Page 9 of You, with a View

“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 agold 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. Orwhereyou met.”

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