Cecilia - Four #2
He turns to the table behind him and politely asks in French for their spare chair; the noise of the wooden legs moving against the rustic floor, the friction sending a fleeting shiver through the wood before settling into stillness.
The tablecloth moves, creasing along the middle as his muscular thighs brush up against the material.
I reach for my wineglass just so my hand has something to do and take a refreshing gulp of the cool, crisp liquid.
I allow myself a moment to taste the wine on my lips and feel the energy around me before I open my eyes and immediately meet Theo’s.
He’s watching me, that same quiet intensity in his gaze, like he’s committing every detail to memory.
"So," he says, leaning slightly forward, elbows resting on the table. "How long are you on holiday for?"
I toy with the stem of my glass, letting the coolness seep into my fingertips. "Three months," I say, glancing up at him. "Siena and I are travelling around Europe. We flew in six days ago, we're staying here for two weeks and then Italy, Greece...maybe Spain."
He lets out a low whistle. "Three months. That’s incredible. I always knew you’d find a way to see the world."
A small smile tugs at my lips. "Well, it’s now or never, right?"
Theo tilts his head, considering me. "And what’s that?" He gestures toward the notebook still resting open on the table. "Are you documenting everything?"
I nod, running a finger along the edge of the page. "I want to write a book about my travels." Saying it aloud makes it feel more real, more tangible, and I brace myself for his reaction.
His face softens, and then, to my surprise, he grins. "Celia, that’s amazing. I always knew you’d keep writing."
Warmth blooms in my chest. "You did?"
"Of course," he says without hesitation. "I’ve secretly been rooting for you all these years. I used to wonder if you kept writing, if you’d chase that dream. I’m glad you are."
His words catch me off guard, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper settling in my stomach. I swallow past the lump in my throat and shift the attention away from myself. "What about you? What are you doing here?"
Theo leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair and I can’t stop myself from tracking the movement. "I missed France," he admits, his voice taking on a nostalgic edge. "I grew up here as a kid, you remember. Nate and I decided to come back for a bit, visit some old friends."
"Nate?" I ask, tilting my head, the name stirring a faint recollection. I had known, vaguely, that Theo had a brother named Nathaniel, but hearing it now brings the memory into sharper focus.
Despite the fact we had been good friends, he had spent more time around my family, than I had his.
"Nathaniel. My older brother," he clarifies with a small smile. "We used to spend summers here in this town, and now he wants to show his daughter part of his childhood. She’s just turned five."
His face lights up as he talks about her, and I find myself leaning in, drawn to the obvious affection in his voice.
"That’s sweet," I say. "Is she here with you now?"
He shakes his head. "No, she’s with a friend for the night so we could go out. But she’s the best, Celia. Smart, stubborn, absolutely adorable. I didn’t think I could love a tiny human so much, but she’s got me wrapped around her little finger."
His expression is so open, so full of warmth, that I can’t help but smile. "She sounds perfect."
Theo laughs softly. "She is."
The moment lingers between us, filled with unspoken thoughts and years of distance suddenly shrinking. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be .
Theo shifts slightly, watching me with that same knowing look. "What’s been your favourite place so far?"
I don’t even have to think about it. "Bordeaux. Without a doubt."
He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "What made it so special?"
I grin, remembering. "Well, for one, I completely butchered my first attempt at speaking French.
I tried ordering fries and ended up with truffle pasta.
Then I asked for a simple salad and got a vegetarian lasagna.
And instead of rosé, I somehow ended up with red wine.
" I shake my head at the memory. "Thankfully, it was all delicious. "
Theo throws his head back, laughing, and the deep, familiar sound sends warmth through me. "That is exactly the kind of thing that would happen to you."
I roll my eyes playfully. "Hey, at least I tried. And my French has improved since then."
"I have no doubt," he teases, eyes gleaming.
Just then, the waiter returns with the chilled bottle of wine Theo ordered, accompanied by a warm basket of bread, before setting it down with a nod.
I watch as Theo thanks him effortlessly in French, his voice smooth and confident, before turning back to me with an easy smile. I shake my head, amused.
"Show-off."
He lifts his glass in a silent toast, his gaze never leaving mine. "To old friends and unexpected reunions."
