Page 107 of Intermission

“Flatterer. But I get what you’re saying. It’s so... weird. I feel like I’ve known you forever. That you know me, maybe better than my own family does. And we haven’t even known each other a full year.”

“And we’re talking about a little more than another two years before we even talk to each other again?” I squeeze my eyes shut against the idea and shake my head. “That’s crazy.”

“I think I heard a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence.”

“But,” I say, nodding. “As long as I’m at home, living in her house, eating her food, letting her pay my bills... I’m at her mercy.” I choke out a bitter laugh. “Mercy. Right. As if she even understands the concept.”

His sigh is an unspoken agreement. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “So... we stay out of contact until you’re at college.”

I nod, but the thought of two years—twoyears—without a word to or from Noah does not allow me to speak.

“What if...?” He pauses, and the hint of a smile relaxes his brow. “What if, once I get to London, I talk to my advisor and see if I could maybe change from the three-year program to the two-year? Then I would already be finished at the Academy when you start college. I could come to New York sooner. Start looking for work...”

“But you wanted to stay in London, use the connections you’ll make at school to see if you can get cast in some West End productions.”

“Wanted,” he says. “That’s what I wanted. That was my plan. Before you.”

“But it’s been your dream for so long.”

“Sometimes,” Noah says, putting his arm around my shoulder, “a guy’s dreams go through a metamorphosis. Sometimes plans have to be adjusted to make room for bigger, fuller dreams.”

I scoot closer and lean into him. He tightens his hold.

“I was planning to come back to the States, to New York, eventually. Why not right away?”

“But if we haven’t been in contact for two years, how will we manage to find each other? New York is a huge city. And who knows where I’ll actually end up for college?”

“True.” Noah purses his lips. “Social Media? No, I have a better idea. We won’t find each other in New York. We’ll find each other here.”

“Here?”

“Here. At our waterfall. It’s August ninth. Still early August. You probably won’t have left for school yet, but soon. Soon enough, anyway.”

He’s right. A lot of fall terms don’t commence until later in August. The only reason Gretchen went back to school so early is because she has to help her sorority sisters prepare for Rush Week stuff. “Two years from today?”

“Sure. It makes sense. Doesn’t it?”

I want to say no. But with everything going against every other option... “Yes. It makes perfectly horrible sense.”

“We’ll meet here on August ninth at...” Noah pulls out his phone. “8:17 p.m.”

My breath catches. “It’s after eight? Already?”

“Mm-hmm. What time do you need to be home?”

“There was no set time, but—never mind.” If Mom beats me home, I’ll deal with it. Right now, I’m with Noah, and I will not let thoughts of her intrude on our time together. Not tonight.

“So... two years from now...” He stands, paces across the dry creek bed and back. “We’ll meet here on August ninth at 8:17.”

With a piercing ache of a nod, I reframe it. “Eight, nine. Eight-seventeen.”

“Eight, nine. Eight-seventeen.” He sighs and holds out his hand. “Deal?”

I slide my hand into his. “De—”

Instead of shaking my hand in the business-like manner I expect, Noah pulls me close and kisses me.

The initial crush of Noah’s lips against mine softens but does not end. Gradually, the kiss deepens, but with such tenderness that there’s no doubt in my mind—not that there ever was—that I’m cherished. Desired, yet safe. Loved.