
bed, when a tickling on my face rouses me awake in the early morning sunrise. I open my eyes and find Dillon lying beside me, leisurely tracing the contours of my face with his fingertips. I say nothing for a spell and just enjoy the moment. His dark-blue eyes look close to purple starbursts. They are exquisite and are studying me reverently. How he looks at me as though I’m so precious causes tears to prick my eyes. This man awakes all of my emotions and senses. It’s as though I stop existing until he’s here with me.
“What are you doing, Dillon?” I ask. I already know the answer, but I’d like to hear the words that express his actions. This statement is normally the other way around in the world we live in. Normally people have no trouble spurting off feelings that they have no intentions of ever backing up with actions. Not Dillon. He’s so opposite of this. This man’s heart is on full display right on his sleeve, never hidden. Always so exposed and raw. I see it now in the firm set of his mouth and eyes that are swimming with his own unshed tears.
“I’ve missed this face more than I can ever express in a word,” he whispers before having to clear the emotion from his throat. “You are my treasure. I’ve hated every day I’ve had to live without you.” He continues to trace along my cheek. “You’re my other half, pretty girl. I’ve lived too long not being whole.”
These are words that Aunt Evie shared with me all those sad years ago, and they finish the job of spilling my trapped tears. Dillon wipes them away with the pad of his thumb. I grab hold of his hand and place a kiss on his palm. Then I place it on my cheek.
I give him a wobbly smile. “Good things come to those who wait,” I say, sharing some more of my sweet aunt’s words.
“I’m over the waiting.” Dillon pulls me closer to him so there’s no space between our bodies, and I wrap my arms around his neck.
“I agree.”
Dillon leans in to brush a faint kiss over my lips, but seems to think better of it and returns to deepen it. We become lost in it, and all I want is to have the power to pause time. Because in this moment, in this man’s comforting arms, I never want to leave. Dillon Bleu is my home and I’ve been homesick for way too long.
