Page 156 of Friends Don't Kiss

If I wasn’t meeting Kiara after her last day at theInstitut, I could stay all night talking with these guys, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m late for her last evening here. She’s been on my mind all day, and even though over the hours I’ve felt more and more at ease with these guys and had interesting conversations with them, she’s all that matters to me.

That last night, we gather at someone’s apartment with all the food I brought from Emerald Creek. Kiara wasn’t kidding when she said she wanted to have a get-together and bake or cook. There are about eight people there, other students she’s become friendly with. They speak a combination of French and English, with most sentences being in English but the pastry or cooking terms in French.

I’m really not paying attention to the conversation, just observing how Kiara comes alive as she unwraps the stuff I brought, her eyes lighting up as she explains the different ages of cheddar, the grades of maple syrup, and the process to make it. At some point she rubs her thumb on sage, turns to me and asks, “Is that from Cassandra’s windowsill?”

“I think so.” I nod as she reverently sets it aside. “We got four feet since you left, so…”

“Just four feet, huh?” She smiles. “Any thawing yet?”

I tilt my head. “It’s this year’s maple syrup.”

“Right. It’s already the end of March.”

“It ain’t mud season yet. We got a few more weeks. I hear Red Mountain is all powder today.”

“What are you talking about?” her roommate, Natalie, asks. Kiara explains the six seasons of Vermont. Winter being bookended by stick season at the end of fall, and mud season right before spring. She tells them that yes, one to two meters of snow over the season is what we like to see, and while they will be going to the South of France for a first dip in the Mediterranean after school, we’ll be happily snowboarding down a slope called Avalanche. To which one of the guys retorts that the Alps have the best skiing in the world, and Kiara responds with a shoulder shrug.

“What about the job fair?” I ask Kiara when we leave her friends with a promise to stay in touch and maybe even visit.

She shakes her head. “I don’t need to go. I told the Institut I’d give them some credit for whatever success I have in Emerald Creek when I go back. They did give me a chance, and a full scholarship, and there’s no reason for me not to recognize that. But there was no expectation on my part to do anything in return. Just make the best pastries I can with what I learned. Take on an apprentice or two to pass along the knowledge.”

We climb in the ride share car and she tucks herself under my arm. “You know I was coming back to Emerald Creek anyway, right? You didn’t have to come get me. But I’m so glad you did.”

I squeeze her shoulder. “I want to get better at showing you how much I love you, sweets. It’s a fine line between that and letting you be who you want to be.”

She turns sideways to look me in the eye, the seriousness in her gaze hitting me below the rib cage. “You made me become who I am. Don’t you ever hold back on showing me how much you love me, Colt.”

Overcome with emotion, I lean in to kiss her, but she tilts her head back. “Promise me,” she says.

Suddenly I get it. It took me months—years—but I get it now. Kiara’s fight to be independent, successful on her own? Her resistance to even date me? It’s because she didn’t think she had anyone other than herself that she could really count on. No one to support her, understand her, dream with her, fight with her. Love her entirely and unconditionally.

I was that person. She just didn’t know, and that’s on me.

“I promise. I’m gonna show you how much I love you, sweets. It’s gonna be a lot, so get ready.” I lean over to kiss her properly—we’re in France, after all. And as the saying goes, when in France, do as the French do.

Once our tongues are sated and our bodies are asking for more, she breaks the kiss, her lips swollen. “It can never be too much.”

I smile against her mouth. “Hold my beer, honey.”

sixty

Kiara

It’slatebutnotquite dark yet by the time we approach Emerald Creek. Three months in the city lights, dazzled by the Eiffel Tower at night and confined inside during the day, and I’d almost forgotten how huge the sky is here. I open the window, and the air slaps my face.

I feel alive again. The Vermont cold isn’t this insidious humidity that seeps into your bones, but instead it’s a healthy slap that resets your energy, activates your blood flow, and wakes you up instead of making you want to stay in bed all day.

My heart skips a beat as we approach the garage, the familiar sight hitting me hard. Just like when I saw Colton in Paris, the feelings I’ve suppressed are now flooding me. The familiarity of home. Knowing that no matter what, everything is going to be alright.

Instead of continuing onto Sunrise Farms, Colton eases onto the empty parking lot and shuts down the engine. Something looks different about the place. The sign on the garage.

Harper’s Body Works is now called Harper’s Auto Haven, and a cool, vintage-looking logo replaces the sleek design I’d come to dislike so much.

A nice tingling takes over my belly when I realize he’s had it changed. All it took was one involuntary pout telling him I wasn’t a fan that Valerie’s touch was still on his business, and it’s gone. My emotion tinges with a dose of guilt, but the smile is there nonetheless. “You changed it!” I whisper. “Why?”

His mouth twitches in a suppressed smile. “We can talk about that later,” he says as he pulls up beyond the garage, coming to a full stop where his land extends and shows Emerald Creek—the river and the village, down below.

I squint into the deepening darkness, unable to make out the lights lining the main streets, The Green, and twinkling from the dozens of houses huddled around it. There’s something blocking the view, like another building. Could it be a hangar? Is Colton expanding? Why didn’t he mention it? I want to hear more about that.

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