Author's Note: Here's Chapter 3! Please leave a review and let me know what you think.

Also, in this story, Moody's Point is an actual, widely popular tv show. Not the parody sketch show it was in real life. Haha.

Chase POV

After several failed attempts to call Zoey, I dropped my phone into my pocket and started wandering through the neighborhoods. Our apartments weren't that far from each other, only a few miles, so I knew most of the area well enough to not get lost. Remembering what Michael had said about Zoey having a big collection to work on, I figured she probably would have been at her boutique early that morning, so I decided to start looking for her there.

The last time we saw each other, she was working on another big collection. Zoey was stressed because she had so much to work on and one of her best seamstresses had been put on bedrest until she delivered her baby, so the boutique was shorthanded at one of the worst times. The pressure that Zoey always puts on herself more than anyone else was feeling like a little too much at that time and I didn't handle the situation the way I should have.

"Zo, can you please just stop for a minute and talk to me? Maybe look at me for a change?"

I hadn't meant to shout at her, but that's just the way it came out.

"I know you're stressed right now. I get it. I'm under a lot of pressure at work, too. But that doesn't mean—"

She suddenly looked up at me for the first time since I arrived at her boutique to surprise her, and the look she gave me stopped me dead in my tracks.

"You think you're under a lot of pressure?! Chase Matthews, how can you even compare your job on a late night sketch comedy show to me designing and producing the largest collection of my career for my own boutique?!"

That stung a little, but I knew it was just the stress talking. Deep down, I knew she didn't mean it to sound quite as harsh as it did. But that's not how I reacted in that moment.

"Yes, Zoey. It's a huge thing that you've managed to open up your own shop and you're doing well, and we are all incredibly proud of you. But you make it sound like my job doesn't mean anything. Is that what you're trying to say? That because I'm a writer, I must sit around and do nothing all day. So I couldn't possibly be anywhere near as stressed as you are!"

I paused to take a breath, but I didn't give her time to respond before I continued my tirade. "Well you know what? My job is much more stressful than I ever make it out to be. And for your information, it's about to get even more stressful! I hadn't told you yet because I was waiting until you weren't quite as stressed so you could be excited with me, but I went on an interview last Wednesday. I got the call Monday that I got the job. In about a week, I start my new job as an Executive Story Editor for Moody's Point. I had hoped we could go out to celebrate in the next day or two, maybe even get the gang together. But since my job isn't as important as yours, I guess I'll just go out and celebrate by myself."

I turned around and began walking out the door of Zoey's boutique before she could even fully process what I said. There was a small bar just a couple blocks from my apartment building, so I stopped in there for a few drinks on my way home that night. Zoey called a handful of times while I was sitting alone at the bar, but I just watched my phone ring. A little after midnight, I paid my tab and walked the couple blocks home.

The next morning, I was startled awake by a banging on my door. I dragged myself off the couch I had passed out on and shuffled over to the door. It was Zoey, and she was holding a coffee and a muffin from our favorite cafe.

"Can we talk?" Her eyes said more than her lips did, so I just stood aside and let her into my apartment without saying anything.

"Look, I—," she began, but I quickly cut her off with a wave of my hand.

"Zo, you don't have to say it. I'm sorry for yelling and storming off last night, and I can tell from the look in your eyes that you're sorry too. There's obviously been a lot of stress for both of us lately and a lot of tension that finally just exploded. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I didn't mean what I said and I'm sorry."

"That's part of the reason I came by, actually," she stated with just a hint of hesitation. "I was thinking, after you left last night and wouldn't return my calls…maybe we could…take a few days, kind of like…a break, just to think and regroup. Gather our thoughts together and catch our breath… I could have a little more time to finish up this crazy collection, and you could have a few days to settle into your new job. Just temporary… And we could revisit the subject in a week or so, see how things are going for each of us and see how we feel."

She paused for a breath and I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it without a word. I opened it again, and she cut me off.

"This is not me asking you to break up. Please don't think that. It's just… You said it yourself, there's been a lot of tension. And we just haven't felt like 'us' lately. I just think we both need to take a step back for a moment to think about how we really feel and what we really want. And then we can come back and have a better conversation about it after we've had time to collect our thoughts."

She stood there, wringing her hands, while I tried to think of something to say. I didn't want to fight with her, but I did want to fight for us. Instead, what came out was something that didn't even sound like me, because it sounded like defeat.

"Ok."

"What?" Her head snapped up and she looked at me with those big brown eyes I've always been in love with, as if she was surprised by my answer. Maybe she had expected an argument.

"I said ok. If that's really what you want right now, then ok. You've obviously put a lot of thought into this, so who am I to argue with you? You know I love you, and I hope you know I just want what you want. So if this is something you want to do, then we'll do it." I shrugged and put my hands in my pockets. What else could I do?

"Thank you, Chase." She looked at the floor for a moment, and then took a step toward me. "Ok, I better get to the shop. But I'll talk to you a little later, okay? Maybe tonight?" When she leaned over to kiss my cheek, she whispered, "I still love you." And then she walked out the door. She said it wasn't a break up, but that's definitely what it felt like.

