Chapter 25
THE NEXT COUPLE OF days were like the last few, but funnily enough, I didn’t mind that one bit.
I spent my mornings and evenings in the comforting, steady presence of my parents—chatting over simple homemade dinners, doing a trial run of the s’mores cookies, and gathering around the television before bed with steaming cups of decaf nutmeg tea as our nightcap.
My afternoons were split between paying a “just because” visit to Edith with a couple of vanilla lattes and Sue’s chocolate pistachio croissant to share and getting on the phone with Liv for another conversation that began professionally but quickly evolved into a lengthy discussion about life and, of course, love.
“Jane, you won’t believe me, but you’re living my dream right now,” she’d said after I mentioned staying in Avila Falls for an extra week and planning to go to Noah’s show.
In between all of that, I found excuses to text Noah.
I sent him a song that came up on Spotify during my writing streak and pictures from my walks.
He found excuses too, teasingly suggesting that I’d been plotting to keep his jacket this whole time and sending me songs back.
He asked to meet for coffee one afternoon, and we slowly ambled around Colores Park.
And of course, I’d refreshed my email every ten minutes, eager to see something from Alexandria about my manuscript. But nothing had come through just yet.
Before I knew it, Wednesday evening had arrived, the night of Noah’s show.
I dabbed on a little extra lipstick to balance out the eyeliner I’d drawn on. Going to the city constituted just a tad more makeup than hanging around at And Then There Were Books. I backed up and took in my handiwork. Pleased, I flipped the light off and headed for the foyer.
“Are you off?” Dad asked. My parents poked their heads out from the kitchen, Dad with a handful of clean cooking utensils and Mom with a plate and a drying rag.
“Yeah. I’ll try not to be too late.” I scooped up Noah’s jacket and my purse and moved for the front door.
“Have fun, sweetie,” Mom said. I caught sight of the television as I opened the door.
“You won’t watch the next episode without me?” I asked.
“We won’t,” they said in unison, shaking their heads. Satisfied, I slipped outside and into the fast-approaching evening. Indigo had just begun to seep into the sky, fading into the rich purple and bold pink that the sunset had left behind. Soon, the stars would make their grand appearance.
I turned over my car’s engine, cranked up the heat, and put a pensive indie playlist on shuffle before beginning the journey to the city that sat at the base of these mountains.
Denver was closer to what I’d grown accustomed to.
It had tall buildings and busy intersections and lively restaurants.
But it still wasn’t New York, instead holding a distinct Colorado flavor.
Pedestrians donned Patagonia puffers rather than Burberry peacoats.
The towering, ivory Rockies watched over the city from afar, not the Statue of Liberty.
The wide, sprawling boulevards had Jeeps and Subarus crawling up and down rather than yellow cabs and black Cadillacs.
I turned onto Clarkson Street, lined with cafés, thrift stores, and bars along with the Sparrow House, its entrance illuminated by charming warm lights that poured out onto the street.
I fell into a parking space and, with one last glance in the mirror and a hasty lipstick touchup, stepped out of the car with Noah’s leather jacket in tow.
The Sparrow House had two levels. On the street level was a generic hipster restaurant with steel stools and exposed brick walls and veggie burgers served on natural wood plates.
On the lower level was the live music venue, hidden from the light of day like a speakeasy.
I ducked into the establishment and spotted a dimly lit staircase leading down to the venue, the walls lined with photos of past performers with vaguely familiar faces.
The murmur of voices grew louder as I descended further, and I soon found myself in a dark yet inviting, intimate yet enchanting space.
The venue was a modest size, but it was still roomy enough to accommodate two or three hundred people.
Tonight, it seemed to hold about that many.
Vibrant cerulean and royal purple lights emanated from the stage, which was situated at the other end of the room and stuffed with various instruments.
A tiny bar stood by the entrance, stocked only with the basics.
My eyes swept around the space, curious if I might happen to see Noah milling about in the crowd, but I didn’t find him.
I nabbed one of the empty tables, feeling somewhat out of place as I watched the chatty Denverite crowd made up of twenty- and thirty-somethings mingling about.
The overhead lights, already barely on, faded out completely. The audience hushed in anticipation, the room holding one collective breath as we awaited the performer’s arrival.
