— Chapter 30 —

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"Where are we even going?" I asked Noah, following behind him in a slow-paced stroll.

We'd parked the truck in an empty parking lot somewhere. The two of us had been walking along city streets for a little while, our feet trekking through the thin layers of slow on the road. The infrequent barking from dogs and squeals of tires in the distance would break the gentle silence, but the city was peaceful nonetheless. And the night seemed to be aglow with lights. They shone brightly, almost like diamonds, from tall skyscrapers and office buildings. And the best part was that, aside from the occasional pedestrian or lone car passing us by, it was just Noah and I alone... enjoying each other's company.

Noah had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, which now hung comfortably off his shoulders. Peering beneath the black baseball cap on his head, he gave me a lopsided smile.

"Does it really matter?" He shrugged in response. "I mean, that's all part of the excitement, right? Just doing things with no plan?"

"I guess?"

"See? There you go."

I pursed my lips in hesitation for a moment. "You said I could get to know you better. I figure I should... if we're really going to keep living together. There's a lot of things I want to know."

"Mm. Tell you what—" Noah paused, bouncing on his heel slightly to turn around and face me. Walking backward a few steps while adjusting his cap, he said, "—a one-time offer. I'll let you ask me any questions you want tonight."

"Anything?"

"Within reason, of course."

I frowned. What does he mean by that?

Noah turned back around, ruffling the back of his hair as I followed not far behind him.

"Alright, then, um..." I mumbled, feeling slightly put on the spot. "What's your favorite color?"

Noah passed me a look—not long before bursting out into laughter.

Heat rushed to my cheeks from embarrassment as he asked, "I'm the twenty-three-year-old VP of a biker gang and you want to ask me what my favorite color is?"

Well... I guess I can see his point.

"You're twenty-three, too?" I asked instead, though, furrowing my brows. I thought he would've been older.

"Mhm. December 22nd," he elaborated. "You?"

There was a small pull on the side of my lip.

"April 18th," I answered, amused by the bewilderment that flashed in his gaze at my words. "I'm older than you."

"Heh, you don't say," he said, nudging my arm with a chuckle. "And, for the record... my favorite color is black."

I teased him. "Black isn't a color. It's a shade."

"Oh," he said jokingly, "you're one of those people."

I looked up at his honey-brown eyes and shrugged. "I'm just saying the facts, Edge."

He noticed the use of his nickname and pursed his lips briefly, only to slowly pull them into a soft smile.

"Alright then, Alley Cat," he asked, grazing the platforms to his Doc Martens against the wet road while he walked. "What's your favorite?"

I had to think for a moment before answering.

"Brown."

Noah frowned. "Brown?"

"Yeah. Brown."

"Brown though?

"What's wrong with brown?"

"It's... weird," he laughed. "Blue or purple I'd get, but brown? Brown is boring—can't believe you gave me crap for black."

"Alright, look, it's not like I see dog shit and think it's a pretty color," I pointed out. "It's... light brown. Beige, maybe. Amber? You know, like honey or something."

"Honey is orange."

"Whatever! You asked—my answer's brown," I muttered. "But it changes often."

"I'll take your word for it," he said, a friendly glimmer in his eyes. "Alright, anything else you want to ask?"

I nodded, pressing my hands into my pockets. "Should we just... Twenty Questions it?"

"Sure," he agreed. "I'll go first, then, seeing as you already asked me my favorite color."

He spoke the last part with a smirk, mocking me again for the question I'd blurted without thinking.

"You put me on the spot!" I defended, letting out a huff. "Just... ask what you want to ask already."

Noah grinned.

"Okay, then," he said. "How long have you been working at Joe's?"

"Just over two years," I answered quickly. "Alright, uh... hm. What's your favorite place to visit?"

Noah shrugged, turning an indifferent gaze to the skyline. I couldn't read his expression as he answered me.

"I don't know. I've never left this city."

I couldn't help but raise my brows in slight surprise.

"Never? Not even as a kid?"

"Nope—and that was two questions," he told me. "How about you? Have you always lived in Boston?"

I shook my head.

"I was born in Maryland, but I'm Russian on my mom's side. We moved to Boston when I was five," I explained. "I don't remember much about it."

