SWNOVELS : Chapter 17
I pull my hair into a ponytail, waving my hands in front of my flushed face. “You’re an absolute machine. I can’t keep up with you.”
Paul has expertly led me through five songs, singing along with all of the classics we’ve queued up. Despite our attempts, Theo’s merely been a spectator, nursing his first beer while his granddad and I tear up the dance floor. But that smile is there, the dimple popping every time we make eye contact, which is nearly constant. His eyes are often warm, sometimes heated, as he watches me with avid interest.
“Oh, I love dancing,” Paul says, pulling me out of the snare of Theo’s dusky eyes. “One more song and then I’ll hand you over to Teddy.”
“Granddad—” Theo begins, but Paul holds up a hand.
“You owe Noelle a dance. I hope you’ve been taking notes on how it’s done.”
Theo laughs, shaking his head. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”
But Theo’s smile quiets when I slip my hand into Paul’s, and he frames us up. My heart feels too big for my body from that look on his face, from thinking about Theo’s arms around me.
The jukebox clicks quietly, indicating it’s queuing up the next song. When it comes on, I gasp. “Oh.”
“What is it?” Paul asks as we begin to sway.
I can’t breathe through the aching. “Gram’s favorite song.”
Paul makes a soothing sound. Theo’s expression turns intent, and he curls his hand around the back of his chair, like he’s going to get up. But he doesn’t; Paul’s got me.
Etta James’s “A Sunday Kind of Love” wafts out of the jukebox. Gram and Grandpa Joe used to dance to it all the time. Now, with Paul’s paper-skinned hand gripping mine, the slight stutter in his otherwise graceful steps, I’m overwhelmed with emotion for the grandparents I was never prepared to lose. It hits me like grief often does, a wave that drowns me.
But breaking the surface is relief mixed with the joy of being here with Paul. With Theo. Being pulled into the orbit of their relationship is like living mine all over again with Gram. It hurts, but it’s a gift, too.
A tear slips down my cheek. Paul turns us just as I’m wiping it away, and Theo stands up, determined now. Paul chuckles under his breath. The transfer between grandfather and grandson is seamless, and suddenly I’m in Theo’s arms. It’s instinct to wrap my hand around the warm nape of his neck, to press in against his chest and let him take my right hand in his.
I close my eyes, rest my cheek against his shoulder. I swear I feel the sunlight on my back from my grandparents’ backyard when Thomas and I would look in the kitchen window, spying on their impromptu dances.
“I miss her,” I whisper.
Theo’s hand tightens around mine. “Tell me something.”
I’m sinking into the warmth of him now. My thoughts turn honey-like, sticky and slow. “A secret?”
His cheek brushes my temple as he shakes his head. “Something about her that made you happy.”
“How much time do you have?” I quip, smiling when he laughs softly. “I loved watching her dance with Grandpa Joe. Anytime a song came on, she’d grab his hand and make him dance with her. Even in public. I can’t tell you how many restaurants they made a scene in.”
His voice lowers, amused. “Did it embarrass you?”
“No. God, I loved it. They cracked themselves up dancing in the middle of, like, Glenlake Pizza. After Grandpa Joe died, I’d be her dance partner, which she thought was the best thing. Her laugh made me so happy.” My nose tingles with unshed tears, and I close my eyes, trying to remember the exact cadence of her laughter. “It feels like I’m forgetting it.”
For a moment, Theo simply leads me in a slow sway. From the table, Paul watches with a small, sad smile.
“Was it loud?”
I pull back, frowning. “Was what loud?”
He looks down at me, his eyes shining with mischief. “Her laugh. Was it loud?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“And did it get kind of high-pitched at the end?”
Where is this going? “Actually, yeah. A little bit.”
“Then you can’t forget, because that’s what yours sounds like,” he says. His words clutch at my throat. I stare up at him, gaping, as he moves us to the melody Gram’s laughter drowned out more than once. “I could hear you down the hall most days, Shepard. Your laugh shook the walls until it went into dog whistle mode.”
