You, with a View
: Chapter 3

Is this a joke?”

We say it at the same time. That also has to be a joke.

Theo stands, and I catalog everything about him before I can process how I’m feeling: the worn-in Levi’s with a button fly, goddamn him; the wavy hair rustling poetically in the breeze; his expensive-looking navy sweater, sleeves pushed up his forearms. The material looks so soft I want to rub my cheek on it.

No, I don’t. What the hell.

“What are you doing here?” I demand as his expression cools from its initial shock.

Theo’s eyes skim my body, but not in a sexy way. Like he ordered Wagyu steak, and he got McDonald’s instead. I regret the short corduroy skirt I’m wearing, and especially the Doc Martens. They’re from high school.

When his gaze does a U-turn back down to my feet, one corner of his mouth hooks up, and I know he remembers the damn boots.

“Still wearing those shit kickers, huh, Shep?”

That voice. I hate it. It’s like velvet rubbed the wrong way. There’s a texture to it that crawls up my spine, and a depth that sprinkles goosebumps on the back of my neck. I still remember sitting on stage at graduation, staring daggers at his back while his voice delivered the valedictorian speech instead of mine.

“What are you doing here?” I repeat.

One eyebrow raises, stern as ever. “I think it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

I don’t want it to be true, but the truth is staring at me, wholly unimpressed: my high school adversary is Paul’s grandson, and we’ve been talking all week without realizing it.

What force has brought him back into my life? Satan? No, that doesn’t make sense—the same force brought Paul into my life, too.

My gaze moves up to the sky. What are you doing up there, Gram?

A throat clears and Theo and I turn at the sound. Paul pushes off the table to stand, his eyes—deep blue like Theo’s—bouncing between us.

“I take it you two know each other?” he asks.

“Unfortunately.” I hold up my hands, horrified. Even if it’s true, it’s his grandson I’ve just insulted. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, she did,” Theo says.

I shoot him a glare, and it’s as effective as if we’ve actually hurtled back in time. We used to exchange endless jabs in class, on the tennis court where we both played varsity, at parties. Through unfortunate luck, we liked the same people, so our paths crossed constantly. Murdering him with my eyes is muscle memory. His returning smirk is, too. He loved riling me up.

I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. I’m an adult, despite my circumstances proving the opposite, and he’s not going to get to me. Even though the dimple popping in his cheek—and the heat blooming in mine—says otherwise.

“Haven’t seen that smile in a while, Teddy,” Paul says with a grin the same shape as Theo’s, dimple and all.

Like that, all expression drops off Theo’s face. “I’m going to grab another coffee.” He lifts his chin at me. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.” The last thing I need is caffeine. Or to owe Theo Spencer anything.

He lifts his shoulder in a shrug, then walks off. Paul and I both watch him go before turning to each other.

“Sorry about that. We have some, um, history.”

“So I saw,” he says, his tone amused and thoughtful.

I hold out my hand. Steady now. “I’m Noelle, Kathleen’s granddaughter.”

He takes my hand in his. His skin feels fragile, but his grip is strong. “Oh, I know, sweetheart. You look just like her.”

My throat goes instantly tight. “Thank you.”

“I was so sorry to hear she passed.”

He stutters over the last word, as if it’s from a language he doesn’t know. It still feels foreign in my mouth, too, and like that, the connection between us is set. A gossamer thread from his heart to mine.

There’s a handkerchief in his outstretched hand before I realize my eyes are welling. I take it, pressing it to my face. The handkerchief is timeworn and smells like fabric softener. Something about it makes me feel like I’ve been punched right in the sternum. I miss Gram so much I can’t breathe.

A gentle hand at my elbow guides me to a chair, and I plop down inelegantly.

I pat at my cheeks, pulling my canvas bag onto my lap. “I don’t really know where to start.”

Paul runs a hand down his checkered dress shirt. There’s a gold band on his ring finger. Looks like he found his happiness, too.

“What would you like to know?”

I let out a breath. “Everything.”

He rubs a hand along his cheek, appraising me. “That’s a tall order, Noelle.”

“Is it? I know nothing. I don’t know how long you were dating. Or how you met. Or where you met.”

I reach into my bag, extracting the pictures Gram kept, along with the letter. When I slide it across the table toward him, he presses his palm over it. I can almost see him transporting back to that time when he picks up the letter, unfolding it carefully.

