T
next day. It’s for the best, considering our truce’s amendment, but I find myself missing his irritating smirks, how close he gets to murmur dry asides. He walks just ahead of us on our hikes, but occasionally he’ll angle his head to listen to my conversations with Paul.
So, on Monday, when I make my way down to the lobby for checkout, I’m shocked to find him watching my approach. The adrenaline of having his attention again snakes through my veins as his mouth pulls up.
He meets me halfway, taking my suitcase. “Saw your latest masterpiece last night.”
The brush of his fingers against mine sets off tiny earthquakes, and my response is sluggish. “My latest—? Oh.”
Last night I made Thomas sit with me via FaceTime while I crafted my next TikTok. It was only fair to hold him hostage while I muttered to myself, since it was his idea in the first place, but he abandoned me twenty minutes in. Thankfully Sadie kept me company, pumping me for trip details.
Making this video was such a different process from the one I made searching for Paul. Then, I assumed no one would see it. But I knew people would look at this. I spent over an hour erasing and reshooting and editing to make sure everything looked just right. I crawled around Gram and Paul’s map spread on the floor to capture the stops, my knee still stinging but less intensely.
Eventually, I had a sixty-second video that gave the update people had been asking for. Now they knew I’d met Paul. They knew there were letters
—I showed the first one I’d read—and additional pictures. They knew there was a map planning out the honeymoon that never was.
They knew I was taking the trip in her place.
I didn’t mention Paul and Theo’s part in it, but that didn’t matter. People loved it, and my relief and hope were instant. The notifications started coming in as I was settling into bed. I turned off my phone so I wouldn’t stay up all night tracking the numbers.
Which is why I’m rolling into the lobby twenty minutes late.
Theo doesn’t look annoyed, either by my tardiness or the TikTok. He looks amused. “I was wondering when you’d get around to making it.”
His teasing puts me on edge. He’s been so robot-like since our almost kiss that my response comes out defensive. “I had to think about it for a while. I wanted it to be—”
I don’t say the word; it’s not how I’d ever describe it. But Theo says it anyway. “Perfect.”
“Just— I wanted it to be right. I wanted to do the story justice.”
“The story that happened sixty years ago or the one that’s happening now?”
It’s such an astute observation that it throws me off balance. Now that he’s said it, I recognize the feeling: living inside an important memory as it’s happening, and being viscerally aware of it. “Both, I guess.”
Theo hitches a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, you’ve got that guy’s seal of approval. He’s been reading comments all morning. Hope you’re prepared to talk about it all the way to Death Valley.”
I catch sight of Paul sitting in a plush leather chair, one leg crossed over the other. He has Theo’s phone in his hands, reading glasses on, grinning down at the screen like it’s Christmas morning.
It’s a look so full of joy—and pride—that it makes my heart ache. It reminds me of Gram when she’d see my work.
I catch Theo watching me. His expression is a manifestation of the way my chest feels.
“What?”
His mouth parts, then presses together. Then the look is gone, replaced by the sly expression I’ve—shit—missed. “You said I could look.”
I choke out a laugh. “There’s a lot of nuance between looking and staring, Spencer.”
“Sometimes I like to take my time.”
I can’t touch that, not even with a ten-foot pole. “Paul really likes the TikTok?”
“He’s been calling it a Tic Tac, but yeah, he’s into it.” The miraculous thing is, I am, too.
“I have ideas for more,” I admit as we make our way over to Paul. My mind was racing last night. I stared at the ceiling for nearly an hour dreaming up the stories I could tell next. “I want to do a couple videos for our Yosemite leg.”
“Then keep going,” Theo says bossily. “And stop thinking so hard.”
Paul grins up at me when we get to him, handing Theo his phone. “Good morning! I saw your Tic Tac. It was just lovely. So many nice comments, too, though I didn’t understand half of them.”
“Social media vernacular is confusing,” I agree, offering my hand to help him up.
