I take the card, smiling as I read—Meg Bugsby, street art, cartoons, commissions, free smiles.
“Do call, ’kay?” She squeezes my arm again with one hand, while the other reaches casually for a twenty-four pack of oil paints and slips it into her purse. “I want to know you’re right. And don’t worry about this.” She nods toward her purse. “I’ll pay them back on Friday when I get paid. I just can’t wait that long for more paint. I’ve got a mermaid swimming around in my imagination I need to get on wood before she disappears.”
I shrug. “I’m not in any place to judge.”
“Cool.” Meg winks as she backs away. “I like you. You call me tomorrow. We’ll work everything out. No more tears in the pharmacy, eh?”
“No more tears in the pharmacy.” I lift a hand and wiggle my fingers.
“Seeya, Sam.” She turns and walks away. I stand watching her, holding my breath until her bobbing brown head bobs out the door without the shopkeeper tackling her to the ground and pulling the paints from her purse.
My guardian angel is a shoplifting artist.
Something about it feels right.
I tuck Meg’s card into my purse and make my way to the checkout via the hair products aisle, where I snag a pack of rubber bands. I pay for the ties and step out onto the street, standing in a patch of sunlight as I rake my rapidly expanding hair from my face with my fingers and subdue it into a ponytail.
I’m still standing there, wondering whether I should start walking toward the rafting company only a couple of miles down the road, or try to find a cab or a bus to take me to the hotel and hope Danny ends up there sooner rather than later, when I catch a flash of bright red paint and our rental car pulls into a parking spot across the street.
Danny is out the driver’s door a moment later.
His eyes find me immediately, leaving no doubt I was the reason he pulled over. His body is so tense I can practically feel it vibrating from across the street and the expression on his face is a heartbreaking mix of anger, betrayal, and confusion that makes me wish I was still hiding in the arts and crafts aisle of the drug store.
But I’m not going to run away again. Danny deserves better than that, and just because I’m afraid doesn’t mean I have to be a complete coward. Kind-hearted girls who want to help the friendless still shoplift from struggling store owners. Creepy guys who refuse to let girls out of their trucks love to pet little dogs.
The world isn’t black and white. It’s made up of a thousand shades of gray, and maybe there is a shade that can work for me and Danny.
Maybe there is a way to tell just enough of the truth to keep from losing the man I love.
I take a deep breath and start across the street, praying that I’ll be able to make it work. I can see in Danny’s green eyes just how much I’ve hurt him by running off for less than an hour. I don’t want to imagine how badly I’ll hurt him if I need to keep running for the rest of my life.
Chapter Fourteen
Danny
“I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one.”
-Lord Byron
* * *
Sam and I don’t talk on the way to the hotel. Sam says she sorry, I say I’m glad I found her, and we leave it at that for the drive.
But we both know a confrontation is coming.
The impending meltdown hangs thick in the silence, as ominous as the black storm clouds gathering behind the mountains on the other side of Lake Taupo, making the snow-capped peaks look even brighter against the bruised sky.
I park near the main lodge and we walk up the gravel trail side by side, but not touching or holding hands the way we usually would. When we arrive at our cabin, there’s a note on the door apologizing that the heat still isn’t fixed and another two bundles of firewood on the mat, but Sam and I don’t talk about that either. We just let ourselves into the cold room and I get to work building a fire while Sam starts water and makes tea.
I hardly ever drink tea, but when she hands me the cup of cloudy brown liquid, it smells good—sane, and I could use some sanity right now. I sit in the armchair that doesn’t have a view of the bed—I can’t stand to look at it and think about how good things were this morning—and take a sip. I close my eyes, relishing the way the hot water burns a trail down my throat and the honey aftertaste lingers on my tongue.