She did call me that night, but the conversation was pretty short. There seemed to be a sense of relief in her voice, although I could tell she wasn't really feeling any better than me. Over the next three or four weeks, we talked a couple times for about an hour, but most of our conversations were a lot like that first night. Some days, it almost felt like before, when we were young, best friends in love; other days, we were both a little distant and the conversations were shallow. And that night in her boutique wasn't the last argument we had. After a couple months or so, we had both gotten so busy and our conversations had become so strained that they just kind of died out. I couldn't tell you which of us was responsible for the end of our communication. It was probably a little bit of both of us, really.

Walking down the block that her boutique was on, I looked around for signs of the earthquake. There were more people around than usual, but that was to be expected, and I could see that some of the buildings had large cracks in the walls. But overall, the neighborhood had escaped about as well as my own had, based on looks alone.

I could tell that Zoey wasn't in her shop before I even got to the door. From several feet away, I could tell that there were no lights on inside, though I wasn't sure if the electricity was on. Regardless of the status of the electricity, Zoey always had the door propped open when she was in, unless she was working after hours. She felt like the shop seemed more welcoming to customers if the door was open.

Approaching the large windows, I peeked inside. It looked like there were a few mannequins laying on their side, and I thought I saw a little bit of glass in a couple places. But it was hard to see much with the sun behind me, trying to peer into a dark shop.

I turned around and tried to call her again. When I got the same automated message as before, my feet began walking toward Zoey's apartment of their own accord. I didn't even have to think about where I was going, because my subconscious took me there naturally.

When I got to her apartment building, I was able to walk right on in because her building wasn't coded like mine. I had tried to convince her to move to a safer building, or even to my building, on more than one occasion, but she wouldn't budge on the matter. She liked how close it was to the boutique.

Zoey's apartment was on the second floor, so I took the stairs two at a time and reached her door rather quickly. I knocked, and waited, then knocked again. I tried to call her cell while knocking a third time, but she still didn't answer. The panic in my chest was swelling again and it was getting difficult to breathe properly. I knocked one more time, hoping for a different outcome, but nothing changed.

I turned to leave, but before I took the first step, I heard something from inside the apartment. I couldn't hear before because I was banging on the door and shouting, but now that I was quiet, I noticed what sounded like a news report on the tv. Fumbling with my keys, I pulled out the spare key she had given me. I was always forgetting things at her apartment and it was just easier if I could get in anytime I needed to retrieve something.

After unlocking the door, I stepped inside cautiously. What if she was home, but hadn't answered because she was in the shower or something? I didn't want her to get angry with me for overreacting. The tv was on, and there were a few books on the floor in her living room. Everything else looked mostly in tact. Overall, the apartment looked almost exactly the same as I remembered it, even though it had been several months since I had been there.

I called out her name a couple times, but still got no answer. I listened a little harder for a moment. The shower didn't seem to be running, so she must have been out. Maybe she was out assessing the damage around the neighborhoods, or knowing Zoey, she may have already found a way to help clean up the damage or get food to those who had lost everything.

Pausing on my way out, the news story on the tv caught my attention momentarily. My ears picked up words like "catastrophe" and "death toll". My brain knew the damage was going to be extensive and wide spread. My heart wasn't prepared for how my life may have been affected by this disaster.

Then suddenly a thought struck me: what if Zoey hadn't been at home or her boutique during the earthquake? We hadn't spoken in months. I had no idea where she could have been. What if she was somewhere else in the city altogether, maybe even trapped in one of those collapsed buildings? What if she was one of those unidentified individuals in the hospital, or worse, in the morgue?

I sprinted down the hall and ran down the stairs (without tripping over my feet, surprisingly) as fast as I could to get out to the street. My instinct was telling me I needed to go get my car and try to look for Zoey. I didn't know what good that would do, since I didn't know where to look next and none of my phone calls were going through. All I knew was that standing around doing nothing was not getting me anywhere. In fact, my anxiety was reaching an all time high.

Hitting the sidewalk outside her building, I all but ran the more than two miles to my apartment. Adrenaline just kept propelling me forward. When I reached my block, I realized that my car keys were still inside my apartment, so I sped up slightly until I reached the building. Once inside, I didn't have enough energy left after running that far to take four flights of stairs two at a time, so I climbed as quickly as my feet and my lungs would allow.

As I reached my floor, my heart plummeted to my feet. There, sitting on the floor beside my apartment door, with her knees pulled to her chest and her head in her hands, was Zoey. And she was crying.

I approached her slowly, hoping I wouldn't startle her. When I was about five feet away from her, I called her name softly.

"Zoey?"

Her head snapped up and she looked at me with bloodshot eyes. She looked like she had been crying for a while. But she was still beautiful. Zoey was always beautiful.

She got to her feet and wiped her eyes and cheeks with her hands.

"Chase. You're safe."

All this time, my feet had been pulling me closer and closer to her without my awareness. She looked at her feet and wiped her eyes again, and then she was in my arms. I don't even remember putting my arms around her or pulling her into my chest. The only thing I knew in that moment was that Zoey was safe and sound with my arms around her slight frame.

Thought I felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief, she tensed slightly as I held her to me. She pulled away quickly, and stood awkwardly in front of me with her hands at her sides. Her tears had stopped, but she sounded like she was still trying to catch her breath when she spoke again.

"I just came here to…make sure that you were okay. I guess I should—"

"Do you want to come inside? I can make us some coffee or some tea. Maybe just a glass of water. To help calm your nerves?" I wasn't quite ready to let her just walk away, and I hoped she'd be willing to talk.

With a small nod of her head and no emotion on her face, she said, "Tea would be good, if you've got some peppermint or lavender."