You, with a View
: Chapter 4

I decide I’ll let Paul make the first move with our next date. I’m terrible at waiting, though, so by the time the weekend ends, I’m crawling out of my skin.

It’s the only excuse I’ll allow myself for digging out my Glenlake High senior yearbook: boredom. Restlessness. An excuse not to stare at my phone. It doesn’t have anything to do with seeing Theo, which I’m still wrapping my mind around.

Of all the people in the world, he had to be Paul’s grandson? Beyond a few accidental run-ins over the years, I haven’t seen him in forever, and this is how he reenters my life? It feels like fate, but not the good kind. The Final Destination kind.

With a sigh, I drop onto my bed, flipping the yearbook open.

I typically suppress my memories from high school. Not because they were terrible, but because they were the last time I had my shit together.

Theo and I are both sprinkled heavily throughout the book. No surprise. Not only were we at the top of our class, but we played tennis all four years, and he also played varsity soccer. I was the queen of extracurriculars, though my favorite by far was photography.

I worked my ass off and got into UC Santa Barbara, but when I got there, it was clear I was a minuscule fish in a massive pond. Teachers didn’t know my name, nor did they care. No one gave a shit that I was smart; they were, too, and they’d speak over me in class to prove it. I had a shitty roommate, I was lonely, and my freshman year GPA decimated my confidence.

As I scraped my way through school, I struggled to replace my place. Even photography, which had always been something to escape into, felt like a slog. There were at least ten people in my photography electives who were better than me. It grated against every perfectionist bone in my body. I crawled over the finish line at graduation, but I was battered and bruised and incredibly disillusioned. Every label I’d ever given myself now felt like a lie. College, and my subsequent struggle to carve out a meaningful career path, all but confirmed it.

Meanwhile, Theo had flourished at UC Berkeley, where his parents were alumni. Our mutual friends loved to give me updates on him—his internships, the semester he spent abroad in Hong Kong, the cushy job he landed at Goldman Sachs. He was probably making money hand over fist. And there I was, fresh out of college, determined to replace a way to make photography my main source of income. I started assisting a portrait photographer, who was brilliant but a total bastard, in hopes of eventually ditching my desk job. After a year of sacrificing weekends to Enzo, who vacillated wildly between tepid praise and molten admonishments, I was fired when I didn’t get a specific shot at a wedding. No doubt the catering staff working that night can still hear him screaming “you’ll never amount to anything” in their sleep. God knows I do.

Deep down, I feared he was right. There was plenty of evidence to support it. My photography aspirations flamed out after that, despite my family’s insistence I keep trying. I took pictures, but only for myself. I stopped hearing my own voice in my head, or even Gram’s. It was only Enzo’s, telling me I wasn’t special, that I’d never make it. I believed him. Maybe I still do.

Some people really do keep climbing. And some people, like me, peak in high school.

I flip to my and Theo’s senior portraits, which are side by side. Shepard and Spencer: a match made in alphabetical hell.

He’s intensely serious, in a mug shot kind of way. It’s the same expression his dad wore every time I saw him. I don’t think the man ever looked happy, and now I wonder if the dimple skipped a generation. What a waste. Despite the irritating package it comes with, Theo does have a beautiful smile.

The thought comes before I can squash it: I wish I could photograph him. In my head, I line up a shot from Friday: Theo watching his granddad, those eyebrows softened by affection. The phantom weight of a camera in my hands is heavy, and I clench my fingers around the lost-limb feeling.

My phone rings, breaking me out of my disturbing daydream, which is even more disturbing when I see who’s calling.

I answer, chirping out a strangled, “Paul!”

“Hello, sweetheart,” he says cheerfully. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

I look around my room, as still as the rest of the house. My parents won’t be home for another three hours. “Not at all. I’m in a bit of a work lull right now, so this is perfect.” I blaze right through that understatement. “I’m glad you called. I really enjoyed meeting you on Friday.”

“Not nearly as much as I enjoyed it. I’m so tickled you know my Teddy. What a small world.”

Too small. “It’s been a long time, but it was . . . uh, interesting to see him again. He was always very ambitious in high school. I’m not surprised to see him doing well now.”

“Yes, well,” Paul says, a bit of the cheer draining from his tone. “Sometimes a little too ambitious for his own good, but we’re working on that together.”

That sounds . . . weird. “Right.”

“At any rate, I was hoping you might want to come to my house for lunch and a chat.”

I stand, wincing against the ache in my back. If nothing else, I need to move out soon so I can escape this mattress. “Sounds great. When were you thinking?”

“Tomorrow would be best if you don’t mind. Can you come by at noon?”

“I’ll be there.” I was going to go on a hike, but I can do that . . . well, anytime. “Should I bring us lunch? I can stop by a great Thai place near me if you’d like.”

“Oh no, I’ll have lunch ready to go. Just bring yourself.”

“You got it.” I scramble for a pen in the desk Mom keeps in the room. “What’s your address?”

