Shatterproof (13 page)

There’s a pause and then the blond knocks his hand away. Words I can’t hear stream out of her mouth, and she waves her finger accusingly at the man. He tries to catch her hand and she pulls it out of reach. Then she gets to her feet and charges toward the door. People at other tables glance up briefly, only to go back to their courting just as fast.

The door to Cecile’s bangs open, ringing a bell. The blonde skitters across the snow in black stilettos and stops, trying to figure out what to do next. The snow falls on her bare shoulders, and speckles her dress until it soaks into the deep red velvet.

Her boyfriend comes after her, carrying her coat and purse. “Tori, wait!”

“Stay away from me, Gavin,” Tori says. “I hate you.”

She starts to cry, covering her face with red lacquered nails.

Gavin tries to ease her coat over her shoulders and she moves away. This time she almost slips and he holds her steady. “Baby, I don’t know why you’re so upset,” he says. “It’s just six months.”

“
Just six months, just six months
,” she repeats. “That’s what you say every time. My life is getting chipped away six months at a time.”

“I’ll come home every weekend.”

She drops her hands to glare at him. “From London.”

“Well, as often as I can.”

“Thanks so much. Well, I’ll either be here
as often as I can
, or I won’t.”

“Tori...” he’s using the placating tone I’ve used so often on Noah. “It’ll be fine. You can visit me, too. We’ll check out Buckingham Palace, catch some shows. You’ve never been to the UK.”

“But you have. You’ve worked there twice already. You’ve paid your dues.”

“This project is bigger, you know that. It’ll put me on track for a promotion.”

Wiping tears away with one hand, Tori rests the other on her hip. “If you were a surgeon and lives were at stake, I’d understand. But you’re an engineer. This is just an excuse not to commit.”

I look at Gavin’s face and see it’s not true. He loves her and feels caught between a rock and a hard place. It’s probably an expression I’ve often worn, because the hurt I see on Tori’s face is certainly a familiar sight on Noah’s.

Taking a step toward them, I consider trying to run interference. Maybe I can reason with them, help them understand each other. But they don’t even notice me. It’s like I’ve become invisible. Looking down, I see why. While I’ve been watching them, snow has accumulated on my coat, my bare head. It’s weighing down my lashes, melting and mingling with my tears. My heart is breaking all over again with Gavin and Tori, but they only see each other and the fragile world they’re about to smash like a snow globe.

I reach for the vial in my pocket and clutch it in one reddened, bare hand. The chances of my finding Noah in time and dosing him are slim now. There is no point in hoarding a few drops that will be powerless soon, but might help another couple now.

Working the top off with stiff fingers, I take a couple of cautious steps closer before flinging the last bit of Wonder Glass at Tori and Gavin. The droplets arc in seeming slow motion, shining like a rainbow to my tired eyes. One drop lands on Tori’s nose, and she rubs it into her skin. Another lands on Gavin’s cheek, and glistens there.

After a long moment, Tori and Gavin lunge forward at exactly the same time. Tori’s shoes give out and she falls into Gavin’s arms. Laughing, he grabs her, lifts her off the ground and spins her around. One stiletto catches me in the hand and leaves a gash, but neither one notices.

“I’ll stay,” Gavin says. “There’s something almost as big coming up in Guelph. There are some beautiful views in farm country, baby.”

Tori giggles as he lowers her to the ground. “I love cows.”   

They turn to go back into Cecile’s and I start my long slog up Bay Street. Once more, my shoes give way and I take a spectacular wipe out.

Gavin comes running back and lifts me to my feet. “You okay, lady?”

He’s about my age, but appears to be mistaking me for a homeless woman. “Yeah,” I say, trying to smile with frozen lips. “I’ll be fine.”

“Hang on,” he says. Charging into the middle of Bay Street, he manages to flag a cab. He helps me inside and hands the driver a fifty. “Take her anywhere she wants to go.”

