Not Enough Tomorrows

The autumn air smelled like caramel apples and bonfire smoke, and Lena Brooks couldn't stop smiling. "This is my favorite day of the whole year," she said, tightening her scarf as she and Noah made their way through the crowded festival grounds. "You say that every year," Noah said, glancing sideways at her. "Because it's true every year." The Autumn Festival hadn't changed much since they were kids—same string lights strung between the oak trees, same booths selling cider and roasted corn, same laughter echoing across the town square. What had changed was them. Lena was seventeen now, taller, older, but some things never moved. Noah walking beside her was one of them. "Come on," she said, tugging his sleeve. "The charity booth needs help before the rush starts." They'd volunteered for the same booth every year since middle school—face painting for the little kids, though this year Lena had graduated to handing out balloons and stamping hands at the entrance. Noah worked the table beside her, counting out tickets with the kind of quiet focus he brought to everything. For a while, everything went the way it always did. Then a woman's voice cut through the noise. "Has anyone seen a little girl? Pink coat, brown hair—she was right here—" Lena's head snapped up. Without thinking, she ducked out from behind the booth. "I'll help look," she called back to Noah. "Lena—" But she was already moving, weaving through the crowd, scanning small faces and pink coats that all seemed to blur together under the string lights. She checked near the cotton candy stand, then the carousel, then the row of game booths where the crowd thickened. That was when she noticed she couldn't see Noah anymore. She didn't have time to think about it. A flash of pink caught her eye—a small girl sitting alone near a lamppost, knees pulled to her chest, crying. "Hey," Lena said gently, crouching down. "Are you lost?" The girl nodded, sniffling. "It's okay. I've got you." Lena took her hand, and within a few minutes, she'd spotted the girl's frantic mother near the fountain. The reunion was quick—tears, a tight hug, a breathless thank-you—and then Lena was standing alone again. Only then did she realize the truth. She didn't know where she was. The festival had grown busier, the paths tangled with more people than before, and every direction looked the same—lights, crowds, unfamiliar booths. Her chest tightened. She turned in a slow circle, searching for anything familiar. "Noah?" she said, quieter than she meant to. Panic hadn't fully set in yet, but it was close, curling at the edges of her thoughts. Then she heard it. "There you are." She spun around, and there he was—hands in his jacket pockets, walking toward her like he hadn't been searching at all, like he'd simply known exactly where to find her. "I told you I'd find you," Noah said, the corner of his mouth lifting. Relief hit her so hard she almost laughed. "How do you always do that?" "Do what?" "Find me. Every single time." Noah shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal, like it had never been a big deal. "Guess I just know where you'd wander off to." Lena shook her head, smiling despite herself. Something about the moment tugged at an old memory, warm and familiar, like a song she hadn't heard in years but still knew every word to. She was seven the first time it happened. The festival had been just as crowded back then, and six-year-old Noah had been trailing behind her, complaining that she was walking too fast. She hadn't meant to wander off. One second she'd been holding her mother's hand, and the next, she'd spotted a puppet show near the fountain and let go without thinking. By the time she realized she was alone, the crowd had swallowed every familiar face. She remembered crying behind a popcorn cart, small and scared, certain she'd never find her way back. And then Noah had appeared, out of breath, cheeks red from running. "There you are," he'd said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "I told my mom I'd find you." "How did you know where I was?" she'd asked, wiping her face. "I don't know. I just knew." He'd held out his hand. "If you ever get lost again... I'll find you. I promise." She hadn't thought about that promise in years. But standing here now, ten years later, she realized he'd never actually broken it. "You okay?" Noah asked, snapping her back to the present. "Yeah," Lena said. "Just thinking about something." "Good or bad?" "Good," she said softly. "Definitely good." He didn't ask her to explain, and she didn't offer. Some things didn't need saying. That evening, both families gathered at the Carters' house for dinner, the way they always did after the festival. The dining room smelled like roasted chicken and cinnamon, and the table was crowded with familiar chaos—Lena's mother and Noah's mother talking over each other about the festival committee, Noah's younger brother sneaking rolls before dinner was even served. Lena sat beside Noah, the way she always did, and for a while, the conversation moved easily around them. "You should've seen her," Noah said, spooning mashed potatoes onto his plate. "Ran off into the crowd like a superhero." "I was helping," Lena said, nudging him with her elbow. "Someone had to. You were too busy counting raffle tickets." "I was doing important work." "You were hiding from the face-painting line." Their mothers exchanged a glance across the table—the kind of glance that said more than words ever could. Lena's mother smiled into her glass of wine, and Noah's mother's eyes crinkled with something like quiet certainty. "They've been like this since they were five," Noah's mother said. "I know," Lena's mother said. "I keep waiting for them to notice." "Notice what?" Lena asked, catching only the tail end of it. "Nothing," both mothers said at once, a little too quickly. Noah kept his eyes on his plate, but the tips of his ears had gone slightly pink. Lena didn't catch it. He'd stopped pretending to himself a long time ago that what he felt for Lena was the same as what she felt for him. He just hadn't found a way to say it—not without risking the one thing he was terrified to lose. So he said nothing, the way he always did, and let the moment pass. After dinner, the two families walked down to the hill behind the Carters' backyard to watch the fireworks, blankets spread across the grass, paper cups of cider passed around. Lena sat beside Noah, knees pulled up, eyes on the dark sky waiting to burst into color. "Lena Brooks?" She turned. A guy she didn't recognize stood a few feet away—college-aged, easy smile, a cup of cider in his hand. "I'm Tyler. My aunt lives next door to your mom," he said. "She's told me a lot about you." "Oh—hi," Lena said, sitting up a little straighter. "You volunteer every year, right? That's really cool." His smile widened. "Mind if I sit?" "Sure," Lena said, scooting over slightly to make room. Tyler dropped onto the blanket beside her, easy and confident, clearly unbothered by the fact that he didn't know anyone else there. He said something about the fireworks, something charming and a little too smooth, and Lena laughed—genuine, easy laughter that carried across the hill. Noah watched the exchange without a word, a small, polite smile fixed on his face. "You're funny," Lena said to Tyler, still smiling. "I try," Tyler said, leaning in slightly. The first firework cracked across the sky, gold light spilling over the hill, and everyone looked up—everyone except Noah, whose eyes stayed fixed on Lena a second too long before he finally turned his gaze upward too.