He looks up at me, eyebrows raised. “She kept this?”

“Yeah, I found it in a sealed envelope. The pictures were with it.”

“Did you replace others?”

I shake my head, then lean forward as he puts the letter down. “Were there more?”

He sighs, gazing down at a photo he’s picked up. “Oh yes. We loved to write each other letters during our time together. I sent her several once she went home, though I’m not at all surprised she didn’t keep them. I’m much more surprised she kept this one.”

“Went home?”

He flips another photo toward me with a chuckle. They’re perched on the edge of a stone wall, Gram leaning back into him with a wide smile, her eyes lowered coyly to the ground. “We met at school. This photo was taken there, at UCLA.”

I frown. “My grandma didn’t go to UCLA. She didn’t go to college until her kids were older.”

Paul’s expression drops back into its previous sadness. “She did go. She just didn’t finish.”

Leaning back in my seat, I take that in while Paul continues to shuffle through the photos. It’s another secret revealed, a small piece of what is a much bigger puzzle than I anticipated.

A bottle of fancy sparkling water is set unceremoniously on the table, interrupting my thoughts. I blink down at it, then turn to Theo as he slides into his seat. His jean-clad knee knocks into my bare one before he adjusts his position to put more space between us.

“What’s this?”

He leans closer conspiratorially. He smells so good I want to yell, like firewood and a hint of something sweet. “Don’t tell me I have to explain what water is, Shepard.”

My gaze strays to Paul, who’s watching us with mirth in his eyes. I press my lips together, swallowing down the fourteen rude things waiting to launch from my mouth.

“Thanks,” I manage. “Let me pay you back.”

“I’ll survive,” Theo says, his mouth quirking.

Right. He’s the CFO at Where To Next, a travel app that acts as a concierge for anything from à la carte to full-service travel packages. Flights, places to stay, experiences, you name it. God knows I’ve used the app to book one of their screaming off-season deals. Once, Sadie, Thomas, and I stayed in a monster cabin in Tahoe for practically nothing. Theo is also a cofounder—he and two of his college friends started it—and must be sitting on a pile of money. I made the mistake of looking him up on LinkedIn once, not realizing he could see I’d viewed his profile, and read through a ton of gushy articles he was tagged in. I still remember the private message he sent me the next day:

Looking for something specific, or is this just run-of-the-mill stalking?

It took everything in me not to delete my profile. That I still get notifications for any mentions of him in the news will go to the grave with me.

I pull a five from my bag and slide it toward him. Then I push the bottle of water off to the side, turning my attention back to Paul. “I had no idea she attended UCLA. So you didn’t meet in Glenlake?”

He shakes his head, taking in the spread of memories on the table. “We had an art history class our sophomore year. She hated me from the start. Thought I was a cocky SOB. Which I was.” At this, he winks and I grin, charmed. “I didn’t think too highly of her at first, though she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Whip-smart and she wasn’t afraid to show it. I was intimidated by her, so I needled her a lot.”

“Needled?”

“Tried to get a rise out of her,” Paul says, grinning. “She didn’t like that much.”

I laugh, imagining it. “She was feisty.”

“Sounds familiar,” Theo says into his cappuccino.

I twist in my seat, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Feisty is the word you’d use to describe me?”

He blinks innocently, and I get momentarily distracted by his long, curled lashes, the tiny freckle underneath his left eyebrow. “Can confirm it starts with an f.”

Releasing an impatient breath, I turn back to Paul. “Sorry, go on.”

“We got off to a bumpy start until one of her best girlfriends started dating my fraternity brother. Once she was forced to socialize with me, we discovered we were both from the Bay Area. I grew up here in the city.” He traces his finger over one of the photos. “It was a simple way to connect, but it led to us striking up a friendship that turned fond very quickly. We started dating not long after.”

His hair moves in the breeze, and his hands are lined and spotted as they move over another photo. Despite the obvious signs of his age, he looks strong, at least a decade younger than he is.

Gram looked strong, too. She was strong, driving like a demon up until the day before she died, when we went on a hike at Tennessee Valley. She played tennis with me regularly, and whupped my ass at it, too, even though I kept up the hobby after high school.

