Page 148 of Friends Don't Kiss

A little twist of guilt hits me. I shouldn’t have been so grumpy earlier. They all chipped in to send me to Europe, and I couldn’t give them the time of day. I guess I do need Kiara in my life to cheer me up. I’ll make a point to post pictures on Echoes several times a day to make up for my not-so-stellar attitude.

“And not everyone has a Kiara to bring back home,” he adds. The dip of his mouth has turned bitter.

“What’s up with you, man?” I really don’t know how to talk deep with my guy friends, but this seems to be one of these moments where it’s required. I’ve talked about tough shit with my sister, and each of my parents, maybe once or twice in my life. It’s simple. You ask an open question and you just wait for them to answer. Then you ask them how it makes them feel.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know—women. What was her name again? What happened with her?”

He’s saved by our approaching border control. The US side waves us through, the Canadian sides asks where we’re going. “I’m driving him to Trudeau,” Noah says as we hand our passports.

“Anything to declare?”

“Nope.”

Once we’re on the other side, Noah says, “She couldn’t handle the whole… family thing.”

I nod, not sure what he’s referring to. Noah is the eldest of several, and his parents travel quite a bit, leaving him in charge most of the time. But he never made it sound like it was a problem. “She didn’t want kids?” I venture.

He looks at me sideways. “N-no. That’s not…”

I stick to my tactic of being quiet, but it doesn’t seem to work. Maybe Noah just doesn’t want to talk. I try one more thing. “Anyone else you’re interested in?” Shit, I’m sounding like my mom or Ms. Angela. I’m embarrassing myself.

“Women aren’t interested in men who come with my kind of baggage, Colt. But thanks for asking.”

Okay, that’s a polite fuck off if I know one. But—holy shit.Baggage?What baggage does Noah have? His family founded the town; they’re wealthy. He volunteers in various capacities and always looks happy to be there. I swallow with difficulty, but I don’t ask more questions, and we spend most of the drive in silence, apart from the occasional muttered swear at other drivers.

Then, once we're at the drop-off area, he helps me take the luggage out and takes me in a bear hug. “Hope you bring her back, man.”

fifty-four

Emerald Creek

Hourslater

Emerald Creek is buzzing with its low-grade customary activity. Right outside town, the garage overlooking the valley is operating at a slower pace, with its owner away. Easy Monday is where the gossip has returned for now.

In the heart of the village, Ms. Angela trots from Shy Rabit to the general store, where Noah is shoveling snow off the sidewalk. Alex leaves the bakery to go pick up Skye from school.

Moments later, a car parks alongside the curb, and a woman in a pink bandana climbs the steps to the bakery and asks for Chris.

Willow is helping at the register today, although since Kiara left, she’s who makes most of the pastries for Chris—and she’s grateful for the extra money. She pokes her head into the bakehouse and catches Chris’s attention. “There’s someone here for you.” The woman in a pink bandana looks vaguely familiar to her, she asked for Chris by name… and she’s right there, behind her, making herself at home in the employee-only section of the bakery.

The vision of Annabel in his shop fills Chris with pride. Save for a brief encounter during Laskin, so far they’ve only talked on the phone, and there hasn’t been time to make the promises of meeting on each other’s turf come true. “Annabel! It’s an honor.”

“Yes, well…” she says as they shake hands.

“What brings you here? Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

Annabel waves the offer away. “I’m good, thank you.”

Chris leans against a prep table and crosses his arms, examining the celebrity chef, savoring the vision of her in his inner sanctum. If he wasn’t so in awe, he’d ask for a selfie.

“So you should know…” Annabel starts, then twirls around his bakehouse. “Nice little outfit you got here.”

“Thank you.” He looks down at his feet, her unease creeping into him. “I should know?”

She takes a quick inhale. “Actually, the capstone project at the Institut Pierre de Varanges is a pastry production challenge.”

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