She follows him to the next aisle ready for a fight, but she realizes midway that she doesn’t have a defense. She wasn’t there for the past three years. He’s not wrong. She just doesn’t know why he’s being a bit of a prick about it. But he’s always a bit of a prick, so whatever.

  Her stride doesn’t keep up with her mind, and she’s barreled down the aisle, brows furrowed, before she can stop herself.

  “That’s cute,” she spits out when she doesn’t know what to say, her eyes on the notebook Noah is turning over in his hands. “Notebooks with initials are cute.”

  “Dammit.”

  “What?” she asks, her brows furrowing again as he puts the notebook down. Surely he wasn’t planning on buying it for her anyway.

  “Nothing,” he says with a sigh.

  “Right. Of course. You know you could have stayed at home if you were going to be difficult all day?” she says, her brows high as he looks at her. She widens her eyes when he doesn’t relent.

  “I . . .” His eyes flick over her face. She watches him figure out if he wants to tell her the truth. He doesn’t, but she takes it anyway. “There’s a girl.”

  “Ohhhh.”

  “But she’s nothing like you, so she won’t like the notebook,” he says with a huff, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “Does she even like notebooks at all?” Olivia asks, and Noah chews on his bottom lip. She’s unsure why some guys seem to think all girls are made in cookie-cutter shapes, as if they could pick anything from a generic list and it would fit one out of three girls.

  “Er, good question.” He laughs, though there’s no humor behind it. He runs his hand through his hair, and Olivia has to blink a couple of times to get the image out of her head.

  “Come on,” she says, handing him one of the bags as an olive branch. “Let’s go get a drink and I’ll help you figure out what she wants.”

  “You’ll help me?”

  “Even though you’re the most annoying person I know? Sure.”

  As luck would have it, Noah turns out to be not the most annoying person she’s been around today. That title stays with the elderly woman who stopped in front of her seven times (yes, seven times, she counted!) at the party store while she was trying to pick napkins that matched the theme for Grandma Grant’s party.

  He’s still the worst person she’s ever met, but he does appear to have done some growing up in the time she’s been away. She won’t tell him that, though. Liv spent the day wondering if he thought she had changed—if he thought she was more mature than before, like she did with him, or if he thought she was funnier than he remembered.

  Though she doesn’t care what Noah thinks right now because they finally found a café that didn’t have a line outside (she loves to be by the seaside, but apparently so does everyone else, and she can barely see the front of the shops through sun hats and folded-up deck chairs) and she can smell the pastries from the bathroom as she washes her hands. She’s excited to see which summer-themed drink she’s going to try. They’re usually pink and full of enough sugar to make her worried her teeth are going to melt, but she’s a sucker for them anyway.

  So she’s slightly disappointed when she comes out of the bathroom and Noah is already sitting at the corner booth, their bags propped between him and the window, and he has two drinks in front of him.

  “Did you order for me?” Liv asks when she gets to the table.

  “Mm-hmm,” he replies, tapping away at something on his phone.

  “Oh. Thanks,” she replies. It’s a little frustrating because she wanted to order some food as well, but it would be awkward to go up now, so she sits down with a slightly forced smile. He did use her reusable cup, so she can’t be too mad.

  She takes a sip, and . . . oh.

  “Strawberry?” she asks, going back for another sip as the bubbles burst along her tongue.

  “Yeah. You love to try the summer flavors,” he casually replies. He places his phone down on the table with a small thump. She wonders if he’s still frustrated about the girl like he seemed to be while looking at notebooks. She figures now is as good a time as any to help him out.

  “What?” she asks, her straw between her teeth.

  “Are you dating anyone?” he asks a little awkwardly, if she had to guess the emotion. It’s not wildly out of the blue, because they used to tell each other everything, if only to keep the other’s parents off their backs. Well, mainly Helen and Joe, because Liv could have been having all-nighter parties at sixteen and her parents would be none the wiser.

  “Er . . .” She laughs and looks at the table. It’s not like it’s a difficult question, but she feels like he’s put her on the spot. Her nose scrunches without her say-so.

  “No.”

  Olivia tried dating in college—honestly and truly, she did—but there’s something about her personality that people don’t like. One guy told her she was too cool for him, and not in a good way. Not in a “she knows everything about sports, how hot” kind of way (which really just means he wants her to wear a sports jersey and cheer for the same team as him), but in a “she knows more about things he’ll never understand” kind of way (which means he’s not interested in her enough to make any effort at all, which is rude and offensive because she never asked him to be).

  She wasn’t always unsuccessful. She’d dated Brendan for six months and ended up heartbroken at the end because he was transphobic to her best friend. She didn’t love him or anything, but she liked him a lot, and despite her track record of important people in her life letting her down, she was still momentarily surprised she’d got it so wrong.

  “Here you are.”

  The words make Olivia jump because they didn’t come out of Noah’s mouth, and a little of her drink spills onto the table. Noah wipes it up with a napkin before she’s even registered because her eyes are trained on the plate of miniature pastries being placed in front of her.

  “Oh, thank you.”

  “God, I was starving,” Noah says, loading one of the side plates with a croissant, a sausage roll, and the only cinnamon roll. Dammit.

