When Our Worlds Ignite (An Our Worlds Spin-Off Book 1)

by Lindsey Iler

  “We will.” I tap the top of the table. “And enough of this conversation. Where’s Graham?”

  “Probably hovering over the grill, trying to figure out why it’s not lighting.” She pushes me toward the hallway. “Please, make sure he doesn’t blow the back of the house up, will you?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” I wink at Ben, making him fall into a fit of giggles.

  I say a quick hello to everyone huddled in the kitchen. Amanda and Rico are in the middle of a heated but hushed debate. They look my way when Mr. and Mrs. Conrad holler hello. Neither of them says a word, but offer a simple, silent acknowledgment. Mrs. Black wraps me in a hug, expressing her excitement to see me. She gushes over Violet, saying how happy she is we finally got our heads out of our asses. This “family” is tight knit, which is why I’m not surprised to see them all in one place, laughing and catching up.

  “Oh, look who’s here,” Graham teases, pretending to punch me in the gut as I step onto the porch.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” I reply. “Plus, I got a phone call this morning from your future wife, demanding I bring balloons, along with myself, or else she’d,” I pause to make sure I get the quote right, “rip out my fingernails and murder me.”

  “Sounds about right.” Graham chuckles because, like me, he knows Kennedy isn’t kidding. If I hadn’t shown up today, I wouldn’t put it past her to drive to Maryland to kick my ass.

  “We can’t grill out without a grill.” I lean down to inspect what he’s doing.

  “Don’t fuck with me, okay? I’m stressing out.” Graham stands, banging his hands on the side of the grill.

  “Okay, killer.” My eyes widen, and I push him out of the way. “Let me take a look.”

  I fiddle and prod with the burners and gas line, and I’m underneath when I hear the propane ignite and Graham’s groan.

  “Beginner’s luck is my guess,” he murmurs. “So, how’s not playing ball working out for you?”

  “You going to give me shit, too?” I stand and dust off my pants.

  “Not at all. I admire you, actually.” He leans against the railing. “I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it.”

  With a platter full of food, Rico steps out, gives the meat to Graham, and shakes my hand. His presence moves the conversation elsewhere.

  I sit down on one of the many benches along the length of the deck. “Let’s talk about why Amanda and Rico were bickering in the kitchen like an old married couple.”

  “You see one argument and think it’s okay to put my shit on blast.” Rico huffs. “You bastard.”

  “They’ve been getting on each other’s nerves for several weeks.” Graham’s attempt to clear up the confusion only boggles my mind more.

  I remember a recent conversation with Violet. Photos from the arcade. Amanda’s secret phone calls. A mystery guy. Surely Violet would’ve noticed something weird going on between Rico and Amanda.

  “Do you and Amanda talk a lot?” I ask.

  While Graham flips the meat onto the platter, Rico shuffles his feet. His eyes narrow. He must feel how close to the truth I am.

  Oh, he doesn’t want Graham to know. This will be fun.

  “I’m going to go see if Kennedy needs any more help.” Rico flips me off as he opens the door and yell at me over his shoulder. “She’ll kick my ass if she sees me pussyfooting around.”

  “You do realize Amanda and Rico are keeping secrets, right?” I blurt out.

  Graham spins on his heels and taps his knuckles against the siding. “Yes, and I’m going to continue to let them believe I’m not aware of their fancy little secret affair.” He rolls his eyes, and I have to laugh.

  “He doesn’t know you know?”

  “They think they’re sneaking around.” When we walk into the kitchen, Graham kisses Kennedy as she snatches the platter from his grasp. “They’re delusional to think they’re fooling anyone.”

  “Are you talking about Rico and Amanda?” She chortles, bustling around the now empty kitchen.

  “You guys act like they haven’t hooked up before.” I lean against the center island, watching Kennedy and Graham work in perfect harmony to set everything up for the party.

