“I made my peace with it, but Bloom?” He shakes his head. “She wanted to make that work, but I’ve been shooting blanks for years.”
“Arlo…”
“Don’t, it’s okay. But Bloom? She never got over it, and I hope one day she finds a love that makes her realize that the two of us were never meant to be.” He jerks his head at the doors, but he doesn’t move, instead choosing to look at me with those soulful eyes. “I have to know how you feel about that.”
“Why?”
“I know you want to leave, to run off to Maine, but, Birdie, I’m willing to see where this thing goes.” Shock leaves me rooted to the spot.
How do I answer that? What do I even say to that?
Well, I can answer one question. “You shooting blanks doesn’t bother me.” As for him wanting to see what’s between us? I’m not sure how I feel about that.
The ticking of a mental clock is my personal Sword of Damocles.
He nods, unlocks the door, and leads me inside, where the interior is just as magical as the exterior. Although ivy grows on the crisscrossing beams, it doesn’t take away from just how incredible this building is. The creeping green adds to the magic of this chapel.
“Arlo!” I gasp, running my fingers over the pews as an altar rises at the other end, where a grand piano sits in rot.
“My dad and my grandfather built this chapel.”
My neck cracks as I swing around to look at him. “What?”
“You heard me, Birdie.” He points to the front where the piano sits. “My mother used to play that piano.”
“What happened to this place?”
“My father died.” The words are so simple and pale in comparison to what that death meant. The hurt and pain is clear in everything I see before me, from the ruin of the chapel to the sadness and lingering awe in Arlo’s eyes. “He loved this place, and without him, my mom couldn’t bring herself to keep up withit. We come out here every so often to take a walk down memory lane.”
“Why did you want to bring me here?”
He shrugs as he leads me down the aisle to the front. “I wanted you to meet my dad in some way. Show you what he created, even though it’s long past.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I point to the ivy creeping up the wall. “I think the ivy adds a touch of magic.”
“It’s a parasite, is what it is.”
“A beautiful parasite,” I tease, heading back for the basket of food. “But I think you could restore it.” Tossing my coat onto a pew, I grab the basket, ignoring his sputtering and laughter.
“We don’t use this chapel anymore.”
“Obviously.” I pull out a grape and pop it into my mouth. “But we could.”
My face drops as soon as I realize what I said, and I inhale my grape, only for it to get lodged in my throat.
Arlo stares at me in shock, whether it’s from what I said or the fact that I can’t breathe because of the grape lodged in my throat, I don’t know.
But in about two seconds, I’m going to resemble that grape and drop to the floor dead, leaving Lark an orphan.
Oh, man, my brother is going to be so mad. I gasp and drop the basket, and the clatter startles Arlo into action. His boots clomp on the floor, and everything around me becomes exaggerated. Sounds become far too loud, reverberating in my skull like a gong.
This is dying, and all I can think is,Not what I expected.There’s no tunnel vision into the land of all my best and worst moments of life. Just wow, in a chapel? The irony of that isn’t just loud but mocking.
Arlo wraps his arms around me, his hands lacing together as he gives me the Heimlich.
Once.
Twice.
