Sprinkle All The Way (Evergreen Lake: Under the Mistletoe)

Chapter 17

seventeen

VIOLET

I had every intention of talking to Noah about what our mutual orgasms meant for us moving forward, but there hasn’t been time. After Bernice gave us the approval for the stand we’ve spent the last three days running around like chickens with our heads cut off. From digging around the basement for supplies and getting cookies baked so we don’t sell out, there hasn’t been a moment where we aren’t moving.

I wanted to bundle the cookies in Christmas themed bags with ribbons, but since we had no time to order them we had to improvise with cardboard boxes Ginger had left over. Noah got lucky and found a small display warmer to keep some of the cookies warm. Some are meant to be served cold, so that was good for us. But there’s something about warm chocolate chip cookies that hits differently, so we both agreed the warmer was a necessity.

He finally got it to work this afternoon, having to run to the store a few times to get different replacement parts. It seems like Ginger never liked to buy anything new, something he has complained about a few times.

We’re bringing the five holiday flavors he’s been teaching me to bake and selling them at a discount as a special festival price. I was able to borrow craft supplies from Iris—well Ava—to make pricing signs and labels for which cookies we had available.

“What do you think of this?” I ask, leaning on the stool to look at the sign on the table as Noah pulls the last batch of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. I ended up commandeering half of the table to get these done tonight. The red and green paint is perfect for Christmas.

He transfers the cookies to a cooling rack and comes around to where I am, pulling a stool next to me and taking a seat. “They look great, Vi,” he says, picking up one of the signs and admiring it. “You’ve always been good at anything artistic.”

“Thanks, I’m really happy with how they turned out,” I say.

There’s a moment of silence before he whispers, “I’m really nervous about tomorrow.”

I turn toward him, taking his hands into mine, forcing him to face me. I rub my thumbs along his skin and say, “It’s going to be okay, I’ll be there with you. You’ve got to take those steps forward to get anywhere.”

“I know,” he says, finally looking at me. “I just have a bad feeling about it.”

“That’s understandable. How can I help you?” I ask, uncertain what would be best for him right now.

“I need a distraction, you said you brought boxes over right?” He stands, heading to the front of the shop instead of waiting for my confirmation.

“I did, old stuff from high school,” I tell him, following him through the kitchen door.

“Let’s do that then, I don’t want to think about cookies anymore,” he says, effortlessly picking up a stack of three boxes at once, something that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

I manage one box, figuring four should be enough to distract us for now, and follow him into the kitchen. He sets the boxes on the floor and drags one of the large trash cans over between the stools. Setting my box on the table, I pick up the art supplies to create space for us to go through everything without ruining the signs I made.

Noah plops onto his stool, and he looks exhausted when he runs his hands over his eyes and down his face as he tries to stifle a yawn.

“We can call it a night,” I tell him, the last half coming out through a yawn.

“No, no. Let’s get at least one of these done. If we go to bed now I won’t be able to stop thinking about tomorrow,” he says, and I don’t miss his casual use of ‘we.’

Sitting on my stool, I open the box on the table to see it’s filled with nothing but papers. We both grab a handful, spreading them out in front of us. It seems my mom was as organized as Ginger was when packing these, simply throwing everything into the box instead of keeping things separated. There’s everything in here from school papers to birthday cards.

“Your mom really couldn’t throw some of this stuff out?” he asks, holding up a math quiz—which I got a seventy percent on.

“Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t toss that out in the first place,” I say, picking the paper out of his hand and tossing it in the trash. “It does bring back memories though. Remember studying for this?” I hold up a Spanish paper from our senior year. We had the same teacher that year, but during different class periods.

“Oh shit,” he says, a smile brightening up his eyes as he takes it from my hands. “We sucked at Spanish, I was sure we were going to fail this. How long did we study? Two weeks?”

“A week,” I correct. “But we both passed, which wouldn’t have been possible if you didn’t come over every night.”

“It helped that you drew pictures on the flashcards. That’s how I visualized them during the test,” he pauses, and I wonder if he’s picturing us in my room running through flashcards like our life depended on it. “You don’t want to keep this, right?” he asks, holding it over the trash can. Half of me wants to keep it, if only for the memory of that week, but instead I shake my head and let him toss it.

The birthday cards are quickly checked for any cash I might have missed before they’re thrown away. Rifling through the rest of the papers, I’m confident most of them can be tossed, but I don’t want to accidentally throw out something I might need. What if my birth certificate is in here and nobody realized? That’s when I see a small scrap of paper that sends a warmth to my heart.

Picking it up, I read over the message before handing it to Noah. “Remember this?”

He picks his head up from the papers he’s looking at and grabs the small scrap from my hand. “Is this from me?” He holds it next to his face like seeing it next to him will confirm its origin. The note doesn’t say much, a “see you at school, good luck on the test” in his scribbled—almost illegible—handwriting. He used to leave me notes if he got up before me and I didn’t wake up. There’s probably a box of them somewhere in one of these boxes since I never threw any of them away.

“Yeah, no one else had handwriting that bad,” I say, not being able to miss the opportunity to tease him. He grunts as he pokes me in my side and I let out a small shriek. When he goes to toss the note in the trash I’m quick to grab it from his hand and set it aside. His eyebrows perk up at that, and my cheeks heat, but neither of us say anything about it.

Maybe now would be a good time to bring up the other night and what happened all those years ago. Never getting closure from him has eaten away at me, keeping me up at night and creeping into my mind right before I’m about to fall asleep .

