Page 137 of Friends Don't Kiss

He silences me with a finger on my lips. “Just promise me.”

“I promise.” I can promise him that. After all, he saiddream job, and that’s highly subjective.

Colton drives me to Montreal so I can catch a direct flight to Paris. He hugs me tight, kissing me lightly on the lips among the crowd of passengers hurrying to their flights. “Go show’em, sweets. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He lets go of me, but my body is having trouble moving.

“Three months’ll go real fast, right?” I say, more for my own benefit than for his.

His gaze scans around my face, as if to memorize contours he won’t be seeing for way too long. “We’ve been through that, sweets. If it ends up being more, then so be it.” Colton spent all of last night trying to convince me this was my calling, and that I’d been right all along to seek success out of Emerald Creek.

Coming from someone who only weeks ago had hurt painted all over his face when I brought this exact thing up, I’m having difficulty believing it.

But since then, we’ve been to Annabel’s. I saw them talk together in hushed tones and I know it was about me even if I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Though Annabel did encourage me to go that day, and I think it was then that Colton finally understood that being a pastry chef isn’t exactly the same as baking cupcakes in your kitchen for the county fair—even if that’s when it starts for most of us.

Something switched that day. Another scary part of my life was set in motion—like climbing up the ladder at the deep end of the pool, and now I have to take the plunge.

“Take whatever time you need,” he says. He doesn’t add that he’ll be there waiting for me, and I know why. He wants me to feel free to follow whatever path opens up for me.

“Three months, Colt.”

“Sweets. Three months. Three years. You’ll just be a flight away. Don’t worry about me.”

I tug on his jacket, wrapping myself into him one last time.Don’t say that, I want to say, but I can’t. I’m scared I’m not strong enough. For him. For us. I’m scared my life of running away from pain, of trying to prove myself, made me too self-centered. Unable to really love the way Colton does—without restraint. Selflessly.

I want to tell him three months is way too fucking long. I want to tell him I want to worry about him. But I’m so fucking used to being tough, that I don’t know how that works. I don’t know how to say the words without being weak.

In the end, I kiss him, holding in my tears, then I hurry toward the gate, not looking back.

In the end, as always, I kind of hate myself for being… me.

Until I hear a loud whistle through the airport. A very familiar whistle. Turning around, I see Colton perched on a chair. “Best cupcake in the whole world, sweetness!” he shouts, smiling wide at me.

Tears threaten to choke me, but I manage a smile.

I hope I fake it well enough for him to believe I’m truly happy.

fifty-one

Kiara

Paris,twomonthslater

Sunday, 1:00 p.m.

To: Colton

Are you up?

Incoming call: Colton

Excitement courses through my veins.

“Hiiii.”

“Hey sweets.” His voice has a pre-coffee rasp that says morning sex and lazy Sunday in. “Send me a picture. I wanna know where you’re at right now.”

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