He rattles it off, and for lack of any paper around me, I transcribe it onto my leg. It’s in Novato, which is about fifteen minutes north of Glenlake.

“Perfect.” I stare down at the address on my goosebump-textured skin. “I can’t wait.”

My mind swirls with questions after we hang up. Has he been here this whole time? If so, did Gram know? Did they speak at all after Paul sent that letter, or has it been over sixty years of silence?

The questions don’t end. Not for the first time, I wonder how long it will take until I’m satisfied by the answers.

I wonder, too, what will happen if the answers aren’t enough.

Paul lives in a small ranch-style house on a quiet street shaded by oak trees. I pull up to the curb and sit for a minute, the car engine ticking in the silence.

I chose a dress since it’s unseasonably warm for April, but now I feel overdressed and awkward. Though Paul has proven to be the nicest man ever, I’m nervous to see him.

There’s another feeling, too, and my chest ticks like the cooling engine of my Prius. With the departure of Gram, I’m left without any grandparents at all. Grandpa Joe left us five years ago, and Mom’s parents died when I was a kid. An entire generation who won’t witness all of my future memories. I’m too young to have lost them all, but it is what it is. And yet here’s Paul, a grandparent himself, inviting me into his life like I didn’t barge in demanding answers to questions that may be painful for him. Inviting me into a space that’s been empty for the past six months.

Maybe that’s what it is—having something halfway and knowing it’s not really yours.

I hope Theo knows how lucky he is.

I unbuckle my seatbelt and grab my bag from the passenger seat, looping it over my shoulder as I make my way up to the driveway. There’s a Hyundai SUV parked there, along with the most beautiful soft-top Ford Bronco I’ve ever seen.

“Go, Paul.” I stop at the driver’s side door to peek in. The exterior is a sexy cherry red, the seats a buttery brown leather. The interior is spotless save for a water bottle in the cup holder and a bag of soil on the floor of the backseat.

I squint at it, then down at my dress with tiny flowers dotted all over it. It’s garden inspired, sure, but I hope Paul’s not going to put me to work. I have whatever is the opposite of a green thumb.

With one last lingering look at the car of my dreams, I make my way up to the front door. A generic-looking welcome mat lies in front of it, but otherwise the porch is empty. I frown, looking around. Given the soil in his backseat, I’d take Paul for a plant guy, but it almost looks like he just moved in.

It takes a few moments after my jaunty knock before the door swings open to Paul, who’s wearing an adorable cardigan, pristine white Converse, and a wide smile.

He steps back to make room for me. “Hello, Noelle, dear! You’re right on time, come on in.”

Whatever nerves I felt disappear in the path of his sweet warmth. “Thanks, it’s great to see you again. I was just admiring your Bronco.”

His white brows pull together in confusion, then smooth out. His reply is a beat late, but no less friendly. If anything, he kicks it up a notch. “Ah, yes. Are you hungry? I thought we could eat first, then I have some things to show you.”

“That sounds wonderful,” I say, hanging my bag on the coatrack in the foyer.

He leads me through the living room, bright and gorgeously furnished in a midcentury style. It’s the type of interior design my dad, an architect, would drool over. I slide a look at Paul, wondering who this guy is, but my gaze snags on a wall made up entirely of framed pictures.

I stumble to a stop. Paul hears the commotion and turns, eyes widening. “Are you all right?”

“Just got distracted by these photos.” I step closer to get a better look, devouring each one. The composition is stunning; the use of texture, of color, or the lack thereof—every photograph makes my chest ache and my index finger itch.

It’s only when I get to a black-and-white portrait of a young Theo that I realize who the photographer is. Theo’s standing in front of a bodega in what looks like Manhattan, grinning down at a handful of candy clutched in his fist. His knees are knobby and darker than the rest of his skin, as if there’s dirt on them. His hair is curlier than it is now, wild on top of his head. He’s in his own little world, about to indulge in all that sugar.

This portrait is a declaration of love. Showing joy for the sake of it, beautiful and uncomplicated and sitting in the palm of a little boy’s hand.

I turn to Paul. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his slacks, his head tilted as he watches me.

“You’re a photographer.” He dips his chin in acknowledgment and my heart presses against my ribs, desperate to get back to the beauty of the photos. “You’re incredible.”

“Thank you,” he says with a small smile. “I was lucky enough to make a career out of it. These are some of my favorites, but not all of them.”

I point to little Theo. “I can see why this one is.”

He takes a step closer. “How?”

“Besides the structure, it’s obvious you think this smile is special. The background is shadowed to let him be the focal point, and that “Open” sign illuminated right over his head is like a wink to his expression here.” Paul is quiet beside me, and I start to feel self-conscious. “I mean, I know—knew—Theo, so it’s probably easier for me to pick it out because I know how serious he is, but it’d be obvious to a stranger this is someone you love.”

He nods, an expression I can’t identify crossing his weathered features. “Are you a photographer yourself?”

“No,” I blurt. “Not really. I used to dabble in it. Took classes in high school and college, but nothing serious.”