His words have a bite to them, but his expression is so soft it makes me want to pull his mouth down to mine. “Are you trying to distract me from my sadness by roasting me, Spencer?”
Theo raises an eyebrow. “Is it working?”
I roll my eyes, which are dry now. “It’s very telling that that’s your go-to strategy.”
“It’s very telling that it works on you.”
My laugh bursts out, and I push at him, but he holds on tight. “You’re ridiculous.”
He grins, curving over me and pressing his rough cheek against mine. I want to tell him thank you, but the truth is, he probably already knows. It’s buried in our bickering, in the small secrets we’re giving away.
And anyway, I’m ready to move on. Our conversation falls away, the mood shifting from barbed teasing into something warm I sink into. Theo’s body was made for mine like this; our rhythm is the same, everything lining up in a way that feels like comfort as much as it does lust.
Theo pushes me back, holding his arm out so I can turn under it. Then he grabs me and pulls me back home.
His smile is electrifying and beautiful. I’ve heard people talk about living in the moment, but right now I really understand it. I feel so viscerally here. And it’s not that the messiness of our lives doesn’t exist, it’s just that right now it doesn’t matter.
“I have a secret,” Theo murmurs, his midnight eyes fixed on me, full of starlight.
“Tell me.”
“Don’t let it go to your head, okay?”
“Well, with that disclaimer . . .”
His grin is small, but it fades as quickly as it came. “You look so fucking beautiful right now.”
The floor falls out from under me. “Oh.” I swallow, desire mixing with something deeper. “I—”
Theo pulls me close again. “You don’t have to give me one back. That secret was on me. Just couldn’t keep it.”
I don’t know how to respond to that in a way that will keep us safe, but it doesn’t matter anyway. Something vibrates in Theo’s pocket.
His phone.
“Don’t ans—” I start, but his hand is already fishing into his pocket. I don’t need to look at the screen to know it’s his dad; Theo’s face says it all. His contentment bursts, a finger straight into the fragile, magical bubble we created.
“I’ll be right back.”
He’s walking away before I can open my mouth.
Paul walks over. For a beat, we look at the door Theo just disappeared through.
I collapse into my seat. “ ‘Not a big deal,’ huh?”
Paul’s expression is torn. “It’s complicated, Noelle. Teddy tends to shut down when he’s struggling.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed. He’s an icon among mysterious men.”
Paul sits across from me, taking a sip of beer before settling his gaze on me. “It’s hard for him.”
I raise an eyebrow, like go on.
He lets out a sigh. “It’s a symptom of the house Theo grew up in, unfortunately. And the house his dad grew up in, too. After Anne and I divorced, I traveled quite a bit, and I wasn’t around as much as I could have been. It hurt Sam deeply, and he overcorrected with Theo. He pushed himself into every part of Theo’s life from the time he was old enough to do so.”
I think of my own dad, who never missed a tennis match, celebrated my wins with enthusiasm and commiserated my losses with frozen yogurt from Woody’s and big, squishy hugs. Who’s always let me be exactly myself.
There are ways in which I’ve competed against Theo without knowing, and ways I’ve won without realizing.
“Teddy has always been keen to earn his father’s approval, because Sam holds back on praise,” Paul continues. “Theo’d reach a goal, and there’d be five more waiting for him.”
“Maybe him investing in Where To Next was a bad idea.”
Paul lets out a frustrated breath in agreement. “I warned Teddy, but he needed the money, and his dad wanted to help him. Deep down, Theo translated that help into pride for his accomplishment.”
“Are these all things he’s told you?”
“A bit of it, but most of it I know because I helped raise the kid.” He sighs, pushing away his beer glass. “Theo’s not an open book. It must frustrate you because you are.”
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable. God knows I have my secrets. My parents texted on the family thread this morning asking how the trip was going, and I could barely get my fingers to type a response.
Paul, oblivious to my inner turmoil, goes on. “I’m telling you this because Theo shares things with you.”
I blink over at him, disbelieving. “Barely.”
“More than you think. You have a bond because of me and Kat, but you also have your own. I see it.”
