She smiled as she ran the mascara brush through her lashes. Of course he thought it was stunning. Her own father had walked through the house, grunted, and said, “An orange kitchen. Never seen one o’ those before,” before focusing on the more pressing point—why was there no TV? But no, this was Theo. “It’s a dresser I found at a yard sale,” Skye said, moving on to the other eye. “I just did a little rehab on it and—”
“And put butcher block on top. So clever,” Theo said. “You could go into business as a designer.”
She imagined him running his fingers over the butcher block of her deep-teal dresser island, analyzing, processing. In fact, she would bet anyone a hundred dollars he was actually doing that right at that moment.
“Are you touching my butcher block?” Skye called out.
There was a guilty pause. “Did you not want me to?”
Skye smiled to herself as she dropped the mascara into the bag and gave one last look in the mirror. Well, she was no anti-aging Theo, but her brown eyes looked larger and rounder now, and the blue-tinted bags beneath them were concealed. Her cheeks carried a subtle pink pop, and with a few brushes through yesterday’s untamed curls, she looked as presentable as she was going to get next to Idris Elba out there. Two minutes and a paint-clad pair of pants, sweatshirt, and ponytail later, she was slipping into her work boots at the back door. Meanwhile Theo stood at the copper farmhouse sink, looking like a kid in a candy store.
“Want a banana or something before we go?” Skye said, ripping off one for herself from the bunch on the counter.
Theo gave a startled turn. “I ate some of that casserole your mother somehow providentially baked and managed to drop off at the cabin during the ten-minute span we were all together.”
“Ah. She is a crafty one, isn’t she?” Skye replied. “And let me guess. You managed all this—the 5:00 a.m. poetic stroll, the slow-morning breakfast—just after your morning workout?”
Theo’s brow lifted. “There’s a Peloton at the cabin, and yes, I did so happen to make use of it for a few minutes. How did you know?”
“Well for one thing, you are the one person on earth who has actually improved with age.” She put up a hand as his brows rose. “Don’t take it personally. It’s a fact, and I’m trying not to hate you for it. And second, you are the most meticulous, self-disciplined person I know.” Skye waited for him to pass and then shut the door behind her. “I once left you unattended in Dad’s toolshed and came back to find you’d reorganized the whole thing alphabetically.”
“So? I like organization. Everybody likes organization.”
“Yeah, well, we were six,” Skye replied. “Anyway, I imagine that level of neurosis as an adult equates to having one of those commercial rotating racks of color-coded ties in your smudge-free, floor-to-ceiling mirrored closets and jogging religiously every morning before dawn. Am I right?”
As she moved to turn the lock, he shifted his back against the railing, their bodies suddenly compact on the back porch covered in empty pots facing the greenhouse and woods beyond.
“So, you think I’ve improved with age, eh?”
She pressed her lips together as she dropped the key into her pocket. “I also called you neurotic in the same breath. But sure, if that’s what you want to focus on . . .”
Theo’s eyes were bright. “It’s the orange flannel, isn’t it?” He tugged on the cuffs, which were about three inches too short.
“Yeah. Speaking of,” Skye said, hopping down the steps, “you really went a bit overboard with that good ol’ country boy outfit.”
“Forgive me,” he said, following. “I wasn’t exactly brimming with options at ten o’clock at night.”
She stopped and turned to face him. Put up a finger. “Wait a minute. You honestly drove all the way down the mountain last night to enter a store two hours shy of midnight? To buy that? You honestly don’t own a single pair of pants that can get dirty?”
Theo rubbed the back of his neck.
When it was clear that his nonanswer would be his final answer, she laughed and turned toward her car. “Seriously. You haven’t changed at all.”
Both her breath and foot caught on the last word.
With effort, she planted her boot and kept walking.
She was losing herself so quickly, forgetting valid resentments in favor of childhood memories. Sure, he hadn’t changed at all. She was right to have said he hadn’t changed at all. Because he hadn’t. He was just like he was fourteen years ago.
Her eyes flitted over to the tallest Fraser fir in the center of the field. She’d given her heart to him then, on that blanket beneath that tree and a midnight sky. They’d whispered their first pronouncements of love to each other—not like the thousands of times they’d said it before, like the burst of a laugh before you take another’s hand and hop the creek, like friends. No, they’d peeled off the bravado that night, slowly, in layers, until they were looking into each other’s eyes and saying it with all the sincerity they could pour from their lungs. Bare before each other. Vulnerable. She had, for once, let herself be vulnerable.
And then he left for UVA.
The calls came every day that first year.
Then every other day the fall semester of the second.
Then every weekend.
Until one day, one brisk January day of his junior year, he held her hand once again as they walked along that long driveway, the wind nipping at their feet and flurries swirling between trees, and she was just beginning to breathe again as he poured out all the fantastical stories of college memories and friends. She listened while quietly stacking away the insecurities and fears that had built up over the months, squeezing his hand until there was no space between their fingers at all. Months of tension in her shoulders and the consequential headaches started to ease.
And then, the growling of the gravel driveway. Both of their heads turning in surprise.
The white BMW packed with girls, halfway up the road, suddenly skidded to a stop.
The music poured out of the car as one girl, with rippling blonde curls, stepped out of the car to face the sweetheart of a boy she had driven so far to surprise. The wind stripped her neck of the white scarf she was just wrapping around herself and sent it flying, yet no one moved.
So Skye would remember that Theo hadn’t changed. After what she had seen of her father’s salary, she was certain of it. He was charming and said all the right things. He had an aptitude for appearing so loyal you’d trust him with your life, but when push came to shove, where was he?
He was Theodore Watkins III. Savvy financial adviser whom clients entrusted with all their money. Beloved employer whom employees slaved away for on a dime. Light of her childhood, best friend of her youth, man who collected hearts.
She needed to remember what was true. That he hadn’t changed.
She grinned suddenly, making for the Prius as she pulled out her phone and began tapping. She knew just the way to remind herself.
Chapter 7
Theo
The air shifted and he had no idea what he’d said to cause it.
One moment they were reminiscing and laughing; the next she was jabbing the car keys with her thumb and telling him quietly to get in.