"Oh, Maryland? I have a cousin who lives there. I've heard Baltimore is alright," he nodded. "Next question."

"Do you have any family in Boston?"

Noah replied, "Aside from my uncle—the Chief—no. Everyone else moved to New York a few years back."

"You didn't move with them?"

"It's not your turn," he chuckled, flashing me his pearly teeth. "Do you have any siblings?"

I shook my head again.

"Nope. Only child," I answered. Rephrasing my question from earlier, I asked him, "Why didn't you move with your family?

Noah pursed his lips for a second.

"A few reasons, I guess. I preferred it here, and Chief offered to take me in. It was kind of a big change to put on the table—didn't feel right for me at the time. And Boston... I don't know. Maybe this place has sentimental value."

He doesn't sound entirely convinced.

"What's your favorite book?" Noah asked me, probably as a filler as he thought of something better to ask.

I thought for a moment. "The Picture of Dorian Gray. You went to college? What did you study?"

"Believe it or not... pre-law," he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Clearly didn't work out."

Pre-law? I laughed in bewilderment. Who would've thought?

"How do you and Marcus know each other?" He asked me.

My amusement died down.

"Uh... he was in a few of my classes back in high school. My dad charged his father for a few DUI's back in the day—Marcus hated me for it," I told him.

I noticed that Noah was holding the metal ring that always hung from the thin chain around his neck. The onyx nail polish from a few nights earlier was still on his fingernails, chipped slightly.

I asked, "Why do you wear that chain around your neck?"

Noah was silent for a moment. He clenched his jaw briefly and avoided my gaze. I bit my tongue, observing his brief shift in mood. Was that one of the questions that weren't 'within reason?'

"Sentimental value," he answered plainly, repeating his words from before.

Apparently yes, then.

"How do you like your coffee?" He asked.

I furrowed my brows for a moment as I registered the question.

Coffee?

"I don't," I said softly. "I mean, I'll have an iced latte sometimes, but I'm more of a tea person. Hot coffee sucks."

"Amen to that," he nodded. "It gives me the shits."

"Crust or no crust on your sandwiches?"

Noah gave me a look. "Crust. What am I, an animal?"

I joked, "Is that one of your questions?"

"No. No, scratch that," he replied. "Uh—favorite band?"

"The Neighbourhood, lately. Last thing you read?"

"The bottom of a Snapple cap."

"Seriously?"

"I was bored," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "When did you have your first kiss?"

My face began to glow red with embarrassment. Clearing my throat, I confessed, "With a girl? Uh, I think it was a birthday party in elementary school. But... my first kiss with a guy was in junior year. I was seventeen. A bit later than everyone else's firsts, I guess."

"Hey, no shame in that."

Nervously, I asked, "When did you have yours?"

Noah thought for a moment.

"With a girl? Middle school," he said. "It was terrible, to be honest. All tongue and no lip."

Taking in his answer, my gaze caught on a set of bright lights in the distance. Coming from what looked like an all-hours restaurant, I spotted a few people queuing inside, some patrons even dining on small tables out in the fresh air.

Thinking of a question, Noah asked me, "Do you speak Russian?"

I tore my gaze away from the restaurant and answered, "Not fluently. I can understand it fine, and I know the basics, but... I'm not great at the speaking or writing parts. How about you? Do you speak any languages?"

Noah adjusted his cap.

"Uh, Italian, actually," he nodded. "My dad taught me most of it."

Surprise crossed over my face. Italian?

"I... actually didn't know that about you," I smiled.

"That's why we're doing this, isn't it?" He answered, giving me a friendly look. Coming to a stop before the restaurant, he announced, "Alright. We're here."

I passed a curious glance around our surroundings. It was a stylish pizza parlor named Emilio's, built up from cream-colored bricks and illuminated by a dozen white lights fixed into the grey ceiling. A mouth-watering smell wafted from the glass front doors. There were a few customers around despite it being late in the night, seated either in the red booths inside or out on the round tables. Pop music played at a nice volume from a set of speakers by the wall.

