Chapter 1

NOAH

He's always known that he's not over her. Of course he's known. He's not a total idiot. He knows it every time he touches another woman. Every time he feels lonely. Every time he thinks of home.

But he didn't expect that.

He didn't expect to feel like this, didn't think he could again. He was sure that time had chipped away at this, put it all into perspective.

Noah didn't expect to find himself a liar.

After saying goodbye to her, he somehow made it to the restaurant. He caught up with his friends. At some point he must've ordered and eaten, said goodbye and gotten home. But as he steps into the shower, he can't remember any of it. 

Even as the water washes over him, hours later, he's still at the carnival. Still staring into her eyes. Still feeling like this.

Did she feel it, too?

"I've got time," he told her, with a calendar bursting at the seams, a huge career decision looming over him, his flight leaving at 6 a.m.

But he's got time. He's going to make time.

***

It feels weird, texting her now. After all this time. It's been so long, in fact, that the last messages they'd sent each other have vanished from his phone.

Those last messages were sent three days after their goodbye at the beach house six years ago, on the day Noah left for Boston again.

"I love you," he'd typed, waiting at the gate, his fingers digging into his backpack. He didn't know what else to say so he opted for the truth.

After that, he kept checking his phone every thirty seconds, right until the flight attendant on board reminded him to turn off his phone. He didn't know what he was waiting for. It wasn't like a message was going to change anything. 

Just as the engines started gearing up for take-off, the message came through. "I love you. Bye, Noah."

Noah left his heart on the LAX runway that day. Or so it felt like for months. Still, he re-read those last messages daily. They were pain, loss, comfort and connection all wrapped into one.

He was on vacation with friends when he realized that the messages were gone. Chat history deleted after exactly three years, without warning.

He didn't sleep that night, or the next. Only on the third night, after many tropical drinks, did sleep finally find him.

Now, he has no chat history with Elle. It still doesn't feel right.  

He takes a deep breath and begins to type.

"Hey, change of plans, I'm gonna hang around LA for a couple more days. Do you wanna go for that ride? Saturday or Sunday maybe?"

For a moment, he hesitates. Maybe it's too soon, way too soon. But then again, he's lost so much time already.

Noah hits send and something inside of him springs to life. He just hopes that something has a chance to survive.

Lying down in bed, he skims over the airline confirmation once again. It's done. He quickly sends an email to his boss. So that's done, too.

Now all he has to do is wait.

The minutes tick by as he looks around his bedroom. He mostly loves that his parents kept it the same, but sometimes, not so much. The memories lurk in every corner and usually, he fends them off. 

But he doesn't feel like fighting tonight.

Noah turns on his side and looks out the window. He thinks of the morning after that awful party, when she hid behind the curtain, begging him to hand over his shorts. He thinks of the many times they made out on this bed, of the couple of times they went further when his parents weren't home. 

He remembers how she felt those days and nights – her skin, her hair, her pulse under his lips. He remembers that night under the Hollywood sign, how she shivered beneath him, smelling of salt water and promise. He remembers how he felt like a different person after that night. How it wasn't just a first for her.

With a groan, Noah turns on his back. He checks his phone one last time before putting it screen-down on the nightstand.

It's after 3 a.m. She's not going to answer him tonight. She's always been a deep sleeper, the out-like-a-light kind. 

No, he won't get an answer tonight. He might not even get one in the morning. She might rethink things. She might believe that this is a bad idea and he'll feel like an idiot for rescheduling his life on the spot.

She might not think about him too much at all.

***

ELLE

Insomnia is something Elle first encountered six years ago. It's gotten a little better over time but she's nowhere close to being cured. A bed-time routine helps, sometimes.

Elle knows she won't be getting much sleep tonight as soon as she gets home. She doesn't even bother to try at first. Instead, she sits in her armchair, staring out into the city night, a tv show humming somewhere in the background.

Could it just be nostalgia? A very intense kind of nostalgia? Or is it really something much more present and promising?

How could he still have this much of an affect on her? After all this time.

Elle shakes her head and reaches for her tea cup. But the tea has been steeping for two hours and has long gone cold. She takes the cup into the kitchen and watches as the liquid gurgles down the drain. She really needs to call her super one of these days.

Her cat-shaped kitchen clock, courtesy of Lee, reads 3:11 a.m. She has to be up and out the door by 7:15.

"Okay. Bed. Now," she tells herself, flicking off the lights as she makes her way to the bedroom.

Sure, there were moments. But that doesn't necessarily mean anything, right?  

"I've got time," he insisted. And her heart reacted before she could stop it. It still does now, after re-playing the moment in her head ten times.

The way he said it felt like a promise. It felt like more. And then, when he turned around at the top of the stairs, it felt like... a whole lot. 

He was too far away for her to really judge the look on his face but she could've sworn he felt it, too.

Or maybe it was all just her imagination. Maybe his face didn't convey anything other than an appreciation for their shared past. And maybe the wave was just a nod to her childish remark from forever ago.

Maybe he doesn't think about her much at all.

Elle grabs her phone and lets her body sink into the mattress - the one she bought for a fortune in the hopes of helping with her sleep. But even as she handed over her credit card at the store that day, she knew that it wouldn't be the solution.

She rubs her eyes, willing the thoughts away. Time to sleep. Or to try, at least. She checks the time on her phone one more time and the yawn gets stuck in her throat.

She almost doesn't want to open the message. Almost doesn't want to know what it contains. The time stamp says it was sent 20 minutes ago. 

He isn't asleep. He's texting her.

She takes a deep breath and unlocks the screen.

"Hey, change of plans, I'm gonna hang around LA for a couple more days. Do you wanna go for that ride? Saturday or Sunday maybe?"

He actually wants to go. It wasn't just small talk. He meant it. And he's writing only hours after they said goodbye.

"Hi. Yeah, Saturday is good," she answers quickly, before she can think better of it. She kind of had plans on Saturday but she figures Ikea won't mind.

His reply is instant. "Ok great, looking forward to it :)"

"Me too. Why are you up at this hour if you're not flying out?"

He's obviously still on east-coast time. That's why he's up. Why did she even ask?

"Can't sleep. You?"

"Same."

Two minutes go by, five, then ten minutes. He's probably fallen asleep, she figures. Good. They both should be asleep.

But another notification says that he isn't.

"I can't stop thinking about you."

Elle bites her lip and closes her eyes for a moment.

"Same," she writes back.

So there's that.