  “This isn’t the same thing. This isn’t sophomore year, the first meeting, and getting a kick out of each other. This is whispers in the corner, late night phone calls, and a string of jealous comments from both of them,” Kennedy explains. “They’re definitely on the verge of either a breakthrough or a real messy situation.”

  “We can’t have another one of those on our hands, now can we?” I laugh at her concern.

  “Like this group is strangers to messy situations.” Graham leans forward, and Kennedy closes the gap, giving him a peck on the lips.

  *****

  At the end of the party, Graham and Kennedy crash on the sofa after ushering their families and friends out. I insist on cleaning up the kitchen, but it’s for selfish reasons. Violet sent me a text earlier saying she’d have a chance to Skype before heading out to dinner.

  I set my laptop on the counter and wait for the incoming sound of a video message. The dishes are washed, dried, and put in their place when the program finally chimes. I accept, and Violet’s pixelated face pops up on the screen. Right now, I’ll take whatever I can get.

  “Hey,” I say as she comes into better focus.

  “Hey. Are you still at Graham and Kennedy’s?” she asks, stretching to see what the camera catches behind me.

  “Yes. They’re resting. Who knew throwing a birthday party for a little kid would be exhausting?”

  “Ben is eight years old.” Her grimace gives her away. “I can’t believe I missed it.” She slumps back into the sofa in the hotel room.

  “Where you at now?” My eyes focus on the large glass windows beside her.

  “Would you believe I’m in Greece?” Her shoulders are relaxed, something I haven’t seen in a while. A sight for sore eyes.

  “Work or pleasure?”

  “Pleasure.”

  Violet may be on official business, but she’s also checking another thing off her list. Eat authentic Greek food. According to her, Greek yogurt doesn’t count.

  “How’s the pita bread?” I question.

  “Delicious. The crap we have back in the states doesn’t even compare.” She touches her lips as if she can still taste it.

  “Speaking of back in the states, you will not believe the crap that’s going on,” I say.

  “Do I even want to know?” She rests back against an overstuffed pillow. Her red hair sits at the top of her head in a messy bun. I’ve never seen her look more beautiful.

  “Remember how you snooped through Amanda’s phone because you thought she was having a rocking affair?”

  “Yeah, what about it?” She sits forward, positioning herself directly in front of the camera.

  “It’s Rico.”

  “What’s Rico?” Her eyebrows crease together.

  “The guy. The affair. The secrets. It’s Rico. Amanda and Rico,” I clarify.

  “Holy shit.” Violet’s eyes widen. “Now it all makes sense and I had my suspicions.” She clambers on about all the little hints right under her nose this whole time.

  “Well, when you get back, you can deal with that because I’m not asking any questions. Quite frankly, I don’t even want to know. Nothing good can come of it.”

  “Some may have said the same thing about us,” she counters. Her refreshing bluntness is something I’ve missed, even when it seems to work against me. “I have so much to tell you, Dan. All the things that have happened have been life-changing. Like right now, I’m looking at the most magnificent view. We have to come back here. You’d love it.” She picks up her computer, allowing her camera to capture the view. It’s dark, but the nightlife is at a high roar in the city below her hotel.

  “I can’t wait to hear all about it,” I say. Warmth radiates throughout my entire body at Violet’s insistence on a future where we’d trav
el together.

  The screen starts to blur, and panic sets in. Our time is already limited. It’s these small conversations that keep my mind straight on where we are headed.

  “I’m going to lose you.” Her voice is barely audible, and then we’re disconnected.

  Her enthusiasm is impossible not to see, even with a bad connection. Her eyes shine with pride for what she’s accomplished on her own. It’s something to admire.

  If only I could bottle her happiness and pride, so she’d always remember it.

  My finger pokes at the keyboard before I slam the cover shut. No luck. I cross my fingers the reception desk will know if there is anything I can do. Small minutes over Skype aren’t easing the ache in my chest. I’ve never wanted to see Dan more than I do right now. He brings a calmness with him and always has.

