The moments they’d shared, she’d never get back. Grace shivered.
“Hungry?” Theo’s voice brought her back to the windy cliff top. For a moment, she’d forgotten he was even there.
“Always.” Grace turned away from the ocean, trying to smile. “Where to?”
“Right here.” Theo nodded behind them, to the white building where the ramshackle museum had once stood.
“Oh.” Grace paused, taking in the sleek cars parked out front, and the uniformed guy loitering at the valet stand. She swallowed, feeling that flutter of nerves return. “Sure,” she exclaimed brightly. “Looks great!”
Inside, the restaurant was all bleached wood and wraparound views of the ocean, filled with the low hum of adult conversation and the dignified ring of silverware on expensive china. Grace carefully placed the heavy linen napkin on her lap and gave Theo a nervous smile over the arrangement of lilies between them on the table.
This was way out of her comfort zone.
At least Theo looked as awkward as she felt: Grace could see him flushing slightly. He reached for the bread basket, and knocked his water glass — righting it just before it spilled.
“Phew.” Theo made an exaggerated expression. “Close one.”
“Yup.”
Silence.
Grace sank in her seat, hiding behind her menu. Why couldn’t they have just grabbed sushi from their usual hole-in-the-wall, and eaten off paper plates on her living room floor? Sure, it wasn’t exactly atmospheric, but right now, Grace would happily take half-packed boxes and the distant sound of Hallie’s arty rock playlists than this stifled, awkward silence.
“So . . . what are you getting?” Theo asked. Was it her imagination, or did he sound nervous?
“Umm.” Grace hadn’t even glanced at the neat calligraphy. She quickly scanned the list, trying to decide what —
She yelped. “Thirty dollars, for pasta?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Theo reassured her. “It’s my treat. Get whatever you want.”
But Grace couldn’t let him do that. Theo might have a trust fund waiting for him when he turned twenty-one, but she knew he wasn’t the kind to coast on family money a day before then. This meal would be paid for with part-time tutoring earnings, and the last of his summer-job savings — and Grace could never stand for that. “Theo, I can’t let you do this!”
“It’s fine, really.”
“But we could get, like, our body weight in hot dogs for what they’re charging.” Grace looked back at the menu. “Fifty-dollar lobster plate? Does it come with a side of solid gold?”
A mischievous smile curled the corner of Theo’s lips. “What if I told you it wasn’t technically my treat?”
Grace paused. “What do you mean?”
He looked around, and then leaned closer, sliding a credit card across the table. Grace turned it over. “Portia Weston?”
Theo shrugged. “I figured she should give you a farewell dinner, at the very least.”
Grace’s mouth dropped open. “You didn’t!”
He grinned back. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Grace laughed. Her tension slipped away, and in its place, she felt a delirious kind of relief. He was still the Theo she knew, even in a dress shirt, surrounded by middle-aged diners murmuring over overpriced fish courses. Everything was OK.
“Well, then,” she said with mock seriousness, picking up her menu. “We can’t turn down her generosity. That would just be rude.”
“So rude,” Theo agreed, beckoning to the waiter. “Do you want to go first?”
“Sure.” Grace turned to the waiter, trying not to laugh. “Maybe you can help. I can’t decide between the lobster and the truffled filet mignon. . . .”
“Why decide?” Theo asked. “Get both!”
“I’m never eating again!” Grace groaned three hours later, when they clambered off the bus and headed up the street toward her house. It was after midnight, and the street was silent; bright with the glow from condo windows and the streetlamps that they passed. “I’m serious, just lay me down and roll me home.”
Theo put both hands on her shoulders and pushed her from behind, step-by-step. “But it was worth it. Those chocolates . . .”
Grace moaned at the memory. “Now I get why you rich people are always throwing parties. You just want the food!”
“We give good catering,” Theo agreed. He was toting two bags with their leftovers, boxed up neatly with foil swan twists alongside. “I call dibs on the salmon.”
“No!” Grace wailed in protest. “The salmon and I have a connection. We’re destined to be together!”
Theo laughed, pushing her in a meandering path up the middle of the street. Grace let him, the feel of his hands solid against her shoulders even through her padded jacket. For a moment she wished it were warmer, that she didn’t have a jacket on at all, that his hands were touching her —
Grace caught herself. She’d never been drunk, but she wondered if this was what it felt like: loose-limbed and easy, like her careful voice of consequence and self-control was dozing in a corner somewhere. Grace wasn’t used to feeling so relaxed, so reckless. If she wasn’t careful . . .
“We leave Monday,” she said instead. Monday. That was just three days until her life would change completely.
Theo dropped his hands to fall into step beside her. “How do you feel about it?”
“How am I supposed to feel?”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be,” Grace shot back.
Theo looked at her sideways with a curious kind of smile. “You’re a tough girl to read, Grace Weston.”
“Well, you’ll just have to try harder, Theodore Coates.” Grace giggled. They were outside Grace’s house at the top of the hill now, the city spread behind them in a blanket of lights. She stopped, turning to stare. She could pick out streets, and the winding passage of traffic; the far glow of the Golden Gate Bridge. “I’m going to miss this view.”
Theo pulled out his phone. He held it up to take a photo, then scrolled through his contacts list. “Now you can take it with you.” He smiled at her. A second later, Grace felt her phone buzz in her pocket with the text.
“Can I get one with you?” Grace asked, suddenly feeling bold. She wanted something to take with her; a reminder of him, here, like this.