Snowflake Wishes (9 page)

“Thank you.” She pulled her hand from hers, and it hurt like hell to do it. “Because that one word is the one that scares me the most. I'm sure you're careful, and I know you're smart, and I know you probably have the best equipment they make, but there's always going to be that element of danger you can't predict, and one of these days … it might not go your way.”

“Piper, stepping out your
door
in the morning carries risk. Hell, sitting on your
couch
carries risk. Stuff can happen anywhere. You can't walk around bubble-wrapped against the universe, or you'll never
see
the universe.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I happen to like bubble wrap.” He rolled his eyes in frustration. “Noah, I know a meteor could come crashing into my living room. I know a rabid skunk could bite my ankles when I step onto my porch. I know a car could mow me down in the grocery store parking lot. I
know.
But those are normal risks. Those are calculable, and they're freakishly rare. What
you
do? Not so much.”

“Not that you're passing judgment.”

“I'm not.” She put her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. “I'm just—God, I don't know! When I saw you at the Snowflake Ball, the years just melted away. When you kissed me, I felt the same fire we used to have. And dammit, when you held me, it felt like I was … home. Being with you made me forget what tore us apart in the first place … but it's still there, Noah. You're still you, and I'm still me, and we're still the same people we were.”

She swallowed, but it was hard. “I've spent the past twenty-four hours being stupid, but the reality is … nothing's changed, really.”

“Not true.”

She looked at him, and his jaw was set hard as he stared out the front window. “It
is
true, Noah. I'm never going to be the girl who'll follow you around the world, and you're never going to be the guy who can be content living in a small town in Vermont. It's just not how we're wired.”

He was silent for so long that she started to wonder whether he was actually going to answer, but finally, he blew out a pained breath.

“Piper, I've got one year left on my contract. Twelve months. If I promised to come back after that year is over … is there any chance we might have a future together?”

She put up her hands like he just wasn't getting it. “Would you also promise not to die?”

He sighed. “I'd give it my best shot.”

“I'm sorry.” Her throat closed, and it was hard to speak. “That's not good enough, Noah. I can't live my life scared that you're not coming home. Even for a year.”

“I could work at a hardware store and get hit by a bus on the way home, you know.”

“I know. But you wouldn't be
choosing
to put yourself in danger. There's a difference. You're not wrong to do what you do. It's what you love, and it's what you need. Obviously. We're just … different people … and that's … okay.”

She turned toward her window so he wouldn't see the tears that were threatening. Dammit, she wished he would start the truck. Sitting here in the cold, having the coldest kind of conversation, was a nightmare she felt like she'd already lived through once.

He reached for her hand again. “You won't even think about it?”

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes. “All I've done for seven years
is
think about it, Noah. I've questioned every move I made so many times that I've made myself crazy. I've read your articles, I've checked out your website, I've cried a hundred gallons of tears. I have, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

“No. Yes. No. God, I don't know.”

“I wish I was the girl who could go home right now, pack up a bag, and head off to Belize with you. I really, really wish I was, because dammit, I've never stopped loving you. That much is exceedingly, painfully clear right now.”

She felt the tears let go, saw him close his eyes in reaction. “But I'm not that girl. I'm
never
going to be that girl. I want a house by the lake, a whole bunch of kids … a husband who'll be home every night for dinner. And I know that sounds boring. It probably sounds completely hellish to you. But it's … me. It's who I am, and it's what I want, and I could pretend differently and go off with you next week … or I could say I'll wait … but in the end, we'd both be miserable.”

“How can you really know that?”

“You know it, too, Noah. And if you came back—if you stayed—you'd be miserable in Echo Lake, too. You'd be bored out of your skull, and maybe it'd be fine at first, but eventually you'd resent me for forcing you to make that choice. I can't do that. I
won't
do that.”

“I'd never blame you, Piper. It'd be my choice.”

“You say that, and I know you mean it right now. But it wouldn't last. You need to be moving, be seeing new things, meeting new people. Echo Lake gets in about three new residents on a bumper year. You'd go completely nuts looking at the same people, the same scenery, the same … everything. You have a right to be happy, Noah. So do I. And as much as I—love you—I'd never be happy, thinking I'd made you stay.”

He reached for her hands. “Can't we just think about it? This is all sudden, and neither of us has had time to even process it all. Please, Piper. Don't close the door, just when we've found each other again. Just promise you'll think about it, okay?”

“No.” She shook her head miserably. “We—we're just different. We want different things. I think we need to face it and let—” A tiny sob found its way out of her throat. “We need to let each other go. Once and for all.”

Noah put his hand through his hair, closing his eyes. “I feel like we've had this conversation before.”

“We have. That's my whole point. And we can't be delusional enough to think we wouldn't
keep
having it.” She squeezed his hand. “I've been waiting for you for seven years, Noah. I didn't even know it, but it's true. And I'm really, really sorry, but … I can't wait anymore.”

Chapter 8

Two days later, Piper sat on a couch littered with Milky Way wrappers, empty Cheetos bags, and a cliché-perfect mound of balled-up tissues. She'd called in sick on Monday morning, making up highly contagious flu symptoms in order to keep Molly and Mama B away, and she'd given herself the gift of forty-eight hours of mourning.

It was now hour number forty-seven and she was out of tears
and
tissues. She found her purse under a pile of T-shirts, hoping to dig out one last packet. Instead, she pulled out a folded-up place mat from the diner, covered with squiggles and words she'd jotted down in the truck on the way back while she was trying not to talk to Noah.

The story he'd told her the other night in the diner was still knocking around her brain, the images he'd created vivid and full-color. And now, reading the words she'd written as she'd tried to capture the story on the way home, she felt an itch she hadn't felt in … forever.

