“Now we start with chronological order,” Paul says, handing the letter over.
Theo leans over from the driver’s seat. I can smell the coffee we drank together, the hotel soap scent that’s all over my skin, too.
“This is after we’d started dating,” Paul continues. “I figured you didn’t need to see any more of us fighting our feelings.”
I turn, taking in Paul’s fond smile, chest aching, before straightening in my seat. Theo’s gaze snags with mine on the way, his expression unreadable. His jaw is dusted with a few days’ worth of whiskers. I swear to god if he grows a beard, I’ll—
Blinking away from him and that dangerous train of thought, I open the letter, tracing the words. “How long had you been dating?”
“Several weeks,” Paul says. “We were still learning about each other, but the deep feelings came quickly.”
Theo thumbs at the letter’s corner, his voice low in my ear. “Let’s read.”
I take a breath, imagining Gram’s voice in my ear instead, saying these words out loud.
October 26, 1956
Dear Paul,
I’m afraid I was too honest with you last night. Not because I called you a pain—you know that’s true—but because I talked about the type of man I’m expected to be with.
He’s nothing like you. I’m sorry to say that’s true. My parents have doted on me my entire life, and they want what’s best for me. Only, they have a very specific idea of what that is—stoic, a rule-follower, devoted to service to his country. Someone who’ll fit in perfectly with my father and brother.
I suppose I fought against the idea of us partly because you’re a pain, but also because I heard my family’s voice in my head every time I looked at you: he’s not right for you, Kat. And yet, my own voice grew louder the more time we spent together. It’s never done that.
This may end in disaster. My family may hate you. But I don’t. I’ve never done a thing I thought they wouldn’t like. You’re the first thing I’ve been brave enough to go after just for myself, simply because I want it so much.
It’s okay if this scares you. It scares me, too. But I’ll do it anyway.
Love,
Kat
That last sentiment slices through my chest like a stone being dropped into water, settling deep. I think of my camera bag nestled in the trunk, of the pictures I’ll have to take today. How is it possible to want something as equally as you fear it?
My gaze strays to Theo, whose eyes are still moving across the paper. His jaw ticks when he finishes, his gaze lingering on whatever words have captivated him before he looks at me. I can’t read the emotion in his eyes, but it’s heavy enough to snag my chest.
I break our connection, turning back to Paul, who’s watching us with barely concealed amusement. “Gram ended up being a teacher, you know. She went to school—well, back to school—after my dad and uncles were older.”
Pride shines in Paul’s voice. “Yes, I heard through our mutual friends she’d done that.”
That piques my curiosity. “Did you ever get in touch with her yourself?”
“She sent me and Vera a wedding gift, along with a nice note, which I couldn’t help but write back to,” he says fondly. “But before that and after, no, we didn’t talk at all. Once we were in other relationships, it was best not to. I knew she was happy with Joe.”
“Did it hurt, hearing about her life?”
“Right after we separated, yes. But after a while, and especially after my divorce, hearing about all of the things she was doing gave me hope that I’d get it right at some point, too.”
That’s something I haven’t felt in so long—hope that things will shift into the shape I confidently sketched out when I was young.
“People rarely get it on the first try, Noelle,” Paul says quietly. His eyes slip past me to Theo. His arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes locked on his grandfather’s, searching. “There’s nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t make you less of a success story in the end.”
Theo’s lips press together as he looks down. The right side of his hair is a little flat, and there’s a trace of a pillow mark on his cheek. He looks impossibly human right now; it taps a fissure into my heart.
Our gazes clash again, magnetic. It’s too powerful to look away from, so thank god it’s Theo who breaks the connection this time, shifting in his seat as he sticks the key in the ignition.
I wipe my palms on my thighs, folding the letter as the engine growls to life.
“Enough distractions,” Theo says. “Shepard has some pictures to take.”
* * *
Theo pulls into the parking lot at Tunnel View an hour later. It’s a popular viewpoint that overlooks El Capitan, Bridalveil Fall, and, in the distance, Half Dome, as well as an endless, lush spread of green. A few groups roam the parking lot, making their way to the stone wall that separates us from total majesty.
My brain is dreaming up photos instantly.
Theo’s got my backpack unzipped when I get to the trunk, but he doesn’t touch my camera. Instead, he stands there, arms crossed while I extract it from its case with shaky hands.
I take in his bodyguard-like stance and go back to last night—I can’t wait to see you with a camera in your hand.
I hold it up for inspection. “Is it everything you thought it’d be?”
“And more,” he says dryly, but there’s pleasure in his eyes. Without another word, he turns on his heel and makes his way toward the lookout.
Paul removes his camera, winding the strap around his neck, and I nearly choke on my tongue.
“Is that a Hasselblad?”
He holds up the gorgeous camera as we walk, like he doesn’t have four thousand dollars of extraordinary photography magic sitting in his palm. “My favorite. I’ve reverted back to film, mostly. I hardly use digital anymore.”
“Where do you get your prints developed?”
“I have a darkroom at home.” He nods to Theo. “Teddy set it up for me.”
My gaze follows Theo, tracking across his shoulders, looser this morning. I get the feeling he’d do anything for his granddad. It’s becoming an uncomfortable soft spot, the place where our kinship roots deeper with every detail Paul feeds me.
Paul pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. “It’s okay if it takes time for photography to feel right again.”
“What do you mean?”
We stop next to Theo, who’s perched on the wall. The wind ruffles Paul’s hair back from his forehead, and he squints against the strengthening sunlight.
“After Kat left school, there was a time when I didn’t touch my camera. I felt disconnected from my love for it. Disconnected from life, really. When I picked it back up, it took me time to get reacquainted. I had to figure out what I wanted to find through the lens.” He squeezes my shoulder gently. “You’re old friends who haven’t talked in a while, Noelle. Get to know each other again.”
I nod, fumbling with my camera as I move to the edge of the lookout.
Theo backs up toward Paul, making space for me.
“Don’t choke.” He gives me a crooked smirk. It’s what he’d murmur when he passed me in the hallway on match days. Hearing him say it in a low voice was like hearing my opponent yell it across the court, except more delicious. Below the taunting tilt of the words was the assurance that I wouldn’t choke. He may have thought he was better than me, but he knew I was really fucking good.