  He slides the plate over to her, taking the empty one for himself. It’s not clear for very long, the piles of savory and sweet treats stacking up a little too close together for her liking.

  “Try this,” he urges, passing her part of his jam croissant.

  “Thanks,” she says, weary. She swipes her finger through the pile of jam and wipes in on the side of her place. Though, she has to lick her finger either way because she doesn’t like the stickiness jam leaves behind.

  “You’re a savage,” he says with a laugh. He takes a bite. Olivia thinks it’s apricot. “I can’t believe you’d rather have a plain croissant and not one with jam.”

  “Hmm. My dad always bought me these when we went out at the weekend, and that’s always what he had. They’re nice,” she says with a smile.

  Noah’s face drops, but she’s just shoved the last half of the pastry into her mouth, so she can’t ask him what’s wrong right now.

  “What?” she asks once she’s swallowed, because his eyebrows still haven’t settled back into their neutral position. She takes another sip of her strawberry lemonade while he blinks a couple of times. It might be her favorite drink this summer already.

  “Nothing.”

  She gives him a look but doesn’t push it further. If he doesn’t want to tell her, that’s his right. She’s not entirely sure she cares either way.

  Noah avoids her gaze as she eats the cinnamon roll then licks the crumbs from her fingertips as she tries to remember what topics of conversation she thought up earlier.

  She flicks through the thoughts in her head. She could ask how his last year at college went, but then she’d have to ask about years one through three as well, because beyond the odd message about the post, she doesn’t know what he’s been up to at all. She could ask him what his plans are for this summer, but she thinks that’ll make it seem like she wants to know so she can slide into his plans like she did for nearly nineteen years.

  It should be awkward, the silence that’s swept over them, but it’s not. Not really.

  She wishes she had her sketchbook with her, because Noah has his straw behind his ear and the sleeves of his top are rolled up ever so slightly and he has a light sunburn on his nose. He gets it every year because he refuses to reapply sunscreen, and despite his brown skin, he gets a sun-kissed glow.

  She likes to draw him. He’s nice to draw. She wonders if anyone else has drawn him since she’s been gone. If he’s had a girlfriend, and if he has new friends beyond Aaron, Matty, and Dave from high school. It’s a strange thought that she shoves to the back of her mind because she’s not sure why she’d care about that either way.

  “So,” she says. “Who’s the girl?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  One of the benefits of living in a tourist town is that the shops stay open late into the evening. It’s almost dark when they leave the coffee shop with a bag full of pastries they couldn’t eat.

  “I have no idea what to get Mom for her birthday this year,” Noah grumbles, running the back of his hand over his forehead. They spent at least an hour in the coffee shop, and despite her questions about the girl drama, all she got from it was that her name is Beth and she has a new boyfriend. She’s not even sure Beth and Noah ever went on an actual date—he was far too cagey about the information.

  Olivia tried to give him some advice either way, drawing on some of her relationships at college and why they failed. She only had one relationship that she’d say actually went anywhere, but she also had a handful of dates that were beyond useless. Noah asked what happened, and she tells him that mainly it was a “her” issue. She wasn’t present enough, or she didn’t seem interested enough. He laughs when she tells him Brendan hated her film commentary.

  Apparently, he’s over talking about it now.

  “I got her the ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ record,” Liv replies. “Maybe you could get her your parents’ first dance song?”

  “Huh?”

  “Your dad just got his old record player working again—he mentioned it at dinner—and your mom was talking about how they don’t have their wedding songs on record yet. I double-checked earlier,” she says, dodging a fast walker on the pavement. The movement bumps her into Noah. She feels him push her back a little. Rude.

  The idea had come to her years before, if she’s honest. She’d spent the summer between school and college fixing her mother’s record player because her mom used to talk about how songs sound better on vinyl. She saved money from her weekend job to buy the record from their wedding day. Liv hadn’t been there—she wasn’t even born when they got married—but she thought it might bring back nice memories of days when they could all dare to be in the same room as each other.

  It didn’t matter, obviously. The gift remained unopened when she left for college, and she’s pretty sure if she looked in her parents’ room, the record player would still be there, unused.

  “Seems a bit weird,” Noah replies, his brows furrowed as he looks ahead.

  Rude, as always, but Liv does want Helen to have something she likes, so she says, “Okay . . . What about—”

  “I didn’t actually ask for your help,” Noah snaps, moving to the side of the pavement so he can stop.

  “What’s your problem?!” she asks, pushing her hand through her hair.

  “Nothing!” he says, his voice strained. She knows he knows he’s out of order, she’s just not sure why. She’s not sure she cares, either.

  “You’ve been snippy all evening, Noah. First, you ask for help about your girl issues—”

  “You offered,” he replies. And it’s true, but she didn’t really have any other choice.

  “You know you didn’t have to come with me?” she says instead.

  “Wow. I forgot that I could do anything at all without you.”

  Liv feels her face drop, the back of her throat burning with embarrassment that everything she thought about their relationship has been true. He’s barely tolerated her. She pulls it back, but she knows it’s too late. He’s already seen it. She speaks before he has the chance.