I clink my glass against his, the crisp sound ringing between us, and take another sip .
As I drink my wine, I let my gaze drift over him, taking in the changes time has etched into his features.
His face is fuller now, the sharp angles of youth softened just slightly, but in a way that makes him look more assured, steadier.
He’s not just Theo anymore, the boy I once knew—he’s a man now.
His jawline is dusted with more facial hair than he ever had back then. It suits him. All of it does. I don’t know why it holds my attention the way it does. It’s not something I’ve ever really thought about before, never something I’ve been with before.
But then, unbidden, a thought slides into my mind, quick and hot—of that rough beard scraping against my skin, leaving heat in its wake.
My fingers tighten their grip on the glass as the image sends a flush straight to my cheeks.
Theo’s eyes flick to me instantly, sharp and observant, like he’s just caught a secret falling from my lips without me even speaking. His gaze narrows ever so slightly, intrigued.
“What was that?” he asks, voice smooth, effortless.
I shake my head too quickly, willing the blush to fade, desperate to wipe my mind clean of thoughts that have no place here. “Nothing,” I say, but it comes out too fast, too defensive.
His lips twitch, like he’s fighting back a smirk, and I curse internally. He always could figure me out.
“Celia,” he drawls, his voice taking on that amused edge I know all too well. “You always were a terrible liar.”
I scoff, reaching for my wineglass in a poor attempt to shield myself, noticing suddenly how frequently I’ve been drinking – my glass nearly dry. Without breathing a word, Theo picks up the bottle and tops up my glass. “And you always were annoyingly perceptive.”
He chuckles, low and deep, and the sound coils somewhere inside me, making my stomach tighten. “It’s not my fault you’re blushing like you just had a very inappropriate thought.”
I choke on my sip of wine, coughing as I glare at him. “You’re impossible.”
He leans forward slightly, resting an elbow on the table, his expression all effortless amusement. “Maybe. But now I really want to know what just went through that pretty little head of yours.”
His words send another wave of heat to my cheeks, but I force myself to roll my eyes, refusing to let him get the upper hand. “It was nothing. Just—” I scramble for anything believable, anything safe. “Just thinking how different you look with facial hair, that’s all.”
Theo tilts his head slightly, as if considering my words, and then—damn him—he runs a hand slowly over his jaw, like he’s giving me something to look at.
“This?” he muses, voice low, teasing. “You like it?”
I open my mouth, then close it again, unsure how to answer without giving myself away.
His smirk deepens, and I hate that he knows. I hate that he always knows. But the way he’s looking at me tells me he’s not fooled one bit.
There’s a quiet confidence in the way he holds himself now, a sense of ease that wasn’t there before.
And yet, beneath all of it, I still recognize him—the same Theo who once made me laugh until my stomach ached, who knew me better than most, who I had spent so many years missing without even realizing how much.
“You’re staring,” Theo murmurs, his lips quirking into a knowing smile. His voice is low, teasing, but I don’t miss the flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe even something else.
I blink, my face heating as I tear my gaze away. “Am not.”
He chuckles, taking another sip of his own drink, but he doesn’t call me out on it further. Instead, he shifts in his chair, stretching an arm along the back of his seat, and I swear I feel the weight of his attention settle over me.
“You’ve changed,” I say before I can stop myself.
His eyebrows lift slightly. “Have I?”
I nod, my fingers tracing absent patterns against the table. “You’re... different.”
“Good different?”
I swallow, suddenly finding it difficult to form words. “Just different.”
His smile lingers, but he doesn’t push. “Well, six years will do that to a person.” He pauses, glancing down at his glass for a brief moment before looking back at me. “And you? Are you the same Cecilia I knew back then?”
I exhale a soft laugh, shaking my head. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Good different?” he asks, echoing his own words back at me.
I meet his eyes again, and for a second, I forget where we are, forget everything but the way he’s looking at me—steady, searching.
“I hope so. ”
He smiles then, slow and warm, and I feel it like a pulse beneath my skin.
The night is still stretching out ahead of us, and yet, somehow, I already know that this moment, this conversation, the way his presence still makes my chest feel too full is going to linger with me long after it ends.