He gives my hand a squeeze once he’s standing. “You, my dear, are a storyteller. I’ve seen it in your photographs, and I see it here. You’ll do more, right?”
The lump in my throat is so vicious that I can only nod at first.
Eventually I get out, “Yes, I’ll keep going.”
My gaze slides to Theo. I’ve repeated his phrasing. He acknowledges it with a wink, and it tugs at me, a thread that’s just been created between us. If I’m not careful, it’ll turn into a web I can’t get out of.
I turn back to Paul. “I told Theo this, but I won’t include current pictures or videos of either of you unless you want that.”
“Oh.” Paul’s eyes widen, his mouth twitching into a smile. “Well, I’m already a little bit famous, aren’t I?”
“You’re very famous by TikTok standards,” I laugh.
“Tell the story how you want to tell it. If that includes the current version of me, I’d be honored.”
“I’m okay with it, too,” Theo says.
I arch an eyebrow at him. “It won’t affect your reputation as the very serious cofounder and CFO of Where To Next?”
“You showing me, the cofounder of a traveling app, traveling?” he responds. “No, I think it’ll be okay.”
“Maybe you’ll accumulate a fan club.”
Deep in my bones I know people will go wild for him. I swear he was specially made for fantasizing over. Already I’m thinking of the ways my camera will love the planes and angles of his face, that body, and the way hungry, anonymous eyes will devour whatever I put up. It stirs something in my stomach. Not jealousy, but something sticky like that.
Theo shrugs, cheeks flushing. “Not my problem. If you’re going to tell the story, might as well tell all of it. I’m not going to stand in your way.”
Paul grins at the two of us, then takes me by the elbow as we walk out to the van, sharing his favorite comments.
Theo’s already loading up the trunk by the time we get there, and instructs us to drop our bags so he can finish. Paul settles into the backseat as usual, and I take advantage of Theo’s absence to add my phone to the Bluetooth, disconnecting his.
When he slides into the driver’s seat and turns the ignition, Maggie Rogers’s voice snakes out through the speakers. He looks at the multimedia screen, then over at me, unimpressed.
“I told you, more Thom Yorke and I’m going to throw myself out of the car. Allow me to introduce you to modern music.”
He sighs. I settle into my seat, smug and singing along, as Theo puts us in reverse.
“All right.” Paul claps his hands. “Where to next?”
 |
, quarter mile to Badwater Basin, a popular tourist spot. The landscape is monochromatic, an ombre of browns that fuse together to make something beautiful. In the distance, the mountain range looks painted on the horizon. Though it’s evening, the air is still heavy with heat.
I walk next to Theo while Paul meanders ahead.
“So, which came first, Paul saying Where to next? or you naming your company?”
I know the answer already, but I want him to say it out loud.
Theo gives me a sideways glance, letting out a quiet laugh. “Of course you’d pick up on that.”
“Yes, I’m a genius. Did you name it after him?”
There’s a cornered look in his eyes, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
I let his silence hang for approximately two seconds. “I’m going to need more than that.”
Theo’s mouth curls into a barely-there smile before he squints out at the horizon. “It’s what he’d say to me every summer when we were getting ready to take off somewhere. He always knew where we were going—he had to clear it with my parents first—but he liked to pretend we were going on this unknown adventure together.”
“Why that moment, specifically?”
“It meant I got to spend time with someone who let me be me, without expectations. We got to go to places where no one knew us—all over the country when I was young, and internationally once I was older.” Our arms brush, bringing goosebumps to my skin despite the heat. But it’s not just Theo’s touch; it’s the emotion coating his voice. I recognize it in myself, the bittersweetness of recalling perfect moments you can’t get back. “It was freeing to get away from my life. So, when Anton and Matias and I were thinking about names, it was the first thing that popped up. It felt right. I want everyone to feel that when they travel.”
I fiddle with my lens cap. “That’s kind of a pay-it-forward moment for you, over and over again.”