  “Well, I’m telling you that you can. I can carry these home myself.”

  He scoffs. “Fine.”

  Liv rolls her eyes at him as she immediately turns to storm down the street. God, he’s so annoying. He doesn’t follow after her. Good. She doesn’t want to walk home with him anyway. She likes her own company.

  Sure, it would have been in her better interest to have started walking in the right direction. And sure, it’s a little darker than she would like, especially considering she now has to walk to the end of this unreasonably long road before she can turn around and come back, lest someone looks at her from their apartment and watches her turn around in the street for no reason. She figures she could pretend she forgot something, though she’s not sure what when she’s got six bags in her hands.

  She’s not panicked, because she knows this town. She’s always lived in this town. So she’s not worried about walking home while the sky turns from pink to dusky blue.

  Besides, it’s not like she’s not been left alone before. It’s all she knows.

  “Lils!”

  “It’s Olivia, Noah,” she replies.

  “Come on,” he says, reaching for her wrist to stop her before they walk entirely in the wrong direction. “Please stop walking. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean that.”

  “Yeah, you did. At least own it, Noah. You don’t like me. You don’t have to pretend you do.”

  The words hurt on her tongue, even though she’s known it’s true for as long as she can remember. She’s not sure she ever actually disliked Noah. Sure, he frustrated her, and she remembers screaming “firetruck” in his face more times than she can remember saying something nice to him, but she still leaned on him—like when she didn’t know what was wrong one Sunday morning, so she crawled through his window at eight a.m. just to sit in silence and read her book. (She’d figure out later that the unsettled feeling in her stomach was loneliness, not an aversion to gluten like she’d thought. She has that, too, but she still eats garlic bread like it’s going out of fashion.)

  “It’s not—I don’t dislike you, Ol. I’ve never disliked you.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” she says with a sigh. He’s probably the only person in the world she trusts to tell her everything, even if it would hurt her. She’s not ready to lose that just yet.

  “We’re not kids anymore. Besides, I’ve never lied to you.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve just had a frustrating morning on top of a bad week.”

  “That means nothing to me, Noah. Your girlfriend’s problems don’t mean you can—”

  “I know, I know,” he says, interrupting her, but she lets him get away with it, barely. “I don’t need to take my frustrations out on you. I just—she’s not my girlfriend, and I—I’m waiting to find out if I got into the residency program at the Children’s Hospital.”

  “What?” she asks, shocked. She always knew Noah was great with kids. She always knew he was kind, and that he wanted to help whenever he could. He’s always been the smartest person she knows, so him wanting to be a doctor shouldn’t shock her at all.

  She just didn’t realize she had missed so much. She had always known everything about him, whether she wanted to or not—but it turns out leaving for three years means she missed a lot. There’s a thought niggling at the base of her skull that likes the fact he’ll still be here. The Children’s Hospital is right around the corner. If she ever wanted to come back home, Noah would be right here.

  “I just—I really want to get in, and I haven’t heard back yet, and I’m so stressed out.”

  She can feel the fury leaving her in waves. She can practically see the red tendrils of anger floating away until all that’s left in her view is Noah. Doctor Grant. And she wants the worried lines between his eyebrows to soften. If only because she doesn’t have her sketchbook right now, and Noah’s frustrated face is one of her favorite masterpieces.

  “Well, I’m sure you got in, Noah. You were always great with kids, and you studied so hard in high school. You know . . .” she says, tapping his foot with her sandal. “When you weren’t flirting with Genevieve Jasper.”

  “Oh, shh,” he says, but he laughs.

  “When did you send the application in?”

  He looks down at the ground, though she can see the upturn of his lips as he does.

  “Yesterday.”

  “Noah,” she groans, her face unimpressed as he looks upward, still not meeting her gaze. “They take weeks to look at applications!”

  “I know!”

  “You’re ridiculous,” she says with a laugh, but her heart isn’t quite in it.

  “I know.” He sighs. “I’m sorry for being a prick. Can I still walk you home?”

  “I’m not happy about it,” she mumbles, letting him turn her around as he takes the bags from her.

  “I’d expect nothing less.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Olivia allows herself a couple of days in the apartment to wallow in her self-pity. It’s something she lets herself do a few times a year. She’s been back at home for a week—seven whole days—and her parents have said nothing. They haven’t even texted her back, let alone turned up at the house.

  She shouldn’t be surprised. It’s nothing original. The same embarrassment and heartache from her teen years. From her childhood, if she’s honest, but she was a little too young to understand. Maybe she thought that if she’d changed over the last three years, maybe they had too.

  Alas, she’s the one checking her phone every three minutes to see if they’re typing, or if they’ve even looked at their phone since she sent the message. Maybe they have new numbers and didn’t think she was important enough to know about them.

  Oh well. She has the leftover pastries from the shopping trip with Noah. The decorations aren’t needed for a few more days, and she’s successfully replied to seven out of ten of Steph’s rants. So, really, she’s thriving . . . Just as someone who likes to lie in bed and only get up one time in three days to shower. (She felt bad about it, but then she showered this morning before throwing herself in clean pajamas and back into bed, so she’s not as bothered now.)

 

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