“You’re leaving?” I ask. “But it’s only midnight.”
Theo shrugs; his eyes are on the sand. “It’s for the best.” They flick up to mine for a moment. “Bye, Hannah. Talk to you tomorrow.”
He turns and makes his way up the sand, and I try to return to the conversation I was having with Carlos. I keep glancing up at Guppy’s house. Five tortured minutes pass. There’s a feeling in my stomach, a pit of anxiety, an instinct todosomething.
Maybe Theo hasn’t gotten into his Uber yet.
I smile at Carlos. “Give me a second. I’m going to grab a beer.”
I snag one from the cooler, then stare up at the house. Making a spur-of-the-moment decision, I head up the dune. My feet sink into the sand with each step—it’s cooler up here, night-kissed, and the sand slides over my feet like silk. I concentrate on the feel of each footstep, rather than where they’re taking me.
Guppy’s house is empty when I enter through the sliding glass door. It’s decorated the way I would expect from the Guppy I remember, before he turned into a CBD mogul: surfboards hang on the wall, alongside some rough-hewn textiles he probably picked up in Mexico and a painting of a beach I’m sure he bought from an artist on the beach itself.
I wander around the living room and kitchen, but Theo isn’t here. I’m too late.
I set my beer down on the tiled kitchen counter and stare out at the waves. I don’t know where my head is at these days.
A sudden jostle at the knob, and then the front door opens. Theo walks in. He’s pulled on a navy sweater now that we’re away from the heat of the bonfire. Underneath it, peeking out from the collar, is a glint of a silver chain I’ve never noticed. He stops short at the sight of me, then shuts the door behind him with a quiet click.
“You haven’t left,” I say, digging my nail into the label on my beer. I’m worried he can see through me.
“My driver canceled. Had to call another one.” He walks into the kitchen but maintains a distance, leaning on the other side of the counter. He slides his hands into his pockets and looks down at the floor.
“You sure you want to head out? Kenny’s promising another drum circle. I know how much you love those.”
He smiles, but it’s a weak one. “I’ve got a busy week coming up. We’ve got to rebound from the . . . ” He trails off, scratching the back of his neck, tugging the necklace. “Anyway, I should probably get some rest.”
“So you’re not . . . ”
He looks up.
“Avoiding me?”
He shoves his hands even deeper into his pockets and chuckles nervously. “Why would I be avoiding you?” His gaze drops to his feet, as if he’s reluctant to meet my eyes.
“You usually stay until the end of parties to make sure we get home okay. Remember Gunthy’s house?” It’s bold of me, bringing up San Francisco, when I can still feel his thumb brushing my lip when I close my eyes. “You stayed past dawn.”
“Well, maybe I’m trying not to be such a micromanager these days.”
Leaving my beer on the counter, I edge closer to him. “Or maybe we should get you some more Molly.”
He laughs, but it’s forced. “Yeah. Right.”
I take another step. I might as well be feeling my way through a pitch-black room, as much as I know what’s going to happen next. It’s just that something keeps drawing me toward him, in San Francisco, in Las Vegas, in New York. It’s like no matter where we are, my internal compass keeps spinning and landing on him, my instincts tugging me forward.
I can see in Theo’s eyes that he’s trying to get a read on me. He swallows nervously, then smiles like maybe I’m teasing him by moving closer. I rest my elbows on the counter and—before he can back away—skim my fingers under his collar, catching the thin silver chain and tugging it from his shirt. At the end is a small medallion with a face engraved.
“It was my dad’s.” He watches me closely. “I used to wear it a lot when I was younger. It’s St. Anthony. The patron saint of the lost.”
“Huh. Your dad had a sense of irony.” I don’t let go of the chain. Instead, I slide it through my fingers, feeling the smooth looped metal. “I guess everyone feels lost from time to time.”
There’s a long moment of silence, and then he says, “You’re not lost, Hannah.”
He has no idea. I lay the necklace gently against his collarbone. “Your ex-girlfriend. The pretty one we met at the Jimmy Kimmel show.”
“Liv.”
“Do you still have feelings for her?”