Small chalkboards hung behind the front counter, with specials marked on cursively in white chalk. There were so many options. Neopolitan, pepperoni, vegetarian... even some combinations I'd never heard of before.

"One of the only pizza places left in this damn city that still uses a woodfire oven," Noah praised, stretching out his arms. Beaming, he nodded me over and said, "Let's go."

I followed him eagerly inside after he held the door open for me. The parlor welcomed my presence by engulfing me in its comfortable warmth, with the scent of pizza tickling my nose and making my stomach grumble. Standing in the short line, Noah shook out the back of his hair and turned to me.

"You got a favorite pizza or did you want me to pick?" he asked.

I thought for a moment.

"I'll take whatever you think is best."

"Hm. Margherita it is."

We deliberated for a bit on who'd foot the bill, only to split it once we'd reached the counter. While Noah got us a number for our order, I went to find a table, choosing a clean booth in the corner beside the window. Taking off my jacket and resting it beside me, I looked up as Noah left our number on the table and took the seat opposite mine.

He pulled off his black baseball cap and left it on the table along with his keys. Dark locks of wavy hair quickly fell down the sides of his face—he pushed them away with his ringed fingers.

Noticing that I had my phone in my hand, he peeked over and smirked, "Are you really looking up getting-to-know-you questions right now?"

"I was running out of things to ask," I said, a little embarrassed.

"Lay it on me, then."

Reading off the screen, I smiled, "What's your biggest pet peeve?"

Noah tilted his head slightly as he thought of an answer.

"Loud sounds," he replied. "Car horns, crying toddlers, squealing tires—stuff like that."

I chuckled, "Really? Toddlers?"

"Mhm," Noah shuddered, tapping his fingers on the wood table. "Screaming babies are the worst."

Entertained, I looked back to the questions and asked him, "What's the longest you've gone without sleep and why?"

A small grin stressed his cheeks. I could spot the piercing on his tongue shimmering as he answered me.

"I think... five days?" he admitted. "Kind of a stupid story. Got hopped up on way too much Adderall before an exam in college and kind of just... zombied around for the rest of the week. Lived off two packs of cigarettes and half a burrito. The hallucinations were fucked up as all hell—and I kind of lost my depth perception for a bit? Pretty sure I forgot my own name at one point, too."

"Five days?" I said, wide-eyed. "God, how did you survive? I'm fried out of my mind if I stay up longer than two."

"The headache definitely wasn't worth it."

"I bet," I said, noticing that he was glancing over my features with an interested gaze. "What's the worst pick-up line you've ever heard?"

"God," He cringed slightly, clearing his throat for a moment. "Alright, uh... Jesus. Okay, I got one: are you a highway? Because I wanna ride you all night long."

I couldn't help but let out my laughter, cringing with him at the words. Noah's gaze hadn't strayed off my face, something sparkling in his caramel irises as they came to lock with mine.

Noticing that I'd caught him staring, he snapped out of his daze and nodded to my phone. Fiddling with the ring that hung off his chain, he smirked, "What are you even reading these questions from?"

"Uh... nothing."

"Lemme see."

Taking the phone from my grasp, he stuck it before his face and turned his attention to the screen as I spoke up in objection.

"Wait, no—it's not what it looks like."

"100 Questions to Ask on a First Date," Noah recited, reading the title of the blog I was on. He grinned. "Hm... I didn't realize this was that kind of outing."

My cheeks grew red.

"It's not! It's absolutely not," I stammered. "I was just—"

An insinuative look crossed in his amused eyes. "Mhm. If you say so."

"We're not on a date!"

"Of course not," he chuckled, but his voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Noah, I swear to g—"

But I didn't get to finish as a blonde-haired waitress finally arrived at our table.

"Your pizzas are ready," she smiled kindly. "Thanks for waiting."

With two large plates of pizza in her hands, Noah and I made room as she rested them on the wooden table. It wasn't long after she'd left that Noah and I had begun digging into the hot food, with chilled bottles of cola to go with.

I'd never had woodfire pizza before, but the one that Noah had recommended to me was something entirely otherworldly. The thick, gourmet crust held the weight of the simple toppings together. Resting comfortably with the stretchy mozzarella and garnishes of fresh basil, the vibrant, warm sauce gave off a scent irresistible enough to make my stomach ache in longing.

