Hi, I hoped you guys enjoyed chapter one. Feedback is greatly appreciated and really helps inspire me to continue writing. Also, I listened to the song "Torn" By Natalie Imbruglia on repeat while writing this chapter. Enjoy! x

Rich was never good with words. In fact, words bothered him, and for the most part, he couldn't understand why they were necessary. Serious conversations came with an intensity he didn't much care for, and he certainly didn't enjoy small talk. He preferred sound. Sound was something he could understand. Bass and drums and music so loud it felt like his ear drums were going to explode. He liked feeling trapped by it, lived for the urge he got whenever he heard a really good album with more noise than words, and he hated when it would eventually, inevitably, like everything else in his life - end.

But when he finally came too, sprawled out in a back corner with a melting ice pack on his forehead, he fully expected noise, but all he heard was silence. It was a rarity at The Linx, especially on a Friday night. The only time it was ever this quiet was right before open or close and – shit – Rich looked at his watch, brushing the mask of sweat drenched hair away from his face. It was just pass 1 a.m. meaning he had been out cold for four hours, which was basically his entire shift.

He looked around the now half empty pub but couldn't spot John anywhere. Rich figured he had probably retired to the back for a quickie with some dazed Tori Amos type who assumed he was a part of whatever terrible band was playing that night, a conclusion jumped to on the basis of Johns boyishly good looks alone. If this was the case, as it typically was, then Rich was in the clear. John was always more forgiving with a little fuel in his tank, a fact Rich had come to learn on more than one occasion.

But it wasn't John's absence that bothered Rich. It was hers. It wasn't like he expected her to be there when he woke up, but part of him couldn't help but feel disheartened that she wasn't. There was also, of course, the issue of whether or not it had all been real. He touched the tender spot on his face and winched. It certainly felt real.

He sat up, and that's when he noticed the note. He had been acting as sort of a human place holder for it, and probably would of missed it had he stood up to quick, but there it was. A note written in precise cursive handwriting only she could pull off.

'I don't know who you are' it read

'But I feel like I should'

Rich closed his eyes and held his breath before reading the last part. He had to make sure it was real, and that when he opened his eyes, it wouldn't all disappear. He patted his coat pocket for his cigarettes, only to turn up empty handed. Fuck. He knew he had to finish reading it. It was every hope and dream he had ever had rolled into one tiny piece of paper and he wasn't quite ready to be disappointed.

He opened his eyes.

'Meet me for coffee when you come to' the note finished.

He stood, stuffing the tiny piece of paper in his coat pocket and was out the pub in seconds, barley missing Johns arrival from the back of the Pub.

"Oi!" he yelled, but Rich didn't have time to explain.

He made a note to self to apologize to him later, for the sake of keeping his job, and quickly made his way to the only place he knew she would be.

There was an address included in the note, of course, but he didn't need it. He knew where to go.

She sat and stirred her lukewarm coffee. It was her third cup of the night. She had been sitting in this booth now for hours. It was her favorite place in Bristol, a tiny little café situated right where a café should never be. And that's why she liked it. It was small and out of place and as morbid as it was, she could relate.

She had asked Anna and Lea if they wanted to stay, but they had opted out. They couldn't understand why Grace was staying out to meet some creepy guy who skeezed on her in a pub, and quite frankly, Grace didn't know why either. Maybe it was because he felt familiar, too familiar, or maybe it was just because it felt like the right thing to do. Grace, if nothing else, was accustomed to doing the right thing.

When he entered the café, she spotted him before he spotted her. He was wearing a torn jean jacket and had his hands tucked deep in the pockets of his jeans. He looked anxious, crazed even, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. This made Grace smile. When he finally spotted her, he stopped in his tracks. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. She stood, waving him towards her, as if to say it was okay to come closer, but it was as though he was seeing a ghost. Grace had never had anyone look at her like that before, and it intrigued her just as much as it made her uncomfortable.

Finally, he snapped out his trance, hesitantly taking a seat on the other side of the booth. He didn't say anything at first. In fact, he didn't say anything for a while.

She examined the growing bruise on the side of his face. Did he know that he had been hit? It had all happened so fast. Him grabbing her, looking at her in that indecisive way, and Alec, from his spot on the stage, jumping down to punch him in the face. He had fallen to the floor almost instantly, dragging Grace down with him. And even though she felt bad, she didn't, like everything else, exactly pertain to know why.