Theo’s features are painted golden in the light falling down on us. The tips of his lashes are honey hued, the blue of his eyes so clear, nearly bright. After my disastrous assistant stint, I prefer to shoot landscapes instead of people, but the urge to get this shot of Theo is intense.
He swallows. “I’ve never thought of it that way. But yeah. I guess that’s right.”
“You’ve done something pretty amazing with it,” I say quietly.
“Yeah.” His voice breaks, and he lets out a breath, running his hand through his hair before giving me a wry look. “You still ask a lot of questions.”
I bite back a smile. Sometimes in class, he’d tally up all the questions I asked and slip the paper into my hand on his way out the door. I hated that touch as much as I wanted it. “Some things never change.”
“True.”
The air between us is thick, his sadness sitting on top of it. I bump his arm with my shoulder. “You can tell me to mind my business, you know.”
“I know.”
The basin stretches out in front of us, bleached-white salt flats shaped like polygons. The sun is starting to sink in earnest, and though I’m eager to take some photos, I’m disappointed our conversation is winding down. Theo giving a piece of himself to me feels like a gift, and I want to grab it with both hands. Ask for more.
He turns to me. His gaze traces the path of my ponytail pulled over my shoulder, moving up to that spot he touched with his mouth the other night. But it’s not sexual; it’s familiar. It makes me ache.
“No one’s ever asked me that question before. I didn’t realize how much I wanted to answer it.”
I hear the thank you he doesn’t say. I nod, too taken aback to come up with a casual response. He flashes me a quick smile, then wanders away, hands in his pockets.
I watch him for too long. I’m going to miss the sunset. My pictures. But I can’t seem to step outside of our moment.
A gentle hand on my arm sends me crashing back down to earth.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, sweetheart,” Paul says when I whip around. His camera is cradled in his hands.
“It’s okay, I was just . . . thinking.” About your grandson and how I seem to be sliding headfirst into something a little terrifying—
Paul saves me from myself. “You shoot mostly landscape, right?” “It’s what I’m most comfortable with, yeah.”
“Have you done much portrait work?”
“I—” I lift a shoulder. “I assisted a photographer for almost a year right out of college. I got burned, so I stepped away from it.”
He hums, appraising me. “You truly do have a storyteller’s heart. I recognize it in you just as I knew it in myself. I hope you discover that, and use it to make art that touches people.” He elbows me, conspiratorial. “Even if it’s just you it touches.”
He lifts his chin toward Theo, turned toward the mountain range with his face in profile. The shape of him is lonely.
“I’m not sure I should interrupt,” I stall.
“You’re not interrupting. You’re recording a moment.” Our eyes meet and he smiles, a mixture of sadness and joy there. “Teddy’s been my loyal subject his entire life. It’s okay, I promise.”
I bring the viewfinder to my eye. It feels too intimate to catch Theo in my lens, to bring him closer to me with a quick adjustment to the zoom. The angles of his face are so close I could touch them. I want to spread the heat from the air and the sun onto his skin, down his neck, into his chest.
I want him closer, even though he’s safer at a distance.
With my heart flying, I press my finger on the shutter release. It’s my first picture of Theo. But I doubt it’ll be my last.
 |
’ Las Vegas comes into view, a neon blanket over the night-black valley below.
“I wish it wasn’t so dark.” Paul tsks, squinting out the window. “I’ve got a letter here. I should’ve thought of it when we were in Death Valley.”
“We can do it now,” I blurt excitedly. My hand shoots out, landing on his knee.
With a chuckle, Paul reaches over to the cardigan lying on the other seat, pulling out the letter.
Theo glances over as I smooth it out on my lap. “How are you planning on reading that?”
“I’m going to turn on the light and read it out loud.” “I won’t be able to see the road if you turn it on.”
This letter is getting read right now, come hell or high water. “That’s an old dad’s tale, you know. The car isn’t going to crash because you turn on a reading light.”
Even in the darkness, I can see his eyes roll.
“Here, I’ll do you a solid and use my phone’s flashlight. I’ll even turn it down so you can still concentrate.”
