You, With a View(30)
That was too much. I look at the clock on his microwave. It’s nearly eleven. “I should go.”
He doesn’t say anything, though he looks like he wants to, and I’m grateful for it. While I stuff my things into my bag, Theo folds the map up with careful hands. I pull my bag straps apart so he can tuck it safely between my notebook and laptop.
Neither of us speak as we make our way to the door. I take one last greedy visual sweep of his house. It really is beautiful, if very quiet.
Theo gets to the front door first and opens it, silently stepping back to let me by. He’s distracted, his gaze far away.
“See you next Friday.” I doubt I’ll see him before we leave for Yosemite.
But Theo catches my wrist before I can get too far. His grip is startling—not too tight, and incredibly warm. I swallow a gasp.
“Listen, I—we should be on our best behavior for this trip.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“Exactly what I just said.” Some of the attitude is back. I’m relieved, honestly; things were getting too cozy. “You and I tussle a lot, but this trip means so much to my granddad. He’s excited to do this with you, and I don’t want us at each other’s throats ruining the experience.” I open my mouth to prove his point, but he holds his hand up. Right in my face. “For him or you. I know it means a lot to you, too.”
This silences me, but only momentarily. “All right, best behavior. Got it.”
The hand in my face slips down into the space between our bodies, hovering near my waist and brushing against my forearm. He clearly doesn’t know how long his fingers are. “Truce?”
I laugh. “Truce? Are we eleven?”
Theo rolls his eyes, and this time the graze of his fingers against my skin is purposeful. They skim down my wrist, wrapping around my hand. He manipulates his hold on me until we’re engaged in a handshake.
“I’ll make an effort to put up with you if you’ll do the same. It’s two weeks in close proximity. I don’t want it to get weird.”
I eye him, utterly aware of his skin against mine, of the flex of his fingers as they wrap more solidly around my hand. Thank god it’s dark out; I can feel how pink my face is, but he can’t see it.
“History isn’t on our side, Spencer.” My voice comes out softer than I planned.
His reply is equally soft. “We’re not the same people we were in high school.”
“Trust me, I know.” He appraises me, my subtext obvious. “You’re right. It’s fine. We can fake liking each other for two weeks. For Paul.”
Theo lets go of my hand, smirking. “No one said anything about liking, Shep.”
No, I remind myself sternly as I make my way to my car. No one did.
Eleven
Time speeds up after my night with Theo. I forgot what it’s like to be busy. To have something to look forward to, even if it’s edged in anxiety that ebbs and flows when I think about picking up my camera. Or when I think about two weeks with Theo and the kaleidoscope of emotions he sends tumbling with a long look, that sharp tongue.
Thursday, the night before we’re set to leave, Theo texts me.
I have to do something tomorrow morning. We’re leaving at 3. My granddad is staying the night here. Can you find a ride?
No, I’m so sorry our plans have changed and we’re not leaving at ten after all, so that afternoon hike we’re doing in Yosemite? Not happening. And also by the way, Paul isn’t going to pick you up on his way down here anymore, will you be okay? Just a bunch of robot words formed into a demand.
I don’t respond, my blood boiling as I throw my entire underwear drawer into my suitcase. The truce Theo and I agreed upon is already crumbling—I’m going to strangle him when I get to his house. However the hell I get there.
Thomas is my saving grace; Sadie’s on a work trip all week, and he’s feeling emo, so he decides to stay in Glenlake for the night and offers to drive me to Theo’s the next day.
My parents throw me a bon voyage dinner, decking out the dining room with streamers and a gold letter banner that reads good luck. They ask me a million questions about the trip—where I’ll be stopping, what I’ll be doing—and my answers are an equal amount of truth and lies. Stomach-churning guilt makes it hard to eat or drink, but my family makes up for it. By the time ten rolls around, Thomas is sleeping off six beers while Mom and Dad reminisce about the county fair photography contest I won when I was twelve.
I go to bed feeling like a liar.
I wake up feeling like one, too, but as Thomas drives us into the city, I finesse it. It’s not a lie. It’s a secret, which is just a truth that hasn’t been told yet.
Thomas’s hangover and the afternoon work call he has to get home for make him practically kick me out of the car as we pull up to Theo’s. However, he manages to leave me with some parting words.
“Have a good time, kid,” he croaks out. “Sadie and I have a bet on whether you let Theo stick it in. I say day three, she’s got day ten, but I owe her some blue velvet couch she wants if you fall in love with him.”
“Fucking hell, Mas.”
“Have fun.” His smile fades and he pulls off his sunglasses. “For real. I hope you find whatever you’re going after. I’ll be following along with the story.”