  Deep down to my core, I know I’m right where I need to be. The moments I’m experiencing are making those small pieces inside of me come together.

  When I arrived in Greece, I wasn’t sure what to expect. My only source about the country has been The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Not even the book. The movie. I remember thinking, I’ll visit there someday, and oddly enough, I’m finally here, soaking up all the culture and charisma of its people.

  I toss my laptop onto the mattress, watching it bounce a time or two when it hits the cloud-like surface. One thing is for sure, when I get back home, I’m investing in a quality, hotel-worthy mattress. It’s late, and while I’m starving, the last thing I want to do is put on actual clothes, so instead I pick up the phone and order room service.

  The creamy goodness of tzatziki on warm pitas and gooey baklava have my body in full food coma mode when I take the last bite. Greek food is something I could easily get used to. With a satisfying bellyache, I fall back with a comforting swoosh against the mound of pillows. The curtains buckle in the wind from the open balcony door, allowing the crisp breeze to travel the room. Greece couldn’t be more beautiful. A place I can guarantee I’ll visit again, and next time, not alone.

  I fall asleep thinking about how similar Dan’s eyes are to the sea outside my hotel.

  *****

  My eyes flutter open, and a chill spreads over my skin. After falling asleep with the balcony door open, the small bite nips at my bare feet, and I tug and tuck the covers until warmth soothes them.

  Closer to breakfast, I open my laptop, connect to the spotty Wi-Fi, and send out a few emails. Dan’s has a photo of the now sun-filled view with the message I dreamt of your eyes, and when I woke up, this reminded me once again how much I miss you.

  The one to Jacqueline includes the video I’ve been editing, which focuses on the trends I’ve observed during my travels. This footage makes pride bubble in my chest. I’ve always been innovative, but never in a million years did I think I’d be able to travel and focus my creative energy on something I’m passionate about.

  A quick shower and a ponytail make me feel alive and empowered. The elevator is empty, and I bob my head to the tune playing through the speakers.

  “Today is going to be a good day,” I whisper as I step into the tiled lobby. The back end of the resort is open, exposing the visitors’ senses to an array of smells and sights. The sea is vast, and the air is pure. Waves slap against the breaking wall, the sound that lulled me to sleep last night.

  “Do you want a table, miss?” a middle-aged woman asks as I approach the hostess booth.

  This is one of the many restaurants here at the resort. The atmosphere is relaxed. Each table has a crisp white tablecloth and cheerful flowers in bright blue vases. The colors remind me of sea glass.

  “Yes, please,” I say. She removes a menu and ushers me to a table along the open window.

  “Is this okay?” Her hand ghosts over the chair, and I smile in silent appreciation for seating me so close to the outdoors. “Please, let me know if you need anything, and enjoy your brunch.”

  It doesn’t take long for my waiter to fill my glass with sparkling water and take my order. When it’s delivered, steam pipes up from the plate. I’m quick to dive in, ready to devour every delicious bite. The waffles melt in my mouth, and an involuntary groan escapes my lips. My eyes dart around the bustling dining room, afraid I’ve drawn attention to myself.

  No one seems affected or even remotely concerned with the sounds I make. When I take another bite, I hold back the moan and focus my attention on the table tucked in the back corner.

  A young, maybe twenty-something blonde sits alone. Her eyes are focused outside where mine also seem to be drawn. It’s almost impossible to eat and not be captivated by the scenery around the resort. It’s easy to assume she’s enjoying the view, but her eyes give her away. They aren’t enraptured or amused with the idea of being in Greece. The luggage sitting beside her table says she isn’t a local.

  It’s rude to stare. Still, I can’t seem to look away when she pulls out a white envelope. Her finger rips the seam and yanks out several folded pages. As if they burned her, she allows them to float to the table. Again, I know now she’s in the middle of something personal, and I should mind my own business. In theory, someone freaked out enough to pull at her ends of her hair to the point of wincing deserves a little company, even if she’s unaware of it. I know that breaking point feeling. It’s when you fear everything around you may collapse, but you still have to push on.