My entire life, I'd never ventured from basic, fast-food pizzas before.

I'm a disgrace.

"We're coming here more often," I murmured, before stuffing my mouth with another bite. It was hard to stop the sauce from running down my lips—thank god for the napkins.

Noah gave me a satisfied smile.

"Alright," he said, finishing one of his slices. "I think it's my turn to start asking you something."

I swallow the food in my mouth as Noah asked me his question.

"When was the last time you were in a relationship?"

I bit the side of my cheek at the question.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Like a boyfriend?"

He shook his head. "I'll rephrase."

Resting his elbows on the table, he folded his hands together and turned his attention entirely to me. His light-colored eyes met my own, conveying nothing but solemnity.

"When was the last time you've been in love?"

I had to take some time to process. An uncomfortable feeling settled somewhere in my core—not at Noah or the question, but rather who the words made me think of.

I mumbled, "Why are you asking me that?"

Noah didn't reply, brown eyes piercing through me in expectation of an answer. I met his stare, contemplating whether my mess of a romantic life was a topic I wanted to discuss with him.

Finally giving in, I fiddled with my fingers hesitantly beneath the table as I spoke.

"I uh... I don't believe in love anymore."

Noah took in my answer, waiting patiently for me to elaborate further. I struggled to read his expression at that moment, wondering how he could put so much pressure on me without saying a thing.

I murmured, "I just—I don't think it's real. At least, not romantic love, and not in the way people imagine it."

"Why do you say that?" he asked me.

I sighed.

"People get to know each other, and they supposedly fall in love, but their emotions never last. Love never lasts. It fizzles out because it was never really love to begin with. It's just... infatuation. They seek out the happiness from it as a means of entertainment. And people get bored. Real love isn't like that."

"So what do you think real love is?"

"I don't know," I muttered. "Real love isn't loving someone just for their body or personality alone. It's... loving someone's soul. It's being consumed with the very idea of them: their faults, their mannerisms, their thoughts... even the way they look at you from across a room. And it lasts. Real love doesn't fade away. You don't just wake up one morning and decide you don't care about someone anymore. That's not what love is. True love is a constant... it never truly leaves."

Noah leaned back in his seat, disconnecting his gaze from mine.

His voice came out softly. "You say you don't believe in it, but... only someone who's felt love can speak about it like that."

"I was naive."

"So you have loved someone?" he suggested, a subtle shift in his tone of voice.

I frowned. "Why does this matter so much to you?"

"I'm just trying to understand."

"Fine. Yes, alright?" I sighed, slightly frustrated. "I loved someone exactly like that, and I had it thrown right back in my face. He broke my heart. I was stupid for ever thinking he felt the same way as I did, so it clearly wasn't true love. And you know what? Unrequited love freaking hurts. It breaks you from the inside out, and what then? You're just supposed to move on? Give me a break."

"But you still haven't answered my question."

"The last time I was in a relationship?" I scoffed. "Not since I graduated."

"Five years?" he calculated.

"Yes," I said. "Five years."

"Why did you two break up?"

My chin trembled, a shaky exhale leaving my lips as I replied. "I wish I knew. He didn't stay around long enough to tell me."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said," I muttered, somewhat frustrated. "He picked up his stuff and ditched me. Must not have thought I deserved the explanation."

Noah's piercing eyes traced over my expression for a moment as he understood my words. Then he finally asked me what he really wanted to know.

"But you still love him?"

I paused, feeling at a loss for words.

Do I still love James?

My mind wormed painful memories into my head at the very question. The first time James and I had met, the first time we'd kissed, the first time he'd played his piano for me... the first time he said he loved me. All things that had carved scars into my wounded soul.

"It doesn't matter anymore," I spoke, cracks tearing through my brittle voice. "He's dead to me."

Noah sensed that he'd struck a nerve.

"Elliot, I..."

"It's fine," I said, cutting him off. Forcing an emotionless look on my face, I breathed, "It's in the past, isn't it? So... let's just eat."

Noah didn't press me on the topic any further that night.