And yet she died in her sleep three days before Thanksgiving. She had the ingredients for her famous pumpkin pie stacked up on the counter. She wasn’t ready. I wasn’t, either.

A streak of jealousy runs through me like electricity. Like poison. I begrudge Theo for being able to grab a cup of coffee with his granddad when I’ll never see Gram again. It makes me want to grab onto Paul’s hand, hold him hostage until he tells me every detail of their story. Every anecdote about her—that feistiness, the way she’d clap her hands when something really delighted her. Her loud, boisterous laugh that could make your ears ring if she did it in a small room. The other things I apparently don’t know.

I want to twist my hands around his memories like I’m wringing out a towel so I can get it all in one fell swoop.

“What happened?” I ask. I can’t help myself. “I mean, the pictures—that letter—you were clearly in love. Why did you separate? You said she left school. Why?”

Paul dips his chin, pinning me with a look equal parts stern and kind. “You’re impatient to know it all right now.”

“No, not at all.” I backpedal like my life depends on it. I don’t want him to stop talking because I’ve pushed too far.

It’s only when Theo presses his finger against my knee that I notice it’s bouncing. “You’re vibrating.”

I push his hand away, rubbing the skin he touched, then cover it with my palm so he won’t see the goosebumps.

“I’d like to tell you the story, Noelle, but it’s not going to happen all in one day,” Paul says.

“Granddad—” Theo starts, sitting up straight.

Paul’s gaze flickers to Theo, then back to me. A whisper of a smile alights on his lips, a secret one. “You want to know everything, and I’ll answer any questions you have. But I’d like to request more of your time to do so.”

“Of course. I have nothing but time.” Shit. That doesn’t sound like something a thriving person would say. “I mean, yes, I will absolutely replace the time. Just tell me when and where.”

“Let me check my date book when I get home,” Paul says. “I do have a few things planned next week, and I don’t want to double-book you.”

“God forbid you miss poker afternoon with your frat buddies,” Theo mumbles, but his voice is affectionate. It gives the texture of his voice a softer feel.

“Soon enough they’ll all be dead. Got to get my time in with them while I can,” Paul replies jovially. He turns to me. “Why don’t we exchange numbers and we can chat.”

“That sounds perfect.” I input the number Paul rattles off into my phone, then call it so he has my number, too.

Theo leans forward to catch my eye. “Isn’t it easier if I message you with logistics stuff?”

I spare him a glance. “Nope. Paul and I can take it from here.”

“Right.” Theo’s phone starts shimmying with an incoming call. I catch the contact name—Dad—before he turns it facedown, his jaw tight. Paul’s eyebrows cinch together, his gaze lingering on his grandson’s phone, as Theo lets out a sharp breath. “Are we done for the day? I have to get back to work, and I need to drop this freeloader off at home first.”

I push down my disappointment, reminding myself this is the beginning, not the end. “Lots of Forbes 30 Under 30 things to do today, huh?”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to absolutely destroy myself. It’s the LinkedIn incident times ten.

But Theo’s reaction is nothing like I expect. He doesn’t smirk or say something cocky. Instead, it’s like watching someone’s power switch get turned off. He just . . . shuts down.

“Bye, Shepard,” he says blankly, swiping his phone off the table. His chair screeches against the concrete as he stands and stalks a few paces away.

I have very little time to wonder how I wiggled my way out of that one, or what exactly crawled up Theo’s ass. Paul hands me the photos and letter, then takes my hand in both of his after I’ve tucked our treasures in my bag.

“I’m very glad you found me, Noelle,” he says, his expression earnest, a mix of pleasure and melancholy. “I hope you get what you need out of this new friendship.”

My throat pinches with emotion. “Me too. We’ll talk soon.”

Paul walks to Theo, his hands in the pockets of his perfectly pressed khaki pants. Theo’s eyes slip past his granddad to me, and for an extended moment, we stare at each other. He breaks contact first, his hand slipping to Paul’s back to help him down the subtle slope in the sidewalk.

I let out a breath, suddenly exhausted. Exhilarated. Scared about what I might replace out, and how that might reshape the picture I’ve painted of Gram.

I push that last emotion away and hike my bag onto my shoulder, preparing to make the trek back to my car.

But I swipe the fancy-ass sparkling water off the table before I go.