At this, Theo’s eyebrow quirks up. Even after years apart, I know his I’m about to be an asshole tell. “Was my face fresh in your memory, Shep? Been staring at my LinkedIn profile picture every night?”
“Please don’t project your fantasies onto me.”
Paul chuckles and even Theo grins, his damn dimple popping.
Ugh. Even when he doesn’t win, he wins.
I half stand and peek into the box, needing a distraction. There are more photos, ticket stubs, and envelopes yellowed with age. But my gaze snags on something even more interesting. It’s a map, folded up carefully and perched on top of a yearbook.
I take it out like it’s a precious artifact. Which, really, all of this is. “What’s this?”
“Take a shot every time Shepard asks a question,” Theo mutters across the table.
I shoot him my most innocent smile. “Oh, I’d love to see you play that game. We both know your tolerance is laughable.”
I’m immensely gratified by the way his cheeks turn pink. One night we were at a party—not together, but . . . existing in the same space at the same time—and he puked Mike’s Hard Lemonade all over his date’s shoes. I had to help her shower it off because they were both too wasted to get the job done.
He recovers quickly, his voice dipping. “My stamina has improved significantly since high school.”
I make a noncommittal sound. I don’t want to think about his stamina now.
God knows Theo and I could go for days like this, but my attention is diverted. As I unfold the map, the writing looped over top of Washington, Idaho, and Montana stops me short.
Paul and Kat’s Honeymoon Road Trip
Six
What is this?”
“Je-sus,” Theo mutters, but I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on the writing, or how his eyes widen once he reads it. His eyes jump to Paul.
“So you don’t know everything,” I say triumphantly.
Theo ignores me, his attention on his granddad. “You two had a honeymoon planned out?”
Paul nods. “Before things ended, we planned a road trip for the summertime. We were going to elope as soon as school was out and then go on our way. That was Kat’s stab at the plan, but I had it in my head we’d go all the way across the country and back. Take all summer before we settled back in LA.”
He says this with a fondness I can’t understand. My heart hurts just thinking about it, knowing it never happened.
“That’s a little more premeditated than the ‘we were crazy kids in love who thought, screw it, let’s do this’ story you told me.”
“The timeline was fast, Teddy,” Paul says. “We had about a month to plan for it—eloping, the honeymoon, our life after—before she had to leave. Your interpretation isn’t wrong.”
Theo and I exchange a look. I can’t even revel in the curiosity lighting up his face now; I’m feeling it, too. He may know more than me, but we both want to know it all.
Leaning in, his eyes travel down to the map. Circles dot the western portion: Yosemite, Zion National Park, the Grand Canyon, and Sedona, among others. I trace the route with my finger, feeling the give in the paper where Gram traced the route with her pen.
A breeze picks up, winding under my hair, and I close my eyes, imagining it’s her fingers whispering down my neck, the same way she’d do to help me fall asleep. I have no idea where people go when they die, but sometimes I swear I can feel her. Right now, I do.
The thought enters my mind like someone yelling it: Go on this trip.
My gaze flits up to the sky, and I shift in my seat, lowering my eyes to trace the route again. Curiosity and restlessness wrap around my heart like vines. What would it be like to follow in footsteps she never actually took? Would I be chasing a ghost? Or would she feel closer than ever?
“I want to ask you a million more questions,” I admit.
“I’m an old man and don’t quite have the stamina for lengthy storytelling anymore . . .” At this, Paul slides a look to Theo, whose eyes roll in reluctant amusement. Paul’s grin turns sly, and his gaze bounces between the two of us before he focuses on me. “But I’m happy to give you answers. I’m afraid it’ll just take some time, if you have it.”
“I really, really do.” Theo takes note of my wistful tone and raises an eyebrow, but I push on before he can ask questions of his own. “I’m curious about something you said last time—that you didn’t get along at first. Obviously you ended up loving each other deeply if you were going to get married without Gram’s family’s approval. What changed?”
Paul laughs. “Us. We realized that first impressions don’t dictate what the final impression will be. Once we opened ourselves up to truly knowing each other, it was easy to fall.”
Again, he splits a look between Theo and me. In a rare act of agreement, we ignore it.
“You also mentioned there were more letters?”
“Yes, as I said, we enjoyed writing to each other. She wrote me sassy notes in class before we started dating, too.”
I perk up, delighted. “You don’t have any of those, do you? I’d love to see.”
“Why, so you can take notes?” Theo murmurs.
“Don’t need to. I’d say it right to your face,” I murmur back with a sharp grin that curls his mouth into a wicked shape.
If Paul hears the exchange, he doesn’t react. He pulls the box toward him with a hum. “Let me see.”
I fold the map while Paul riffles through the box contents. Across the table, Theo is watching all of this with an inscrutable expression. His gaze lingers on me until I start squirming in my seat. When I wipe at my face, searching for errant crumbs, he smirks.
“What?” I mouth.
He shakes his head, and I watch, fascinated, as his lips pout around his response: “You.”
Like a sparkler bursting from a single flame, my mind erupts with countless meanings for one word. You what?
The urge to ask him what the hell he means wars with the refusal to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s sent me spinning. But he reads it on my face, like it’s written in a language he created, and that smirk turns into a full-out grin.
Time and distance will make you forget, but I’ve never had enough of either to forget the way Theo Spencer can aggravate every nerve in my body with the twist of his mouth.
I nod my chin, forcefully banking the heat he’s stoked in my body. “What’s on your agenda for the rest of the day? More vegetable planting? Some remote CFO-ing while you’re elbow-deep in cukes and tomatoes?”
He doesn’t respond, but I don’t expect him to. I anticipate the way his smile falls, the way his gaze moves past me, and I feel a pang of . . . regret? No. I’m not going to feel sorry for him, even if I’m beginning to see that work is a wound for him. I’m sure his feature in Forbes soothes the ache.
“Oh, I have some zucchini going in, too,” Paul says cheerfully, pulling out a stack of papers.
I match his tone, just to irritate Theo. Sure enough, he snorts when I say, “Sounds delicious!”
“When everything starts coming in in a few months, I’ll put together a salad for us.”
“That sounds really nice.”