He sighs but doesn’t argue. A win.
“Paul, what’s the story with this one?” I ask.
“Oh, this one is quite self-explanatory. I can answer questions after, if you have any.”
“She will,” Theo says.
I toss him a glare, then clear my throat. “All right, here we go.”
The van is silent save for my voice as I start to read Gram’s words out loud.
November 17, 1956
Dear Paul,
Have you read F. Scott Fitzgerald? Probably not. Your nose is always stuck in a photography book.
There’s a quote that reminds me of us: “They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.”
When you told me you loved me last week, the—
I whirl in my seat. “This is when you told her you loved her?” Theo snorts. “You say that like you didn’t know it was coming.” “Excuse me, this is a huge moment.”
He gives me a sardonic look. “We’re on a road trip that’s following the honeymoon they never had. Mentally prepare yourself for the rest, Shep.”
I shoot an aggrieved look at Paul, who simply grins, then return to the letter.
When you told me you loved me last week, the happiness I felt was almost too much to bear. It’s been just over two months since I met you, and you’ve quickly become the most important person in my life. Before that, it was my family, and now they have to share me with you, though they don’t know it yet.
Which brings me to my next emotion—the fear, again. It’s difficult to be in love and not share it with my family. But if I tell them about you, they’ll insist on meeting you and your parents. I worry about the outcome. They’ll talk about marriage and ask you too many questions. My father and brother might be horrible. They could ruin everything.
If it sounds too terrible (it would to me if I were you!), then I won’t blame you for wanting to forget it all. We got ourselves briskly into this damn intimacy. We can get ourselves out, if necessary.
My heart hurts thinking about it. What should we do?
Love,
Kat
Theo’s eyes flicker over to me, dark and thoughtful. Then they focus back on the road ahead of us, his right hand resting casually over the top of the steering wheel. The audacity of this man for looking so hot while driving a minivan.
I turn to Paul. “Well, we know you decided to continue on.” He nods. “I would’ve done anything for her.”
At my delighted sigh, Theo groans, but it’s indulgent.
“She called her parents soon after I read that letter. They weren’t enthusiastic,” Paul continues. “I spoke to them briefly, did the sir and ma’am song and dance, but their protective instincts were fierce. Kathleen was their baby girl, and I was a stranger whose intentions they didn’t trust. We made plans to have dinner right after finals in December. They were going to be in LA to bring Kat back to Glenlake for Christmas break.”
“Were you nervous after that call?” Theo asks.
“Not for myself. The thought of meeting Kat’s parents didn’t scare me. But I worried for her and her expectations. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was hoping it’d go more smoothly than we feared. She sometimes saw her family with rose-colored glasses.” He smiles. “She saw me with them, too. She thought the best of everyone she loved, and thought she could make it work through sheer force of will.”
“But she couldn’t,” I say.
“No,” he says sadly. “That comes with the next letter, though, unless you want to keep going now.”
I smooth my thumb over the paper, shaking my head as I imagine Gram’s hope—what it looked and felt like. How the fear probably mingled with it, making it more potent. Making it even more fragile.
“I want to wait.” I love hearing it all slowly, little crumbs laid out for me to follow. I wish I could follow them forever.
Images dance through my mind as we move toward the ever-nearing lights of Vegas. Theo’s knowing looks, the care he took with my knee, the kiss we nearly shared. Our moment earlier today when he shared the origin of his company’s name. That break in his voice, the gratitude in his eyes right before he walked away. For me.
They’re all tiny pebbles of intimacy under my feet, gathering so quickly they threaten to send me tumbling if I’m not careful. So much is riding on this trip: my tether to Gram, my relationship with Paul, my tenuous reentry into photography, and the story I’m telling on TikTok.
I need to be careful not to get too caught up in whatever this is—a distraction, a brisk intimacy. If I fall, it’ll be scarier than my actual tumble down that embankment the other day. It’ll be faster and will probably hurt twice as much.