She nodded towards the window, biting her bottom lip with the slightest bit of apprehension.

"My husband Alec is outside waiting in the car"

It didn't come as a surprise to Rich that she was married. At 27, she was just as much of a knock out as she had been back then, the only difference being a sense of maturity and confidence only Rich could tell was ripping at the seams. Did she know who she was? Or was she, like him, simply running away? And if that was the case – could he blame her? There were times late at night when he couldn't sleep…trapped by memories of his past with her, where he would wonder if what he was doing was any different. Running away from the past, he decided, wasn't much different than faking a death.

"I'm guessing he's who I can thank for this?" Rich finally spoke, motioning to his multi colored eye and watching her winch. She nodded.

"You can't just go grabbing strange girls in pubs" She said.

He looked at her in that way again. That indecisive particular way that gave her butterflies and made her uneasy all at the same time. She knew she had to hurry. Because was already on bad terms with her husband, and she didn't want to cause anymore of a scene. But…she couldn't bring herself to get up. To walk out the door and never see this man again.

And maybe he could tell she was anxious, distraught even, because from the other side of the booth, he grabbed her hand. It was by instinct really. It was a subtle but unexpected gesture and she didn't know why it made her want to cry. They sat like that for a few moments. Her hand on her coffee mug and his hand on hers. They didn't need to talk. Because Rich didn't like words and he knew words would only ruin things. He knew he was her past, and that she was more or less a ghost to him, but he didn't want to address it.

"Come with me" he finally managed. It was spontaneous and crazy, he knew that, but it was also the only thing that felt right.

He stood up, offering her his hand, and even though she hesitated for a moment, looking out the window at her husband parked in the distance, contemplating everything that would follow, she grabbed it, allowing him pull her up. And when he did, she stumbled, right into his lanky yet masculine frame. It felt familiar. It felt right. For the first time in a long time, she felt whole.

He grabbed her coat from the booth and slipped it over her arms, and then they ran. They ran hard and fast and they didn't stop until they were miles away from the café and Alec and the Linx and John and every other gut wrenching reality their lives would soon deliver. When they grew tired, they sat on a small park bench slightly wet from the rain and watched the sun rise. How many hours had passed?

For Rich, it felt like an entirety wrapped in the time span of a few shorts moments, and for her, the night had felt endless. The better part of her knew that what she was doing was wrong – running off with a stranger – but he didn't feel strange.

'What a pathetic existence' she thought to herself, staring at morning joggers and people walking their dogs 'finding more security in a stranger than yourself'.

For the most part, he didn't talk. He smoked. He fidgeted. And when he felt sure she wouldn't notice, he looked at her. He took in every physicality, burning her into his memory again for future reference. It wasn't that he had ever forgotten her. In fact, it was quite the contrary. He had just become accustomed to how she was then. And even though she was still the same old Grace in a lot of ways, she was different too. The way she bit her lip, that was new…and her hair, much shorter…more mature. She was beautiful, but in a different way than in her youth. She was seasoned and sexy and extremely unsure of herself. And that was when he knew he had to tell her. And there was no right combination of words. There was no easy way to say it.

"I missed you"

The words surfaced so easily that he wondered why he hadn't said them sooner. Maybe it was because he knew it would only complicate things, and that she wouldn't know what he meant, but it didn't matter.

She blinked. She pulled at the seams of her jacket. She tried her best to avoid eye contact with him. She tried to process the statement. And then, despite her better judgment – she kissed him.

It was a simple gesture fueled by passion more than logic but it was exactly what he needed. He grabbed her tiny frame, bringing her crashing into him, and kissed her with everything he had. And what he had was a lot. Ten years of lost opportunities. Ten years thinking he'd never be able to do it again. They remained like that for a while. He was lost in her and she simply wanted to remember.

"What's your name?" she finally asked, pulling away from him.

She knew she couldn't continue the façade of knowing him any longer, and she also knew she had to be leaving, but not before she knew his name. He hesitated.

"Richard" he said, cleared his throat "Rich"

"Richard" she repeated, letting his name roll off her tongue.

"I like that"

It was in that moment that Rich came to a conclusion. He'd make her remember him, even if it meant starting from the beginning.

"And yours?" he asked.

She smiled.

"Grace."