The eager look on his face is why our kiss in Vegas has to be the first and last. There’s an intimacy being built between us, though it’s very much one step forward, two steps back, and Paul sees it. He’s tied some hope to it, like I can somehow contribute to Theo’s happiness. But I can’t. I can’t even contribute to my own.
Theo pushes the door open, pocketing his phone. Even with the glower on his face, he’s a light source. I lift toward him like a thirsty flower.
He walks right past us to the rickety bar with the equally rickety bartender behind it. I don’t hear what he tells the guy, but a minute later a shot glass is set in front of him.
Theo drinks the shot. It’s not a quick toss down his throat; it’s a slow pour, like he’s shoring himself up.
I can almost feel the burn in my throat, racing down my stomach, the acidic turn there from bad news and alcohol. I got drunk the day I was laid off, threw up in the bushes outside the apartment I had to move out of a month later.
I’m out of my seat before I can overthink it. Across the sticky floor before I can decide what I’m going to say. He helped me earlier when the grief got too heavy. Maybe I can do the same.
Theo gives me a sideways glance as I lean up against the bar, ultra casual, my eyes moving over the liquor bottle display. “You want to talk about it?”
He shakes his head.
“Okay, I expected that. I did see Radiohead on the jukebox if you’re in the market for a mood-enhancing soundtrack.” I pull two quarters out of my pocket, letting them rest on my palm. “On me.”
He stares down at the quarters. “I don’t need this.”
“What? Money for your favorite sad boy music?”
“A distraction.”
“I’m repaying the favor,” I say, making a loose fist and jingling the change. “Literally and figuratively. You saved my mood earlier, I’m here to save yours.”
He flags down the bartender and orders another shot. Finally, he looks at me, but barely. “My mood is unsavable, Shepard. Spare yourself and go hang out with my granddad.”
His rebuff stings. It twists my concern into something uncomfortable and hot. Paul said he shares things with me, but it’s not much. Sometimes he’ll throw me a crumb, but what do I really know about him beyond things I learned ten years ago?
He’s Theo Spencer, and any problem he has he can figure out on his own. I’m Noelle Shepard, who needs someone to come in and rescue her when she cries over a song that her grandma loved. The difference is clear.
He must see me shutting down as I realize that I’m not going to get anywhere with him tonight. His mouth presses into a thin line, and he looks down at the counter.
I push off the bar, waiting for a response I know won’t come. “Come get us when you’re ready to leave.”
“I guess that’s our cue to leave,” I grumbled. The ride home was thick with silence.
I worried I’d have to help him get ready for bed, but he clanked and stumbled around in the bathroom before coming out with gym shorts on. I watched him while he wrangled extra bedding out of the linen closet and arranged it haphazardly on the carpet.
“You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”
He stopped, his back to me, and for a second I thought he’d capitulate. But then he shook his head, dropped to his knees, and wrapped the blanket around his body before stretching out. Five minutes later, he was snoring softly, and I was staring at the ceiling.
I fell asleep, but my restlessness woke me. For lack of anything better to do, I pull up TikTok and rewatch my videos, eyes filling at the pictures of Gram, the map, this introduction to their story I’m still learning.
I have to remember why I’m here. This is the story that matters, not whether Theo wants to pour his heart out to me. I’ve started to mistake our parallel paths on this journey for something it isn’t. I can’t keep doing that.
With a sigh, I kick off my covers and roll out of bed, grimacing when the mattress squeaks. But Theo is out like a light. His shoulders are bare, curving over the top of the blanket, hair mussed and dark against the white pillowcase. I grab my phone and the duvet from the bed. This room feels too small with both of us in here.
It’s cold outside, the air like soothing fingers brushing over my flushed cheeks. I drop into one of the rocking chairs and lean my head back, staring up at the velvet sky.
The peace that settled over me driving here has gone and come back two times over. Now, tracing my eyes across the stars above, I urge the feeling back into my chest where that ache never really leaves me.
But the peace is gone now, in its place that grief that always lingers.
