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“That’s Barbara and Mike’s place,” Theo tells me. His thumb presses against my wrist as we step ahead. “Not that they’re here right now.”

Through the front window, I can see directly into the sitting room. An overstuffed sofa and two chairs face a small television. And to the side is an upright piano. There are frames and frames of photographs propped on every surface.

I lean closer until my nose hits the glass. “Is that you?” I ask, seeing a photograph of two boys, arm in arm, at the beach.

“Yeah.”

At least half of the photos are of Theo. As a child, a teenager, then as an adult. I don’t remember seeing a single print of him at Ravensmere.

“I learned to play on that piano,” Theo murmurs, stepping in closer to me than I expected. It makes me jump.

“Not on the grand at the house?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

I turn to look at him. “Why not?”

He shrugs. “The grand is only there for show. It’s barely tuned. And Barbara wanted me to learn. She didn’t like the way I spent so much time on my own. So she’d bring me here.”

There’s something in the way he says it that makes my chest tighten.

“She came to my school concerts,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. “Mike too. They’d sit in the second row and grin like I was at the Royal Albert Hall.”

“And your parents?” I ask.

“Sometimes they came. Sometimes they were busy.”

He reaches for my hand and tucks it into his coat pocket, holding it there like it’s something fragile. I reach up, cupping his jaw with my other hand. Then roll onto my tiptoes to kiss him.

I don’t know why, but I need it more than he does. The connection, the warmth. The insistent ache that pulls inside me, making me want to get even closer. I slide my hand beneath his sweater, feeling the warmth of his skin, and he groans into my mouth like he can read my mind.

Before I can say a word, he turns us, until my back is against the cold stucco wall, and his body is pressing against mine. He deepens the kiss, our tongues sliding, our hands caressing, and I rock my body against his, needing the friction.

His hand slides down to my denim-clad thigh, fingers digging in as he hitches it up around him, making it very clear he needs this as much as I do.

And then my phone buzzes in my pocket. The vibration feels loud against my hip. Almost obscene.

For a second I ignore it, chasing his mouth, needing him more than I’ve ever needed anything.

But then it buzzes again.

Theo huffs a quiet laugh against my lips and eases back an inch. “You’re popular.”

“Stupid phone,” I mutter, breathless, dragging it from my pocket. “Sketchy reception in the house, but apparently perfect service in a field.”

“We should get back anyway. It’ll be lunch soon. And then we’ll need to get ready.”

I glance at my screen. There’s a missed call from an unknown number and a voicemail notification.

“Everything okay?” Theo asks.

“Everything is fine.” I push it back into my pocket. “Probably somebody trying to sell me something. Or my mom using somebody else’s phone.”

“You want to call her back?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, I’ll do it later.” I force a smile, stepping closer to him, brushing my mouth against his like I can rewind us thirty seconds.

The wind shifts again, getting colder, carrying the faint echo of voices from the direction of the house. A car door slams. There’s the distant bark of a dog.