Shatterproof
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

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