Paul looks like he doesn’t quite believe me, which is fair. I’m giving him a half-developed picture.

My stomach, always here to remind me of the important things in life, lets out a threatening growl.

“Why don’t we pop outside for lunch?” Paul says. “You can look at these all you want after you’re fed. I’d be happy to tell you the story of each.”

We both know the story I really want to hear, but I nod anyway.

We’re nearly to the sliding glass door leading to the backyard when he turns, his expression innocent. “I forgot to mention—I got my days mixed up, so we’re plus one for lunch.”

Foreboding crashes through me as Paul opens the door, stepping out onto the deck. Before I can form a response, I see a naked back across the yard, curled over a large raised planter box.

“Teddy!” Paul calls out. “Look who it is.”

I sense the awareness in Theo as his back straightens. The ravine running from between his shoulder blades to the waistband of his gym shorts deepens with the movement, muscles stretching and contracting as he looks over his shoulder. He stares at me, his expression unreadable underneath the bill of his Oakland A’s hat. His shoulders lift in a sigh I can’t hear, and he spears the trowel in his hand into the dirt with more force than is strictly necessary.

He only says, “Granddad.”

“I got my days mixed up,” Paul repeats. “I invited Noelle over for lunch and a chat. Why don’t you take a break and we’ll eat?” He turns to me. “Theo is planting some vegetables for me.”

“I see that,” I murmur as Theo stands, yanking his gloves off and letting them fall onto the ground. When he turns, I inhale so sharply I choke on air.

Paul pats my back. “Are you all right?”

“Bug,” I choke out.

More like body. I want to know what kind of devil deal Theo made when he was born. Besides his questionable personality, he was built lovingly and with extreme care by whoever is in charge of those things.

His chest is broad, his skin honey-hued underneath the midday sun. He’s sculpted in an elemental way that broadcasts he knows how to use his body, that the muscles and tendons underneath that smooth skin work for him however he wants them to. It’s so intensely hot I want to run away from it until I replace a cold body of water to submerge myself in.

It’s fucking rude that he’s so good-looking. It offends me.

I cross my arms over my chest while he takes his sweet time getting to us. My eyes are fully disconnected from my rational brain, which is screaming to look anywhere but at his chest or his abs or his belly button. What kind of asshole has an attractive belly button?! No, my gaze eats him up, and my lizard brain doesn’t even care that he notices. His mouth pulls up into a tiny smirk.

“Did he give you the same story?” he asks me as he takes the stairs up to the deck.

“Mm-hmm.” I clear my throat. That was basically just a grunt. “We’ve been ambushed.”

“It’s this old brain,” Paul insists, but I see the smile he’s failing to hold back.

A horrifying thought pushes its way past all the horny ones: Is Paul trying to matchmake me and Theo?

You can’t matchmake the unwilling, but my god. I’m a visual creature. I’m not sure how much shirtless stimulation I can take before I break in some way. That would be catastrophic.

Theo braces a hand on Paul’s shoulder, pulling him close. He murmurs, “I know what you’re doing.”

Paul ignores him, gesturing to the dining table set off to the left of us. A cheerful bunch of yellow tulips stretch up from a mason jar. “I’ll be right back with the food. You kids settle in.”

“Do you want some help?” I ask, a little desperate.

“No, no!” He’s already bustling inside, waving a hand over his shoulder.

With a deep, cleansing breath, I pivot back to Theo.

He’s still shirtless.

I’m still affected.

“You can close your mouth now, Shep,” he says with a lazy grin.

I roll my eyes, running a hand over my stomach, which is growling with all kinds of hunger. “It’s because your shoulders are already red, Spencer. I’m appalled by your lack of sunscreen usage. Do you even know what UV rays do to your skin? You’re going to look seventy by the time you’re thirty.”

He twists to eye his shoulder, humming in dismay. “I put some on a few hours ago.”

“You’re supposed to reapply every eighty minutes.” I smile sweetly when he gives me a dry look.

Keeping eye contact with me, he swipes a bottle of sunscreen off the table and starts applying.

This feels like a test. I keep my gaze firmly planted on his face, but the sound of Theo’s palm gently slapping his skin as he applies the sunscreen pings my most animalistic senses.

“What are you even doing here?” I ask.

“Planting vegetables.” He doesn’t say you genius, but his tone doesn’t not say it.

“I mean,” I say, infusing the same energy into my voice, “it’s the middle of the day on a Tuesday. Why aren’t you at work?”

In my periphery, his hand stalls. “Why aren’t you at work?”

“I’m working from home today.” The lie slips off my tongue like silk.

Theo’s expression turns sharp with awareness, his grin sharp with it, too. “What do you know? Me too.”

I believe that about as much as he believes me, but I don’t have time to push. Paul walks out with a tray of food.

“Lunch is served!”

“You should put on a shirt,” I say as I push past Theo to get to my seat.

He runs a hand over his stomach, grinning. “Nah, I’m good.”

Well, that makes one of us.