Noah emerged from stage right, pushing a thick red curtain aside.
My mouth tugged into a bashful smile. I couldn’t help it—the sight of him striding across the stage and picking up his guitar sent a jolt of nervousness and excitement through my stomach.
He adjusted the mic, letting his tousled hair hang around his face.
“Hey, Denver. How’s it going?” he greeted the crowd. They responded with a mix of claps and whoops. I shyly did both. He swiftly launched into his first song, strumming his guitar for a few beats and closing his eyes as he sang out the first few words softly, pleadingly, unhurriedly.
The melody that Noah had created lilted and swelled stunningly.
His voice was candid; it didn’t have backup singers or autotune.
It held the audience captive by its beauty, unassuming and stripped down.
I watched him, transfixed, as his eyes slowly drifted across the room and landed on me, lingering.
He smiled ever so softly before breaking away.
His lyrics painted a striking picture of a young man yearning for more from his life but coming up empty time and time again. The poetic words poured out of him, true and heavy. His vocals came out in a deliberate whisper, as if he were sharing his deepest secrets with me only.
As he neared the end of the song, his lyrics became more grounded, using imagery that I recognized from the Bible, though I couldn’t place from where.
And up upon that altar, I threw my broken heart.
Life’s hand didn’t falter as it cut it all apart.
But there in my midnight bedroom,
with a bottle, on the floor,
with bloodstains on my sweatshirt, you showed up at my door.
He sang about the place—person—he strained toward for peace. The battle he spoke of wasn’t over, but there was hope in the midst of it.
The crowd broke into applause as he finished.
He bowed his head, smiling, his eyes gliding over to me for a moment as he thanked the audience.
His eyes seemed to ask me how I’d liked the song.
A few more songs later, Noah took his final bow, introduced the headliner, and disappeared.
A group of young men clad in fedoras and colorful half-open button-downs took the stage and began to play what sounded like a song that Mumford & Sons would have left on the cutting room floor.
They were fine, but there was no doubt Noah was far better.
I grabbed his jacket and slipped out of my seat, hoping to find him.
A couple slinked over to my table instantly.
As I weaved my way toward the back of the venue, I caught a glimpse of Noah stepping out from a side door.
A few people noticed him and swarmed around, offering their praise and compliments.
He laughed and nodded, his eyes seeming to float across the room for a moment until they landed on me.
A knowing grin appeared, and I took it as my cue to approach.
“Noah, you were amazing,” I said, raising my voice over the masses.
“Yeah?” he asked modestly.
“I loved it.”
“I’m really glad you came tonight.”
“So am I.” A few beats passed and I felt a bubble form around the two of us, tuning the rest of the world out. “You’ll have to tell me about the inspiration behind the third song.”
“Did you like that one?” he brightened.
“I really did. The opening, the melody . . . it was gorgeous.”
“I thought you might.”
I blushed. Noah had considered which of his songs I’d like best?
“Oh, also, I remembered this time,” I said, holding up his jacket proudly. His eyes crinkled as he let out a chuckle.
“You’ve taken good care of it, I see. Do you want—”
“Noah!” a voice cut through both the chatter from the concertgoers gathered around the bar and our bubble. I scoured the crowd for the source and then spotted her. My breath caught.
She was beautiful, in an undeniably Colorado way. Her naturally blond hair was twisted up into a bun that was somehow both messy and flawless. Her long, svelte legs made her look like a model as she strode up next to me. Her sunny, perfect face was stunning, despite being seemingly makeup free.
I hadn’t seen her in the flesh since graduation, but I’d know that face anywhere.
“Alice . . . ? You’re here,” Noah stammered, smiling awkwardly.
Alice Sullivan, Noah’s longtime on-and-off-again girlfriend, stood before me.
And she was just as gorgeous as I’d remembered her from all those years ago in high school.
Perhaps even more so, which didn’t seem fair.
Pretty people were supposed to peak in high school, not continue to get prettier. My heart plummeted.
Without so much as a glance in my direction, Alice flung her arms around Noah’s neck. He slowly hugged her back. My chest tightened as she held on to him just a little too long, a little too closely.
“That was so good, No,” she said, breaking away from him and angling her body toward Noah and away from me, as if I hadn’t been standing there the entire time. I stiffened, backing up.