T
he 20-minute drive to Noah’s house takes well over an hour. Finding the place dark, I sit on the snowy steps, checking my phone every few minutes. He hasn’t answered my calls or texts, and the twins have come up empty. I have a key but I don’t feel right using it tonight. So when the shivering gets too bad, I call another cab and head home.

I tell the driver to let me off early so that his cab doesn’t get stuck on the side street. All the snow I wore earlier has melted, leaving me soaked. Peering up at my building, I wonder why I ever bought the place. It’s not a home, but a taupe-walled box in the sky. I guess I’ll be seeing a lot of it, now that I’m unemployed.

As I fumble for the keys in my purse, the front door opens. Noah steps outside, carrying a huge pot of red hibiscus. Seeing my face, he sets the flowers in the snow and folds me into his warm, dry arms.

At first, I sob so hard I can’t hear what he’s saying, and he stops trying to talk and just pats my head and rocks me. When I finally stop to catch my breath, we both chime at exactly the same moment, “I’m sorry.”

Laughing, we gaze at each other until we again speak at exactly the same time:

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“I quit,” I say.

He waits a beat and says, “You can’t quit.”

“I already did. It’s done.”

“Well undo it. It’s your career.”

I bury my face again in his warm coat. “You’re my life. I choose you.”

I feel him shaking his head over mine. “No. You don’t have to choose. I’ll come with you to Ottawa, find a job there.”

“Too late,” I say. “I’m happily unemployed. You can support me while I figure out what to do next.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Does that give me priority in your calendar?”

“Unlimited access, and free upgrades upon request. I’m thinking about starting a travel agency, by the way.”

Pushing a strand of wet hair behind my ear, Noah leans down and kisses me. I feel myself warming from the inside out, thanks to the fire that starts somewhere south of my belly. With his mouth still on mine, Noah unbuttons my coat and slips warm hands inside. He yanks the bottom of my blouse out of my skirt
 
and slides his hands under it. I close the small gap between us, trying to steal as much of his body heat as possible.

My phone is buzzing in my purse at my feet, but I ignore it.

Then the honking starts.

And continues.

Until it’s really annoying.

Finally, Noah and I pull apart and turn to see what the ruckus is about. Scott’s ancient Jeep is sitting at the curb and two identical faces peer out at us.

“Get a room,” Jaz calls.

“Forget to pay your condo fees?” Scott shouts.

Noah and I both laugh. I flip the guys the bird with one hand, and then, thinking better of it, blow a kiss instead. And a second one.

They’re still heckling us as the Jeep pulls away.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Noah murmurs into my neck.

“Back at you,” I say, running my fingers through his hair.

The phone starts buzzing again, and I reach into my purse, expecting more abuse from my brothers. Instead, I find an e-mail from Reuben. I take a second to read his backhanded apology, assurances that all will be forgotten, and request for “my terms.”  Then I turn the phone off and drop it back in my purse.

“Let’s get you inside and warmed up,” Noah says. “Got 20 minutes to spare for an old friend?”

“Actually, I blocked off ‘forever’ for you. But first you’re going to help me paint this place.”

“Let me guess:  purple, like beach morning glories,” he says, smiling as he stoops to pick up the hibiscus.

“Neutrals,” I say. “I want to sell as soon as possible and use the money to renovate your house.”

“Wait a second...”

“Get ready to part with that leather couch, my friend. I’m going shopping tomorrow. Right after I get my windshield replaced.”

He unlocks the door and guides me inside. “What happened to your windshield?”

“I chipped it coming home from your place the other night.”

“You know there’s this serum now that seals up cracks.”

I step into the elevator and wrap my arms around him again. “Yeah, I checked out every option. Sometimes, you just have to start fresh.”

Yvonne Collins and Sandy Rideout met as teens while working in a public library. They became fast friends after discovering a shared fascination for relationships of any kind—a common theme in the 11 books they’ve written together. They live in Toronto, where Yvonne is a camera assistant in film and TV, and Sandy works in corporate communications
.

To learn more about Yvonne and Sandy and their books, please visit their websites: