Finally, Theo asks, “You okay, really? You looked a little . . .” He trails off, appraising me.
I spear a zucchini slice, then an onion, adding them to the skewer. I’ve made four in record time. “I can’t wait to hear what word you land on.”
He rolls his eyes. “You looked like you were trying too hard to be . . . not upset.”
“I wasn’t upset.” I hand him the plate with my picture-perfect veggies. “Just achy, I guess. It’s been a while since I’ve had a grandparent hug. Paul’s been filling a big void for me.”
“You can borrow him anytime, you know. Even after we get back.” He places the skewers on the grill, careful not to meet my surprised gaze. “Separate from me, I mean.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. The thought of having a relationship with Paul without having something with Theo feels . . . incomplete. But Theo clearly wants me to know that our arrangement won’t impact my relationship with his granddad once we get home. “I—”
“He really cares about you,” Theo blurts, poking at the steaks. “I’m sure he’d love to keep seeing you when all of this is over. Even outside of telling you about him and Kat.”
“He’s become one of my favorite people, so I’d love that, too.” I wish I could admit to the other things I want. It feels way too big for what we’ve agreed to, wanting to see Theo when we get home. Wanting to be with him. Date him.
The realization sinks into my stomach like ice: god, I really do want to date Theo Spencer. Eighteen-year-old me would be shaken to her core right now, but I like him, and I think, given the chance, I’d continue to like him. Maybe until it turned into something else.
Theo looks at me, his jaw ticking. His expression is searching, but he stays quiet. The tension between us grows tight, that thread between us pulling until it hurts.
I look down, heart racing as I pick up a cherry tomato, until the moment passes us by. “So, you wouldn’t loan me your AP Lit notes senior year, but you’ll loan me your granddad?”
A surprised laugh huffs out of his mouth. “You would’ve edged me out on that midterm—”
“I actually did.”
“But there’s no chance you’ll take my number one spot with Granddad.”
Gauntlet thrown. “You know I’m going to try now, right?”
“Why do you think I said it? I know you.” It hits me when he says that; he does. He grins, seeing the realization on my face. “I want to see you try, Shepard.”
I snort. “Why, so you can see me fail?”
“No.” He sets down his tongs, facing me. Above us, the sky is starting to darken. The clouds are turning pink, painting Theo’s face in the sweetest, softest light. I miss him already, his singular attention, the way he looks at me. “Because I’m pretty sure you’d tie for first.”
He has to know what that does to me, to hear it, to know I could be in Paul’s life like that someday. His faint smile tells me he does.
All of my feelings bubble up my throat, but I don’t get a chance to say anything, and maybe it’s for the best. Theo doesn’t check to see if Paul’s still in the kitchen before he leans down and presses his mouth to mine. I inhale, surprised, but he doesn’t push it beyond the grazing of our lips, the brush of his nose against mine.
But Theo touching me—Theo doing anything—ignites my blood, so I grab a handful of his shirt and yank him to me. He laughs against my mouth, cupping my cheek so he can tilt my head for a better angle.
As with everything we do, it quickly turns intense, and Theo’s amusement turns into an urgency I can taste. He wraps an arm around my waist, his hand fitting over the curve of my ass to pull me tight to him. I groan when I feel him growing hard, and his fingers tighten in my hair.
“Not the hair move,” I complain.
He grins, kissing me so thoroughly my eyes cross, then squeezes my ass. Hard.
“You’re an asshole,” I pant against his mouth. “I hope you’re hard all through dinner. I hope you watch me eating that dick-shaped skewer and it tortures you, because all I’m going to be thinking about is what time you’re going to sneak into my room so I can tease you until you’re begging for it. Then I’ll hold out some more.”
His shoulders start shaking under my arms and then he’s laughing too hard to kiss me properly, so he pulls me into a crushing hug instead, pressing his smile into my neck.
“You are such a menace, Noelle Shepard,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I can think of a few things off the top of my head,” I say silkily.
He growls, “I can, too.”
Suddenly music is pumping out into the evening air. Theo and I spring apart.
“I found a stereo!” Paul calls. “Can you hear the music?”
“Uh, yeah,” Theo calls back, his kiss-flushed mouth pulling up at the corners. “It’s raging out here.”
“What?” comes Paul’s reply.
“Jesus,” Theo mutters, shaking his head. He flips the steaks and skewers with a proficiency that’s just as hot as the way he grabbed my ass, then takes me by the hand and pushes me away from the grill.
I resist, stretching my arm back toward it. “The food—”
“Can wait.” He takes my outstretched arm and threads it around his neck, smiling when I follow with my other arm, my fingers winding into his hair. He circles his arms around my waist, his expression a dizzying mixture of stern and playful.
And then we’re dancing. He holds me close for a few beats, and I let his body guide the movements of mine. God, we’re good at this.
He either has Paul radar or he wants to douse the attraction that’s arcing between us; he pushes me back right before Paul walks out with a serving dish.
I laugh as Theo spins me with the most beautiful smile on his face, then turn to Paul to make some pithy comment about his grandson’s rhythm （which is actually phenomenal）。 But Paul’s gaze is fastened on Theo, his face lit up with joy so intense he almost looks anguished.
The moment has nothing to do with me, but it still stirs emotion in my chest. The love between these two men heals something in me, just as much as it tears me apart.
The ache in my chest recedes as we sit down for dinner, when Theo slides his hand over my thigh under the table.
And later, when I look up at the sky, I swear I see a star winking down at me.
* * *
We spend most of the next morning exploring the various bends and curves carved out of massive red-hued rocks at Lake Powell. Theo drives our rented speedboat, sometimes racing over the deep blue water, sometimes puttering. He stops whenever Paul or I ask so that we can take photos, and we tuck ourselves into a less-busy section of the lake to eat lunch.
Paul digs into his bag with one hand once we’ve finished, holding up a finger with the other. “How about a letter? I forgot to give it to you two this morning.”
“Yes!” I practically shout, diving out of my seat to get to Paul. He leans over with a quiet laugh and hands it to me. I run my thumb over the folded paper. No matter how many of these I read, I’ll always crave more. “I feel like we’re running out of time to hear the whole story. We only have . . .” Saying the number out loud is a finger against my bubble, so I don’t. “We don’t have a lot of time left together.”