It’s 10:30. Holy shit.

I want to say I haven’t slept this late in years, but that implies remembering the last time it happened, which I don’t. Even on off-days from the department I can hardly push myself past nine. But off-days feel much different than suspension-days.

God I want to hear the sound of my alarm clock. It’s been so long since I’ve woken up with a purpose. The only thing that’s pulled me out of the bed lately is the pencil hanging from my calendar across the room. I drag my feet over and scratch an X in today’s box under Thursday.

Only three more days.

Just have to make it through another weekend.

And that’s my agenda for the day. Time to go back to bed.

Sherlock hops onto the bed and I crumble into the sheets beside him. He’s not in the mood to cuddle, he’s in the mood for breakfast. But that’s too bad.

It’s eleven by the time he finally gets his Fancy Feast.

I push a bagel into the toasted after setting his dish down, and my eyes settle on a picture hanging above the fridge. A black and white photograph of a dock with a little sailboat tied to its edge. It looks a lot like the style of the photos hanging in Noah’s house, and it fills me with an uneasy warmth.

This is a perfectly fine photo, one that I used to adore, but it’s nothing compared to Noah’s work.

All of a sudden, I’m standing back in his dimly lit gallery, the walls around me filled with different photos of all sizes. Noah is by my side and the unpleasant warmth in my limbs turns to a soothing tenderness. I imagine taking his hand and touring the room once more, but the moment’s already gone.

I’m back standing in my own kitchen, the ding of the toaster serving as a sobering reminder.

I’m not even hungry.

My mission to forget about Noah is off to a terrible start. I see him in everything around me. The emerald in my ring reminds me of his eyes. Even my staircase now looks more like the one in his house than my own.

Only three more days.

Three more days and I’ll be able to put him behind me for good.

Three more days and I’ll be back in my uniform, working a new case, purpose pumping through my veins. I’ll be too busy to think of anything but catching the next perp.

But it’s been nearly a week since I last saw Noah, and he’s occupied my mind more and more every day. I pour myself a cup of coffee and return my gaze to the sailboat picture. It’s a piece I got while shopping with my mom and my aunt Phyllis when they came to visit my new place. Back when it actually was new.

It was Phyllis who bought the picture for me. All it took was one tour of my place for her to remark about its need for some ‘decorative taste.’ Funny though—if any of Noah’s photos been for sale in the shop, she would’ve never settled on a piece like this.

What a feeling it would be to show her Noah’s personally gallery. I haven’t been to her house in upstate New York since fifth grade, but I’ll always remember it as being more museum than house. And yet—Noah’s small personal setup outdoes anything she has to boast about.

Phyllis’s face would light up walking around that room. Even better, though, would be the look on her face if she saw Noah’s hand in mine…

My bagel is mostly gone, my coffee cold, when I decide to go for a run. And I think I’ll go for several runs today, reserve ninety minutes of rest in between. There’s no way I can spend the whole day moping around. Not again.

A morning run has always been part of my normal routine—a routine that was effectively disrupted by my suspension. Although that’s a pitiful excuse. Lately, I’ve had more time than ever to run and I’ve still been terribly lazy.

Stepping into the morning sun feels even better than I expected. It’s seventy, partly cloudy, but still sunny in a way that fills the air. I tuck my ear buds in and scan for something fast-paced and upbeat. The music cuts as I take my first stride.

For a second, I curse the idea of having to go back inside and wait for my phone to charge, but after a split second, the interruption turns into ringing. Someone’s calling me.

I undo the strap around my arm, pull the phone from my sleeve and freeze.

It’s Noah.

I pull out my ear buds before stopping myself. Why the hell should I even answer? Is this not exactly what I decided last night? No more. No more utilizing Noah as a distraction. I imagine Zoe looking down at me with her arms crossed. And I answer.

“Hello?”

“Sophia?”

“Yes?”

“Hey,” he says softly. “This is Noah.”

“I know—I have caller I.D.”

Silence.

I almost apologize. I almost speak up just to end the silence and say, I’m sorry, that was rude of me. But I don’t. Noah’s absence that morning had been the real silence. This is nothing compared to waking up in his empty bed.

“Is there any chance you’re free tonight?” he finally asks.

My stomach lurches and I force myself to relax the grip on my phone. “I don’t know. I’m busy,” I say.

Another silence. And just when I’m about to ask why he’s calling, Noah says, “I’m really sorry, Soph.”

My stomach lurches all over again, this time twisting into a corkscrew of nerves. “Yeah, I didn’t think I’d hear from you again,” I say, overtly conscious of my tone as the words slink out of my mouth.

“I know. I shouldn’t have left that note.”

My nerves twitch again, but this time it’s more out of annoyance. “Noah, if this is over between us than that’s fine, but you need to—”

“It’s not,” he says, cutting me off. “I don’t want it to be over. I want to see you again.”

My face flushes and I’m instantly glad that he’s not standing in front of me—a reminder that gives me a new sense of composure.

“That seems like quite the shift in opinion,” I say.

“I know. I know that’s how it seems, but that couldn’t be more wrong,” he says. “I was thinking a lot of things that morning, not about you, but—I don’t know. There’s no excuse for it. I hate that I treated you that way.”

My lips part, but I don’t know how to respond. Though somehow the silence feels worse.

“Is that the truth?” I ask.

“I promise you, Soph. I like you a lot.”

“Why did you wait so long to call?”

“I don’t know, but it was hard and I couldn’t holdout anymore. I’m not good at these kinds of things, but I guess the rational part of me finally won out. I need to see you again Sophia.”

This time silence feels like the only possible response. I let Noah’s words sit in the phone as my chest fills with an angst that slowly morphs into exhilaration.

“Will you let me buy you a drink and apologize in person?” he asks after my hesitation becomes an extended silence. Again I feel pink heat in my cheeks as I flush, swallowing before I answer.

“Yes,” I say through a smile. “I’m free tonight.”