“Gram,” I whisper up at the sky. “Where are you?”
The air is still. Not even a breeze.
She’s not here, I know it. But in case she’s somewhere, I start talking. “Your favorite song played at this bar I went to tonight, and it hurt thinking of you and Grandpa. But then a boy started dancing with me, and it hurt a little less.”
I wipe impatiently at a tear. “I have unfortunate news there: I like him.” I point up at the sky. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? This is a secret. It’s complicated and it can’t go anywhere. Paul’s his granddad—weird, I know, but stay with me—and he’s traveling with us while Paul tells me your love story, the one you never told me.” Wet emotion soaks into every word. “I like Paul, too. I don’t have any of you left, and he’s so nice. I get why you fell in love with him, although I’m still learning why you didn’t end up together.”
A star winks down at me. Realistically I know it’s probably a plane, but I look for her everywhere, always.
“I’m afraid that once this trip is over, I’m going to go back to not knowing him.” I don’t even know who I’m talking about, Paul or Theo or both of them. “I’m really tired of losing people I care about.”
It’s so silent. It infuriates me that she can just be gone. That she left me like this, floundering for answers, talking to the sky.
I cover my face with my hands, my palms pressing against wet skin. “God. I don’t know what I’m doing, Gram. Please help me.”
Nothing. Nothing.
My eyes fill with tears. I want to scream. Instead I sigh, standing up.
But then my phone buzzes, slipping off the duvet wrapped around me. It clatters onto the wood porch, buzzing again.
I pick it up, illuminating the screen. It’s an alert for a TikTok DM. Curiosity piqued, I open it.
I watched the videos about your grandma. Omg, incredible! I also looked back on your feed and your older photos are amazing too. Have you gone to Yosemite yet? I’m looking for a birthday gift for my mom next month—she loves Yosemite and has been looking for the perfect prints to put in her house. Pls let me know if I can buy some!
My heart races. Is this a sign or coincidence? If Gram had the ability to communicate with me from wherever she is, would it really be through a TikTok DM?
The uncanny timing is undeniable, though. I’m so desperate for any glimpse of her, even this way, that I tell myself it’s possible.
The urge to create something new sneaks into my veins. If Gram were truly here, she’d encourage me to do it.
It’s why I creep back into the house to get my laptop, then sit on the porch for an hour, maybe longer, sending shots to my phone. I compile them into a sixty-second clip that showcases my best edited photos of our time in Yosemite.
Once that’s done, I respond to the DM with a link to the video so she can see some of the pictures I’ve taken. I volunteer to send her additional watermarked photos if none of the ones in the video pique her interest, and I only pause for a beat before hitting send. The adrenaline and vulnerability hit me like a wave as it hurls through space to land in a stranger’s inbox.
It’s been so long since I’ve shared my work with anyone. I forgot what it’s like, how terrifying it is. How it strips you right down to the bones. I forgot, too, how good it can feel to hear I like what you did.
A small step, but it’s a step nonetheless, and the heaviness in my chest lifts, just a little bit.
There’s one thing still weighing me down: I want to end the night with Theo smiling instead of shutting me out. It should’ve gone that way—me with salt on my skin from hours of dancing against Theo’s body, my limbs stretched and tired, mind cloudless.
My thoughts drift to that video of him and Paul at the picnic table in Yosemite, Theo’s head thrown back in laughter. I imagine what it would look like if I made him laugh like that, and how it would feel.
I want to memorialize it. Isn’t that the magic of capturing moments like that? The ability to go back and visit that exact time again and again? I certainly will.
I stitch together that video with a couple others, including one of them hiking, Theo with his shirt slung over his shoulder, his backpack hiding most of his bare skin. At one point, he looks over his shoulder into my camera, and he doesn’t smile exactly, but his eyes are warm.
The introduction to Paul and Theo is compelling, and it’s only partially a testament to my talent. It’s their bond. It sings.
Everyone is going to fall in love with Theo.
That’s fine, I tell myself, caught in the lingering midnight blue of his eyes. As long as it’s not me.