Page 35 of You, with a View

I startle out of my thoughts to find Theo watching me. It’s clear by the volume of his voice he’s been trying to get my attention, but his expression isn’t irritated. I couldn’t give it a name if I tried.

I rub at my aching chest. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Are you taking pictures tonight?”

“Oh.” I look over at the camera. “No.”

He nods his chin in the same direction. “Then why’d you bring that?”

The challenge in his voice is back, as if he knows I packed it to use it, only to chicken out.

“Just in case you had some photogenic spot in your house where I could set up an impromptu shoot.” My eyes roam around the sparkling room. Behind the massive, empty dining room table there’s an honest-to-god fireplace. “Unfortunately, no dice.”

Theo isn’t impressed. “You’re going to have to pick it up at some point if you want to do this.” He motions to the map. “Why not now?”

My heart beats faster. It’s a mix of fear, anticipation, and grief, a rejection even as my mind imagines the shot: the map spread out on the counter with Theo’s hand pressed over it. I’d take only half of his hand in frame, get the tension in his wrist, the blanching of his knuckles and the way his fingers web out over Arizona and New Mexico. When I retouched later, I’d make sure the veins traveling down his hand looked like its own roadmap.

But I can’t do it. Not yet, and not with Theo watching me.

“I haven’t taken a picture in six months. Since my gram died. I—I’m not ready.” The confession slips out too easily. His expression goes infinitesimally softer, like he’s gone slightly out of focus behind my lens.

That was too much. I look at the clock on his microwave. It’s nearly eleven. “I should go.”

He doesn’t say anything, though he looks like he wants to, and I’m grateful for it. While I stuff my things into my bag, Theo folds the map up with careful hands. I pull my bag straps apart so he can tuck it safely between my notebook and laptop.

Neither of us speak as we make our way to the door. I takeone last greedy visual sweep of his house. It really is beautiful, if very quiet.

Theo gets to the front door first and opens it, silently stepping back to let me by. He’s distracted, his gaze far away.

“See you next Friday.” I doubt I’ll see him before we leave for Yosemite.

But Theo catches my wrist before I can get too far. His grip is startling—not too tight, and incredibly warm. I swallow a gasp.

“Listen, I—we should be on our best behavior for this trip.”

I frown. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I just said.” Some of the attitude is back. I’m relieved, honestly; things were getting too cozy. “You and I tussle a lot, but this trip means so much to my granddad. He’s excited to do this with you, and I don’t want us at each other’s throats ruining the experience.” I open my mouth to prove his point, but he holds his hand up.Rightin my face. “For himoryou. I know it means a lot to you, too.”

This silences me, but only momentarily. “All right, best behavior. Got it.”

The hand in my face slips down into the space between our bodies, hovering near my waist and brushing against my forearm. He clearly doesn’t know how long his fingers are. “Truce?”

I laugh. “Truce?Are we eleven?”

Theo rolls his eyes, and this time the graze of his fingers against my skin is purposeful. They skim down my wrist, wrapping around my hand. He manipulates his hold on me until we’re engaged in a handshake.

“I’ll make an effort to put up with you if you’ll do the same. It’s two weeks in close proximity. I don’t want it to get weird.”

I eye him, utterly aware of his skin against mine, of the flex of his fingers as they wrap more solidly around my hand. Thank god it’s dark out; I can feel how pink my face is, but he can’t see it.

“History isn’t on our side, Spencer.” My voice comes out softer than I planned.

His reply is equally soft. “We’re not the same people we were in high school.”

“Trust me, I know.” He appraises me, my subtext obvious. “You’re right. It’s fine. We can fake liking each other for two weeks. For Paul.”

Theo lets go of my hand, smirking. “No one said anything about liking, Shep.”

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