She grabbed a fresh sheet of paper from the coffee table, then fished in her purse for a pencil, but all she had were three ballpoint pens. When had she stopped carrying pencils?

Uncapping the pens, she let her fingers take over, sketching a picture that had just flown into her head. Ten minutes later, she grabbed another piece of paper and sketched some more. Her fingers seemed almost detached from her brain as they made the pens skate over the paper, and she watched in awe as an adorable forest scene replaced the vast blank space.

When she'd finished the second sketch, she put down her pens and clasped her hands together, feeling like bubbles were trying to burst from her limbs.

She knew this feeling. She remembered it, but hadn't felt it for so, so long.

She leaped up from the couch and headed to the bedroom closet. She had to get Noah's stories.

She had to paint.

*   *   *

“Open up, Piper.”

Three days later, Molly knocked on Piper's apartment door with a ferocity that almost made her obey.

“I'm still sick, Mols. Contagious.” Piper grimaced as she looked around her living room, now scattered with drop cloths and paintings leaning against the walls. She still hadn't picked up the candy wrappers, or her clothes, and it looked like her entire apartment had been sacked.

“You are not. You were spotted buying milk last night.”

“What?”
Crap.
“By whom?”

“Mrs. Nebbits. She came into Bellinis for lunch, and was oh, so glad you were feeling better. She even used the words
positively glowing.
”

Piper wrinkled her nose, but didn't get up from her stool. Why, again, did she love this town?

Molly knocked again. “Listen, either you open this door, or I'm going to dial 911 and tell them I smell a dead body in here.”

“Fine! Okay! Hold on!” Piper set down her palette and wiped her fingers on her jeans, then headed for the door. “But it's the avian bovine flu, so don't hold it against me when you get it.”

She opened the door, and Molly stepped back, her eyes widening. “Omigod, what happened to you?” She peered around Piper into the apartment. “And what happened in
there?
”

Piper motioned her inside, then closed the door behind her. She tried to find the words to explain the explosion of paint and canvas, but before she could, Molly started walking around the edge of the room, looking down at the paintings.

When she'd completed a circuit, she looked up at Piper, her eyebrows practically as high as her hairline. “Piper?”

Piper shrugged her shoulders carefully, wincing. “I've been painting.”

“I can see that. You've been painting a—lot.” She walked toward the window, pointing at one of Piper's favorites—one she'd completed sometime around three this morning. “These are—awesome. I haven't seen you paint like this in forever!”

“I know.”

“Did Noah—is he—omigod, is this because of Noah?”

Piper blew out a breath. She wished she knew. After she'd completed her fourth canvas in twenty-four hours, she'd started asking that same question. When she'd picked up her brush on Tuesday, it had felt just right in her hand—like she'd never really put it down. And what came out of that brush had shocked her. The colors, the swirls, the magic … It was like the paintings she'd done years ago, when she'd been crazy in love with Noah.

It didn't make sense, though. The weekend had showed her that she was
still
in love with the damn man, but she'd done the most painful possible thing when she'd said good-bye to him once and for all. She would have expected to gravitate toward a huge tube of black paint. She would have expected to use broad, angry brushstrokes as she covered the canvas from top to bottom.

Instead, the first painting she'd done had been bright, light, happy. She'd used her tiniest brushes, she'd used whimsical strokes and silly shapes, and long before she'd finished, she'd known it was her best work ever.

It didn't make sense.

Molly grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the kitchen end of the room. “All right. I am making us coffee, and then
you
are spilling your guts. I can't believe you pretended to have the flu all freaking week, and you've been holed up in here painting!”

“I'm sorry. I just had to. I know I left you in a lurch, but I just—had to.”

Molly scooped coffee grounds into Piper's tiny coffee maker, then filled the carafe with water and dumped it in the top. Once it started gurgling, she sat on a barstool at the counter next to Piper.

“I'm not leaving this apartment until you tell me exactly how last weekend went. I've been torn between thinking you're in here crying your eyes out over coulda-beens … or thinking you've got Noah tied to the bed.”

She leaned over to look toward the bedroom. “You don't, do you?”

“He went back to Boston on Sunday night.”

“For … good?” Molly tipped her head, eyebrows furrowed.

Piper sighed. “Until he leaves for Belize on the twenty-sixth, yes.”

“And after that?”

“I don't know.” Piper sat down next to her. “South Africa, I think. Alaska, maybe. I can't remember.”

“So he left.” Molly's tone was dead.

“Yeah … he did. But in his defense, he offered to come back in a year.”

Molly's eyebrows went up. “And? What did you say?”

“What
could
I say, Mols?” Piper stood back up and paced toward the windows. “He doesn't belong here anymore than I belong anywhere else. I don't want someone who's bored and resentful and wishing he'd chosen a different life. And that's what I'd have, if he came back here to be with me.”

“You don't know that.”

“I
do
know that. More than anything, I know that.”

“People change, Piper. Maybe his adventurer thing will get old eventually.”

It was Piper's turn to raise her eyebrows. “I don't have time to wait for
eventually.
”

“Okay. Fine. I get that. Your withering eggs and all. But let me ask you this—can you really see yourself marrying anyone
else
after being with Noah this weekend?”

*   *   *

“Couple of signatures on this one, and then I've got your life insurance forms to update, and you can be on your way.” Noah's manager pushed yet another piece of paper across the desk, and Noah slashed his signature on the bottom. He was back in Boston, trying to get his paperwork in order for the New Year before he left for Belize.

“So how's your head?” Patrick's eyes scanned his face. “We don't mess around with concussions anymore—you know that. You really cleared to go?”