I lose my train of thought when I spot what looks like another birthday card, but with Noah’s handwriting on the front, my name is the only thing on it. Did he give me a birthday card and I forgot to open it?

“What’s this?” I wonder out loud, grabbing it and flipping it over to realize it’s unopened. I look up from the card at Noah whose bright eyes are wide with fear and his face is pale like he saw a ghost.

“That’s nothing,” he says too quickly, grabbing the card from my hand before I have time to react and keep it between my fingers.

My hand follows the path through the air to try to regain possession, but I get blocked by the trash can and Noah holding it far away from me, which only makes me want it more.

“Give it back,” I whine, standing and moving the trash can out of my way to step closer to him.

He’s faster than me though, hopping off his stool and holding the card in the air as I reach around him for it.

“Sorry, not happening,” he says, and there’s no playfulness in his tone.

“Give it to me,” I yell, jumping and trying to reach for it, but his arm is too high for me to reach. I can hear him suck in a breath when I end up rubbing against him while jumping. His arm comes around my waist on the last jump when my feet land unevenly and I stumble.

“It’s nothing, we can toss it,” he says, holding me tighter to him but not lowering his arm.

“If it’s nothing, let me see it,” I counter, and the pace of his heart beating faster is evident as I grip the fabric of his shirt underneath my fingers and see his pulse beating rapidly in his neck while I try to sound serious when all I want to do is climb him to get it .

We stand there forever. Him staring at me in a full Statue of Liberty position while I glare up at him.

“Fine,” he finally resigns, lowering his hand and letting go of me.

I step away from him and take the card, ripping into the edge and down the crease. Noah doesn’t move as I pull out the cream card with ‘Thank you!’ printed on the front in a fancy blue cursive font.

“What is this?” I ask, confused why he would have given me a thank you card.

“It was all my mom had at the time, it’s really nothing,” he says in a low voice, avoiding my eyes.

I don’t let my curiosity wait too long before I open the card to a handwritten note from him. Only one side of the card is filled out, and I start reading.

Vi,

I’m sorry I told you I was leaving for college tomorrow, it’s actually today.

“Noah, what is this?” I pause, unable to say anything else.

“Keep reading,” he says, guiding me to sit on the stool again as he pulls his closer to sit across from me. My body listens to him as his knees hit mine and he rests his hand on top of my thigh. His touch is comforting, which is in direct contrast with the race my heart is now running. I’m scared to read whatever else this note might say. All these years I assumed he left without saying goodbye, and now that might not be true?

I realize I’m staring at his chest when he lifts his other hand to tap at the note I’ve got a death grip on. My eyes immediately land where I left off .

I recognize this is probably a cop out, but I couldn’t handle saying this to you in person. And I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer…

I’m in love with you, with everything about you. From the way your smile goes all the way up to your eyes and how you stick your tongue out when you’re drawing. I’ve been in love with you for years, and I wanted you to know.

We’re not going to be next door to each other anymore, but if you love me I want to try this. Try us.

I got a new phone to start fresh, so if loving me is something you’d like to try out, text me. The new number is 555-972-8340. If you don’t text, I won’t bother you again. Don’t feel bad if you don’t love me too. I’ll never regret a moment I spent with you. You were the only thing that made high school bearable.

Love,

Noah

My heart is pounding in my ears and a drop of water falls to where his name is at the bottom of the card. I only realize it’s coming from my own eyes when Noah’s thumb reaches up and wipes away a tear running down my face.

The touch brings me back to reality and I look up at a blurry Noah. A blurry Noah who has been in love with me? For the past eight years I’ve told myself he was done with me and wanted nothing to do with me.

I’m unsure how to process this so instead of wondering to myself I say, “I never got this.”

“I’m starting to realize that now,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “I left it in your room before I left. I didn’t think anyone was home, so I was going to leave it on your pillow. Then I heard something and panicked. I ended up tossing it toward your pillow and rushing to get out the window. I guess I tossed it too hard,” he explains, rubbing his hand through the scruff along his guilty looking face.

“I thought you wanted me out of your life,” I tell him, needing him to understand where my mindset has been since then.

“I thought you hated me,” he says, and my heart tightens that he could ever think I could hate him.

“Do you still want to try?” I ask, moving one of my hands to rest over his. His skin is right under mine, and he flips his hand over to lock our fingers together.

“What?” he looks shocked again, but this time it’s not a worried look, but a happy one. “You mean that doesn’t scare you off at all?”

“No. I felt the same way about you back then, being here with you again has only brought those feelings back,” I admit, not willing to tell him I love him quite yet. It’s still too soon to say it, but I’m sure that’s what this is.

Noah answers me with a kiss, standing and cupping my face in his hands. He wastes no time pulling my mouth to his as he hovers over me. His vanilla taste and smell are the only things I’m aware of. Before I can overthink this and stop us, I’m standing too and wrapping my arms around him as his tongue tastes every inch of my mouth, only coming up for air when it’s absolutely necessary.

“I take that as a yes?” I ask when he finally stops kissing me, pulling me into a tight hug.

“It’s a hell yes. I can’t believe you never read it,” he says, and I can hear the disbelief in his laugh.

“Me either, but I’m glad I read it now,” I say, grateful I’m not going to have to sleep another long night wondering why he left me when he’s loved me all along—or used to at least. I’m not sure if he’s still in love with me, like I am with him, but I don’t want to ask right now and ruin this perfect moment.

“Will you sleep here again?” he asks into my hair.

“Of course,” I say into his chest as I hold him closer to me. There’s no way I’m going to let him go again.