Trinity Rosales has one goal in mind: find a job, not a man.
As a new grad, Trinity Rosales sets out on applying to jobs and surprisingly gets hired at one of the most famous interior design firms in the city. Except the man she's trying to avoid ha...
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"Come on in, son." Grandpapa waves me into his office.
The midday sun filters through a single sheet of glass illuminating the rustic room. The same weathered wood and oak floors I grew up with permeate the space.
"Sit, sit." He waves to the only chair across from him.
Grandpapa has always been a humble and simple man. He didn't need much to be content.
That hasn't changed.
I look at the arrangement of plants behind him.
Except that.
"Hey Pops. I was surprised you called me in so close to your trip." I say, not commenting on the greenery knowing Mama G probably placed them there to fill the otherwise lifeless room with life.
"Your grandmother can handle it." He meets my eyes and a lazy grin spills over his maturing features.
Every year, in celebration of their anniversary, Mama and Papa take a road trip across Montana. Their dream was to travel the world. Particularly Europe for all its culture and history. But one summer when I offered to pay for their trip they refused—stating that road-tripping was much more fun than getting on an unknown flying contraption which can fall at any moment. Because, you know, my grandparents refuse to give in to modern society. I swear, if they change their mind one day, they will take a boat across the Atlantic just to get to their destination.
"According to the Mrs." He adds, chuckling lowly, "I can't pack right anyway. May as well take a load off both our shoulders and allow her to do things her way." His eyes glitter with amusement, "Because women are always right."
I let out a soft snicker of my own, "Certainly."
Grandpapa lets out a quiet hum, as he closes his book, and suddenly I'm thirteen-years-old again. Another cold, sleepless night of tossing and turning unable to fall asleep. I had just lost my mother and every time winter came the memory replayed over and over. Grandpapa would come in and begin humming. I didn't know it at the time but they were hymns. I would fall asleep within minutes. I blink my eyes closed for a moment–reliving the memory–and lean back, settling into the organic leather chair. Any lingering tension leaving my shoulders and body.
Grandpapa clears his throat and I open my eyes, meeting his soft, tender gaze. A father seeing his son.
"I know I may not tell you this as much, Linc, but I missed having you back."
My stomach twists. "I've been back, grandpapa."
He merely taps the side of his graying hair. "Not in here you haven't."
I purse my lips, my gaze drifting to the landscape on the other side of the room.
"You work too hard. Trying to drown out the noise. You can only run for so long." A pause then, "It's time to make new memories here don't you think?"
