Page 44 of Verse Two
We had just transitioned from a noisy, populated atmosphere to a much quieter, intimate portion of the fairgrounds. There were a few scattered food trucks, but there was barely anybody standing in line for them.
Once I continued observing the area, I realized why the energy was different. The soft sound of violins playing was gradually increasing in volume as we approached a group of musicians, ironically gathered beside the funnel cake truck.
I smiled at them, and one of them winked at me.
“Girl, what is this? This seems like a fair for lovers, and that ain’t us. Let’s get our food and go,” I said, rolling my eyes again. The atmosphere was nice, but just like all the couples we had passed minutes earlier, it reminded me of what I’d had and lost with Brixton in a matter of weeks.
“Fine, mood assassin. We can dip as soon as I get a crêpe,” Wilder said, pointing across the field at a place I didn’t even bother looking at. Where she wanted to go was far, and I wanted nothing more than to leave and drown my sorrows in a bottle of wine at home.
“I thought you wanted a funnel cake.”
“I did, but girl, we’re in France. I wanna be cultured.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at her dumb ass and follow behind her. Just as we passed another set of musicians, the one sitting next to his harp said in a thick French accent, “You smile like the sun knows your name.”
I stopped cold. Turning slowly, I faced the man with squinted eyes.
“What did you just say?” I had to be hearing things. Instead of answering me, he winked and resumed playing his harp.
Wilder, realizing I was no longer walking back, tracked a few steps to meet me.
“What’s wrong?”
I stood there stunned for a few more seconds before shaking my head and sighing.
“Nothing. I must be going through it worse than I realized, because I’m hearing shit.”
We kept walking, and a few steps later, there was a man wearing a large hawker tray with bags of roasted chestnuts. I smiled politely because he had his eyes on me.
He returned my smile and said, “Like light was made just to follow your face.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “Ayo, I’m definitely not trippin’,” I said, turning to him. “Who are you?”
Instead of answering me, he reached into his tray and pulled out a single rose before handing it to me.
With a hanging bottom lip, I accepted it, but my thoughts had me frozen in that spot. I knew those words and who wrotethem, butwhywas I hearing them out of strangers’ mouths? Andwhydid this man just hand me a rose?
“Come on, best friend.”
Slowly, I turned to Wilde.And why was she now talking softly and grinning at me as if she knew something I didn’t?
“What the hell is going on, Wilder?”
Kissing her teeth, she said, “If you walk just a few more steps, you’ll know the answer to your question. Just go with it, Miss Stubborn.”
Because I was still in a general state of shock and my heart was pounding way too hard against my chest, I did as she said without a fuss. As I began to walk, I lowered my head to try and steady my breathing. When I looked at the ground, I realized we had been walking on a trail of roses.
The music playing had ceased, and I continued on the trail, and when I finally felt like I wasn’t going to have a heart attack, I looked up. My breath hitched.
My best friend was no longer in front of me—hewas.
None other than Brixton Ellis was standing in front of an entire orchestra, holding a rose bouquet. As soon as our eyes met, the music began again, but this time, it was the people behind him making the music happen. The melody was familiar to me, but I couldn’t pinpoint what song they were playing.
With the most serious expression on his face, Brick started to speak.
“When you laugh, the world feels warmer—like spring bloomed early just in case. I call you doll ’cause you’re too perfect not to—not just your pretty, though that’s real too . . .”
With every word he spoke, I reflected—remembered. I remembered why I loved him so much, why I didn’t want to. And why Icouldn’t stop.
