Elliot’s POV:

My phone rings at dawn and jolts me awake before my alarm. I squint at the screen, but I already know who it is before I see her name. Jess. Again.

We’ve been playing this dance for months now. She finds something tucked in a drawer, calls me to let me know, and somehow the conversation stretches longer than it needs to. Sometimes it’s about the lease I’m still helping pay. Sometimes it’s about the cat we shared custody with until I came here. But it always circles back to us.

“Elliot? Did I wake you?” Her voice is familiar, warm, like the coffee mugs we picked out together that I didn’t bother taking when I left.

“No, I was up,” I lie as I rub sleep from my eyes. “What’s up?”

“I found a box of your stuff while cleaning. Just some books and that ugly sweater your aunt gave you for Christmas.”

“The one that looks like a reindeer got sick on it?”

“That’s the one. I can mail it,” she offers. “Or if you’re ever back in Boston…”

“Mail works,” I say. “Though I’m never wearing that sweater again.”

She laughs, and it hits something tender in my chest. It’s not desire, not exactly. More like familiarity.

Five years together leaves an imprint. I know the exact cadence of that laugh, how it starts in her throat and builds. I know she’s probably twirling her hair right now, her phone cradled between shoulder and ear while she makes coffee. Old habits, worn smooth like river stones.

“How’s school?” she asks, and I hear genuine curiosity. She was trying.

“It’s good. Different. Challenging.”

“Are you happy there?” she asks softly. Something in her voice makes me sit up straighter.

I think about it for a moment. Am I happy? It’s complicated. I drained my savings account. My apartment is half the size of our Boston condo. Most of my classmates are fresh out of undergrad, with all the drama that entails.

But I also think about the rush of performing, the quiet satisfaction of connecting with a character, the party this past weekend where a ping-pong ball rolled to me and it stopped my heart.

“Yeah,” I tell Jess. “I think I am.”

A pause stretches between us. I can almost hear her gathering courage on the other end.

“I miss you, you know?” she finally says. “The apartment feels too big now.”

“I know what you mean,” I say. “It’s been an adjustment.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if we were too quick,” she continues carefully. “People do long distance all the time, and by plane Boston’s really not that far–”

I find myself considering it for a moment. The comfortable familiarity of Jess, the life we built. The security of knowing exactly what tomorrow brings.

“Maybe we could talk about it when I’m back for Thanksgiving,” I offer, though part of me isn’t sure I mean it.

“I’d like that,” she says, and the hop in her voice makes me feel both better and worse.

“I should get ready,” I tell her. “My first class is early today.”

After we hang up, I lie back and stare at the ceiling and try to push away the strange melancholy that always follows our conversations. Five months ago, that conversation would’ve had me booking the next flight to Boston. But now…it’s too complicated.

I roll out of bed and pull on my workout clothes: running shorts and a gray tank top. It feels weird to not be going to the gym this morning, but I don’t know exactly what’s expected of me this morning.

By the time I reach the classroom for the forklift certification class, I’ve almost pushed the phone call from my mind. Almost. The room is already filling in with students in what passes for athletic wear in a theater program. There’s at least one guy in jeans, as if this forklift guy might suddenly ask us to do a scene instead of, you know, drive the forklift.

Danny has saved me a seat, and he looks unusually chipper. His idea of gym clothes is a white-shirt under another t-shirt and basketball shorts, kind of like Adam Sandler.

“You look like shit,” he tells me as I sit next to him.

“Thanks. I got woken up by a phone call.”

“The ex again?”

I nod. Danny’s the only person I’ve told about Jess, but still not the whole story.

“She found more of your stuff?”

“She always finds more of my stuff,” I say and shake my head.

I scan the room, trying not to be obvious. The girls are already here, sitting near the front. My gaze stays on Noelle.

She’s wearing high-waisted black leggings that hug curves I try not to stare at. A loose tank top falls off one shoulder and reveals the edge of a sports bra with a zipper down the front. Her hair is pulled up and shows the line of her neck.

I force myself to look away before Danny notices, but not before I catch the flash of her smile as she hands Amelia a coffee.

“Do you want to sit closer to the front?” Danny asks. “So we can actually hear?”

My eyes flick to the empty row right behind the girls.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I’m sure this class is going to be riveting.”

We move to the seats behind Noelle and her friends. I try to focus on getting my notebook out, but I’m noticing how close she is. It’s close enough that I could tap her on the shoulder if I wanted to.

I don’t want to think about why my heart is beating faster. Or why she’s the first person I looked for when I walked in.

“Hey,” I say and lean forward. “Anyone know what we’re in for?”

Harlowe turns around first. "Death by PowerPoint, probably. But, hey, at least we get to drive big machines after."

When Noelle finally glances back, there’s something guarded in her expression.

"I've never driven one before," I admit, and laugh. "I guess I missed my opportunity to be a warehouse manager."

