Wonderfully astonished and fighting the urge to kiss him, he was so beautiful right then—so her Noah—Kit just stood there.
His smile began to fade at the edges, daylight swallowed by night. “You don’t have to. I just thought—”
“Yes,” she interrupted. “Yes, I’d like to.” She couldn’t kick the gift of trust back in his face… and she’d promised to be his friend.
As she’d already admitted, no matter how much he’d hurt her, her heart would break forever if Noah was no longer in the world. That didn’t mean she was going to fall back into the trap of loving him. It was time she said good-bye to a dream that had held her hostage even when she’d believed herself free: beautiful, gifted, broken Noah St. John was simply never going to love Kathleen “Kit” Devigny.
Sliding to the floor with her back to the door after Noah left, Kit stared at the hands that always wanted to touch Noah when he was near and shook her head. Her tears were silent this time, the hot droplets erasing the last traces of the dream.
Chapter 7
Noah managed to sleep that night, thanks to a trick he’d discovered on the Internet. He’d put in a search term in desperation one night and hit on a video of rain falling in someone’s backyard, and before he knew it, he was asleep in his chair. He’d woken five hours later with a stiff neck and the video still playing in a loop.
He’d immediately bought the download.
The rain sounds didn’t work every time or even mostly, but they did that night. Thank God. He’d never have risked taking Kit up otherwise. He had an excellent reaction time, but fatigue could dull even the best instincts.
Awake in plenty of time, he showered and shaved, then pulled on his favorite old jeans and a dark gray T-shirt, wondering what Kit would think of his little Cessna. White with blue markings, it was parked in a hangar beside a small private airfield. As far as the sixty-something owners of the airfield and hangar were concerned, Noah was simply another weekend warrior who worked in the city and came to play with his toy in his off time.
He’d deliberately chosen a place that was out of the way, but he’d lucked out with the owners being uninterested in any music but country. Blissful anonymity was the result.
He grabbed his wallet and the keys he needed to access the hangar and plane, then got into the black SUV he kept beside his Mustang—no sense screwing up his anonymity by driving a distinctive car. This early, traffic was light enough that he’d make it to Kit’s with time to spare.
His heart beat a little too fast, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.
When he glimpsed the lights of an all-night grocery store up ahead, he made a snap decision and swung into the parking lot. He grabbed a cart and got a few things for brunch as well as the one snack Kit could never resist. He wanted this to be a good day for her; to do that, he couldn’t allow himself to imagine it wouldn’t work, that he’d lost her forever the night he’d done the unforgiveable.
“Wow.” The pimply-faced teenage cashier’s mouth fell open. “Are you really you?”
Noah didn’t perform for the fame, but he also didn’t disdain his fans. They were the reason he could be free to live the music inside him; without that music, he’d be dead or huddled in some damn psychiatric ward. “Depends who you think I am.”
The teenager gulped. “I recognize that voice and that tattoo on your wrist.” Hand trembling, he put down the drink he’d been about to scan. “Wow. C-can I…” He just held up his phone in a wordless question.
“Sure.” Taking the phone since he was taller, Noah snapped a photo of himself with his arm around the kid’s shoulders, the teenager giving two thumbs-up and grinning so hard his face was about to crack.