I glance at him, his head tilted back in a laugh, cheeks flushed, strong arms pumping in the air at the same time as the music and my chest tightens.

He’s…fun. Like, really fucking fun to be around.

Back then, he was my other half. We were so different but somehow it all made sense—like opposite magnets, always drawn together or something. I used to think he could read my mind before I even spoke. Sometimes I wonder if he still can. But, the best part was that he used to look at me like I hung the moon. And he was all mine.

My heart sinks at the memory of it all. But that was then.

Now, he barely wants to be around me. Not since I hooked up with his ex. Right. Sarah.

I blink, remembering. "Check your phone!" I yell over the music.

"What?" He cups his hand around his ear and leans in, his cap now backwards on his head. He leans in just enough that his strong neck is mere inches from my face. His scent catches me off guard—pine, apples, and something warm and sweet. Something just him.

Fuck, he smells good.

"Sarah!" I shout again, pointing to his front pocket.

He gasps like he just remembered her existence, too. "Shit, right!" He laughs, handing me his drink as he fishes out his phone.

It’s been hours. The sun’s moved from overhead to westward. How did we forget?

"Fuck," he mutters, tapping his screen.

"What?!" I lean closer.

“She posted a story an hour ago. Restaurant. Lunch.” He tilts his phone. Sarah, sitting in a booth, posing with a plate of calamari. Dammit—I love calamari.

“An hour ago. She might be gone, but... wanna check anyway?” I shrug.

He nods, and just like that, we’re weaving our way out of the crowd.

***

The gastropub is nearby, tucked between a gelato shop and an overpriced fashion boutique. Inside, the AC hits us like a blessing. The clink of cutlery and hum of quiet indie rock fill the small space. It looks like many people were thinking of stopping for lunch too. It’s packed in here.

We scan the room, immediately clocking in the fact that once again—Sarah’s not here.

“Hi! Table for two?” a hostess asks brightly. She’s stunning—winged eyeliner, shimmer shadow, a gem-studded lanyard around her neck and a shiny ‘You are loved’ orange to pink colored pin attached to her shirt.

I glance at Nathaniel. He shrugs. “Might as well eat. I’m starving.”

We follow her to a booth near the back, the faux leather seats sticking slightly to our skin.

“Must’ve just missed her,” I mutter once we sit.

“Eh. At least we know she’s around.” He shrugs, picking up the menu like we didn’t just spend the last 24 hours orbiting around the idea of maybe, possibly, bumping into her.

I study him. He doesn't seem upset at all. If anything, he seems... relaxed. Lighter. I wonder if he’s noticed.