  The blonde picks up the papers, a clear sign of pushing through. Her hands tremble as she reads them. Every few minutes, she places them down and dries the tears the words must be causing. A few times I think I’m caught, but when her slender neck twists in my direction, my reflexes have me locking my stare on the sea. When I think it’s safe, I glance back at her. My reaction to her pain may seem morbid. Feeling alone is impossible. To have company, to know not everyone is sitting on a diamond crusted pillow in life is oddly comforting.

  As I take the last bite of food, the fork freezes on my lips. My eyes skim up a pair of legs and body to the eyes of the crying blonde from the far corner. The look of surprise on my face must amuse her. She grins, even with the remnants of tears on her face.

  “Can I help you?” I ask. My hands begin to sweat, and I rub them on my leggings.

  “I saw you watching me,” she explains her presence.

  “I’m so sorry.” My cheeks redden. Holy shit. “I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Don’t apologize.” She waves my apology off. “This is going to sound bizarre, but I need you to read this.” She shakes the letter in front of her face like a fan. “It’s the last words of my father.”

  “I’m not exactly sure what you’re saying.” My eyes narrow. Her father’s last words?

  “Will you read these?” She hands them to me, and for reasons I don’t know, I reach for them. The smooth paper crinkles under my grip. As she releases them from her shaky fingertips, her shoulders relax.

  “You want me to read these?” I clarify.

  “Please.” She shakes her head before smiling down at me. “I don’t want his words to go to waste. I’ll always cherish them, of course, but I don’t want his last words to only be soaked up by me. I want someone else to have them, too.”

  “Because then you won’t feel as alone?” I smack my forehead. “I’m such an idiot. Sometimes I just say things without thinking.”

  “No, you’re exactly right, and since you’re the only one who paid any attention to the poor girl crying in the corner, I thought you’d benefit the most,” she says.

  And with those words, I’m left alone to read a letter.

  My dearest Emma,

  If you’re reading this, it means the world is a cruel place. Your mother and I never imagined a life where we didn’t exist alongside you. There are some things I need you to know, though, sweetie, and even writing this letter seems surreal.

  There are going to be people who come in and out of your life. They will build you up. Hell, they may even tear you down. But in
the end, they are there for a distinct reason. You, my angel, are one who built me up. Every morning, I sneak into your room before leaving for work. You never wake when I sit at the end of your bed. No words are spoken. To me, words are futile. They hold no purpose when it comes to you. For the life of me, I couldn’t string enough of them together to truly express how I feel about you.

  You are my world. You’ve taught me everything I need to know about humanity. There’s good out there, and the only way I can fathom that to be true, even now when I’m gone, is because you are out there somewhere. Live your life. Love hard. Don’t let moments pass you by because unfortunately, nothing is guaranteed.

  We love you more than life itself, Emma-Bean. Never forget that. We are beside you, every step.

  Love,

  Dad

  P.S. Someone, someday will come along and sweep my princess off her feet, and when he does, make sure he is worthy. You are worthy of greatness.

  At a stranger’s words, I find myself pushing back from the table. The girl, who I now know is Emma, is sitting at the small half-wall outside of the restaurant when I storm out, her father’s letter gripped in my fist.

  “I don’t know you, but thank you.” I hand back the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read.

  No response is necessary, and I almost appreciate her more for not trying to stop me. She has shared the most intimate part of herself with me, a mere stranger, in the hopes the words would spark something inside of me. How she knew they would is beyond me, but one thing I do know is I’ll never forget her.

  That’s the beauty of it, I think, as I ride the elevator back to my room. I don’t need to know the story behind the letter. That’s not the point. It’s the truth in one man’s words that will have an everlasting effect.

  In the solitude of my room, I throw my clothes into the suitcase. Right now, I don’t care if they end up wrinkled beyond repair. All I know is for the first time on this journey, through every city street I’ve walked and admired, there is only one place I want to be.