“I, uh, didn’t know you’d be here,” he sputtered. Was he looking at her longingly or trepidatiously? The fleeting glimmer that passed through his eyes suggested the former. I struggled to swallow the knot that had formed in my throat.
“Of course.” Alice’s mouth tugged into a wistful smile. “Just because we . . . I just . . . I still wanted to support you.” She reached out and touched Noah’s forearm. He didn’t back away. Why wasn’t he backing away?
He nodded. “Thanks.” They stared at one another. In a few short moments, I’d become invisible. I draped Noah’s jacket over my arm.
“Well, hey.” He cleared his throat. “Alice, this is Jane. Remember her? She went to Avila High with us back in the day.”
Alice’s eyes flitted over to me for a moment. I gave a nod and a halfhearted wave, already knowing what her answer would be.
“Oh, gosh. Honestly, no,” she said, her eyebrows furrowed. “But you know better than anyone that I’ve always been the worst at remembering faces!” She giggled, inching closer to Noah. He offered a chuckle.
Suddenly, I felt my phantom braces resurface. I was the loner all over again, watching two pretty, cool, popular people from afar. Old insecurities flooded my mind, crashing angrily, violently.
“So, No, it’s been a little bit. How’ve you been?”
“Um . . . good. Yeah, good.” He nodded. The sense that I was intruding on their conversation rushed over me, and I couldn’t stand another moment of it.
“Hey, I think I’m gonna head out,” I blurted, fighting to keep my voice even, hoping to maintain as much dignity as possible. Noah finally tore his gaze away from Alice.
“Oh, are you sure?” he asked. Maybe it was the shadows cast across his face, or maybe my vision was blurring, but I couldn’t read him. Which only left room for me to fill in the gaps with the worst possible answers.
“Yeah, I’ve, uh . . . gotta get back,” I replied, stealing a glance in Alice’s direction before backing away.
“Bye.” She closed in on him, her chirpy voice suggesting that she was glad I was leaving.
“Okay. Well, hey, drive safe,” he said after me as I rounded the corner and ascended the stairs.
The drive back up into the mountains to Avila Falls felt like an eternity, far too much time for my mind to replay those last moments at the Sparrow House over and over.
Which it did: Alice striding up to Noah, looking impossibly beautiful.
Her arms around him, just as they’d been thousands of times before, spanning more than ten years.
Him hugging her back, holding her, gazing at her, no doubt missing her.
And me, standing there, watching like an idiot.
Nothing had really changed, had it? Embarrassment and confusion and hurt took turns washing over me, enveloping every crevice of my body.
What had I been thinking? It was silly to have come at all tonight, to have stayed in Colorado longer, to think that Noah had actually been interested.
I glanced down at the air controls, and Noah’s jacket, bundled up in the passenger seat, caught my eye. Great.
Maybe I could give it to the pastor to give back to him. Or I could leave it with his coworker at Hardware Haven. Or I could stealthily drop it on his doorstep. Anything to not see him again. I pressed down on the gas, the engine roaring as I barreled down the highway.
Every ounce of confidence I’d gained over the past ten years—which still didn’t amount to all that much—had melted away in one evening.
Every moment I’d shared with Noah felt hollow, embarrassingly misinterpreted on my end.
I’d allowed myself to build up childish fantasies in my mind.
Tears stung my eyes and threatened to fall as it all slipped away.
I sniffed. Jane, stop being a loser. You can’t cry over a guy who was never even yours.
It was time to let go of my silly crush on Noah.
I wasn’t going to be made a fool. I’d spend the next few days soaking up time with my parents and Edith, writing, and talking to Liv.
And then I’d head back to New York, where I at least had the image of someone who was important, someone who belonged—even if I didn’t often feel that way.
Soon, I’d forget this had even happened. I had to. And I’d known it all along. We’d all live happily ever after. Noah with Alice, me with New York.
I pulled into my parents’ driveway sometime later and cut the engine. The silence that descended was heavy and lonely.
My phone pinged. A text from Noah sat on my screen. Thanks for coming tonight.
My finger swiped to dismiss the message. He was just being polite, of course. But at this moment, the politeness stung. I crawled out of my car and retreated into the darkness of the house.