Lily

I leaned back into the plush leather backseat of the Town Car and peeked up at Will. Today was surreal. I’d finally taken the plunge and did a walkthrough of my house.

My house. I felt the need to pinch myself at the thought. And it wasn’t just a dream anymore. Before we headed back to the city, we’d gone back to Elise’s office and I’d made an offer on the house.

Afterward, Will and I wandered hand-in-hand through town, window shopping and then stopping for lunch in a pub on Main Street. Not that I’d been able to eat much. My stomach was a knot of nerves and I must have checked my phone a thousand times to see if the realtor called with news.

Looking at Will now, though, I realized he hadn’t said too much since we left the house to head to the real estate office. I’d been too nervous to think much of it while we were busy. Now that we were fifteen minutes from home and we’d gotten here mostly in silence, it was hard to ignore.

“Everything okay?” I asked softly.

He looked down at me and I saw a flash of…something in his eyes. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I didn’t think I liked it.

“I think we need to talk,” Will said.

Ah, the other shoe dropping. I should have expected it. I had too much. Was too happy. How had I let my guard down?

“Okay,” I managed to get out.

“I don’t know how to say this.”

My heart sank a little further. “Just say it, Will.”

He looked down at me, his eyes so serious with none of their usual warmth and light. “I’m happy for you. So happy you’re getting your dream.”

His tone didn’t say happy for me. Where was the other shoe?

“But, sweetheart…” He ran a hand over his head, raking his fingers through his hair. “That’s just not my dream. I was planning to ask you to travel with me. Go on tour and see the world. I’m not very good at staying in one place very long.”

I had a sudden vision. I could see myself as if I was outside my body. I was eight years old and sitting in the back of the social worker’s car. I had my nose pressed to the window as we pulled away from my favorite foster home. I saw my foster mom’s shoulders shaking like she was crying and I kept my eyes pinned to her. I waited, knowing way down deep that if I just kept my eyes on her, she’d give me a sign. There would be a signal. All of it would stop and the social worker would take me back and they’d tell me it was all a big mistake. Of course, they wouldn’t let me go. I was their girl, and I was going to be a big sister to the new baby.

But the car kept moving forward. As I watched, my foster mother turned and walked back into the house. The door closed firmly, and even at that distance and with all the car windows shut, I swear I heard the slam of that door echoing in my head.

My vision cleared and Will was right there, looking at me, waiting. What did he expect? I thought about life on the road. It would be like living in foster homes, but worse. Instead of lasting months at a time, our stays in each place would only last a day or two, maybe a week or two in some spots, before we uprooted and moved on again.

And I’d have to give up my house. I thought of the scrapbook that I’d been filling with pictures for the last seven years. I’d have no walls to paint my murals on. No porch swing where I could sit and wave to neighbors, people whose names I’d know and who I’d bring cookies to on the holidays.

If I agreed to go with Will, all of it would be gone in an instant.

“I can’t do that, Will. I can’t go with you.”

“I know, baby. And I would never ask you to give up your dream for me.”

I blinked up at him as tears prickled hot and fast behind my eyes. “Where does that leave us?”

He cupped my face in his hand, rubbing his thumb along my jaw. “As very good friends who shared an incredible month together.”

I nodded and a single tear escaped. He wiped it away and then pulled me close, wrapping me in his arms. I held on tight, but I didn’t allow another tear to fall.

Not on the ride. Not when we got back to the apartment. And not even as I watched him pack up his stuff. The fleeting kiss he gave me at the door to my apartment as he folded the key I’d had made for him into my hand was bittersweet.

“Take care of yourself, sweetheart.” He smoothed the back of his hand over my cheek.

“You, too.”

With that, he was gone, the door shutting behind him with a finality that shattered my heart. I turned and the first thing I saw was the Christmas tree we’d decorated together. The one I thought we’d be sitting under while we opened presents Christmas morning. One more dream I had to give up.

That’s when the tears came.