She studies me for a brief moment, then turns away. Was that a good sign? Bad? I have no idea, and it’s driving me crazy that I even care.

Bernard enters, clipboard in hand, and looks like he’d rather be back in the equipment room. He sets up his equipment and launches into his presentation with the practiced indifference of someone who’s given it too many times to count.

For the next forty-five minutes, he walks us through forklift safety protocols, maintenance schedules, and accident statistics with all the enthusiasm of a tax auditor. I tune out most of it and only catch bits about proper weight distribution and something about turn radius and checking surroundings.

Michael and Ethan crack jokes beside me, and I contribute the occasional laugh, but my attention keeps drifting to Noelle. The way she fidgets when she’s bored. How she leans over to whisper to Harlowe and Amelia. The shift of her shoulders when she yawns.

Harlowe raises a hand, snapping me back to the class. “Excuse me, Bernard. How long does the certification take? Like, once we start the actual driving part?”

Bernard blinks like he’s not used to students asking practical questions. "The practical portion takes about ninety minutes. We have three forklifts available, so you'll rotate and be working in pairs."

My brain shifts from the monotony of the safety regulation to a more immediate concern: partners. I scan the room and can already see people making eye contact and securing their forklift buddies. I know Danny will ask me any second. In front of me, I notice Harlowe whispering something to Noelle, who looks slightly taken aback.

"You can figure it out amongst yourselves," Bernard says, picking up his clipboard. "We'll head out to the loading dock in ten minutes. Any questions?"

Hands shoot up around the room like an elementary school class. Bernard answers more questions; most of them are stupid. I tune them out and watch as Danny and Michael lean together and whisper something that makes them snicker.

“You guys are terrible,” Noelle says as she turns to them.

I catch Danny’s eyes. “What are you two scheming?”

“Just optimal packet-stacking strategies,” Danny says, but his smirk suggests otherwise.

“Oh Lord,” I reply.

Michael just shrugs. “Bernard could use a little excitement.”

As people start painting off, I notice Noelle looking more isolated. Harlowe is now firmly attached to Amelia’s side, and Noelle’s eyes are darting around the room in what I recognize as thinly veiled panic.

This is my chance. I just need to avoid Danny’s–

“Hey,” Danny says, appearing at my side. “Want to do this thing??”

Shit.

“Actually,” I say, lowering my voice, “I was thinking of asking Noelle. I think Harlowe and Amelia paired up, and she looks…off.”

Danny follows my gaze to where Noelle is still standing alone.

“Fuck, that sucks,” Danny says. “Go for it. I’ll partner with Michael or someone.” He claps me on the shoulder before he turns away.

I let out a breath. That was easier than expected.

"All right, people," Bernard announces, shutting his laptop. "Let's head out to the loading dock. Stand with your partners."

The room erupts with chair-scraping and backpack-rustling. I make my way toward Noelle, who is scanning the room with increasing urgency.

“Need a partner?” I ask.

She looks up at me. Surprise is evident in her eyes before her expression shifts.

"Shouldn't you be with one of your guys?" she asks, gesturing toward where Danny and Michael are heading out the door together.

“Ethan’s with Lainey,” I say, which is true. “And some of the other guys…” I trail off, realizing I don’t really want to talk about Christian and the others right now.

"Yeah, I do need a partner," she admits. "But fair warning, I have the spatial awareness of a drunk toddler. There's a non-zero chance we crash."

Something about her admission, the way she wrinkles her nose when she says it, makes something shift inside me. Not just attraction, but recognition. She’s letting me see a small weakness, a crack in her performance.

“You’re nervous about this,” I say, the observation coming before I can filter it out.

She pauses and seems to weigh her options before answering. "I'm respectfully cautious of a two-ton machinery that has claimed countless lives."

"Eighty-five per year isn't exactly countless," I counter, pleased with myself for retaining at least one fact from Bernard's lecture.

"It is to those eighty-five people," she shoots back.

I can’t help smiling. Most people I’ve known take themselves so seriously, especially about their insecurities. But she owns hers through humor.

We fall into step as we walk out to the loading dock. "I'll make you a deal. I'll go first and show you how it works. Nothing to be scared of."

“I’m not scared,” she insists with a slight lift of her chin. "I'm just...aware of my limitations. Which includes driving anything larger than a shopping cart."

The loading deck stands before us. Three yellow forklifts away. Bernard is already assigning students to different ones. He gives us our assignment and brief instructions.

As we walk to our forklift, I’m suddenly aware of how alone we are at this moment. An impulse I don’t understand makes me move closer until my arm brushes against hers.

"Trust me," I say quietly. "I've got you."

I don’t know where the words came from. They sound foreign in my mouth, like I’m playing a character with more self-confidence. But the way her eyes dart to mine and pupils dilate makes me glad I said them.