Cecilia - Eleven
The train to Antibes was packed, bodies brushing past one another as we squeezed into seats by the window, flushed from the walk and laughing at how light we felt without our backpacks for once.
Siena had insisted we dress up a little, pulling a soft playsuit from her case that fluttered mid-thigh and persuading me into a pale blue linen co-ord I’d forgotten I packed.
We had just begun to relax, Siena cracking open the lid of her cappuccino to scoop the foam off, when the train lurched suddenly and the drink soared.
It splashed across my top and caught her dress in a mud-coloured stain.
“Oh, for the love of—” she began, but then we were laughing again, even as we frantically dabbed at ourselves with tissues and the bottom of her tote bag.
“This is karma for packing light,” I muttered.
“And for asking for extra chocolate sprinkles,” she added, clutching the damp fabric of her outfit.
We spilled out onto the streets of Antibes minutes later, looking like two children who had lost a food fight.
The plan had been lunch at some charming little place Siena had found online, all wicker chairs and warm baguettes and glasses of rosé, but that was out of the question now.
There was no way we were walking into somewhere like that dressed like this.
“We need a shop,” Siena said, pulling me by the wrist. “Somewhere chic and French and quick.”
The boutique smelled of linen and jasmine, the kind of scent that made you feel instantly more expensive just by stepping inside.
The woman who owned the boutique, Madeleine, had fussed over us like we were her granddaughters.
Her French lilt was warm, and she kept muttering things like, “Ah, to be young and coffee-stained in the Riviera,” before disappearing again to find us more options.
She hadn’t seemed to care that we looked like chaos incarnate when we walked in.
Siena was already stepping into a floaty wrap dress in burnt orange, holding the curtain closed with one hand and saying, “This is actually gorgeous,” as I struggled to get the zip of a navy midi dress to budge past my ribs.
It had thin straps and a slit up the side and clung in all the right places.
I felt... elegant, the way I hadn’t in years“Okay let’s show each other our outfits,” Siena called, “three, two, one.”
We flung our dressing room curtains over at the same time I heard the bell above the door jingle. I didn’t think anything of it until I caught the unmistakable sound of a familiar voice greeting someone.
Then another.
Siena froze. “Was that—? ”
I tried to peer around the corner but knew I wouldn’t be able to see well enough and only expose myself as being a Peeping Tom.
Madeleine’s voice floated through the shop, bright and delighted. “Oh, my stars. Look what the wind’s blown in. The Finch boys. Come, come—you must let me fuss over you.”
Siena’s eyes met mine, wide with panic.
“You don’t think—”
“They can’t know we’re here,” I whispered.
“Should we hide?”
“Obviously.”
With that Siena launched herself into my changing room frantically closing the curtain behind her and we both shrank back into the corner like two children who’d broken into a school office.
I was trying to work out if I could unzip the dress without making a sound when Madeleine’s cheerful voice rang out again.
“ Mes belles filles! Come out, come out—I want to show off how stunning you both look.”
Siena mouthed no, no, no at me.
But it was too late.
The curtain was pulled back before either of us could move, and Madeleine ushered us out with such unstoppable enthusiasm that there was no chance of retreat.
I stepped forward, blinking in the boutique’s light. The navy dress caught the sunlight through the windows. Siena was beside me in a rust-orange wrap dress that made her eyes look like fire.
And then I saw them .
Theo and Nate were standing just inside the boutique, both holding espresso cups like they belonged there—because of course they did. They knew the owner. Of course, they knew the owner.
Their eyes met ours.
Theo’s mouth parted just slightly, surprise flickering in his expression before it curved into a slow, genuine smile. Nate let out a low whistle.
“Well, this is unexpected,” he said, his tone light.
Madeleine beamed, gesturing between us all. “Do you see now? They look breathtaking. I told them. I told them. My dresses know who they’re for.”
I gave Siena a sidelong look. Her expression said, Well, we’ve been caught, may as well look fabulous doing it.
“You look...” Theo began, but his words stalled, and he gave a small shake of his head instead. “That dress is really nice.”
My skin buzzed, warmth coiling in my chest.
Nate looked at Siena, his lips twitching with amusement. “Let me guess. Your idea?”
“Coffee accident,” Siena said. “We were supposed to be heading to lunch but figured we couldn’t exactly show up looking like caffeine disasters.”
“You certainly don’t look like a disaster now. Where are you going?” Nate asked.
Siena named the restaurant, purposefully ignoring Nate’s compliment to her.
Theo turned to Nate, and they shared a look—the kind that meant something. A silent communication between brothers .
“That’s where we’re heading too,” Theo said with a smile and I wasn’t sure if I imagined the apologetic tone in his voice.
I looked at Siena, who raised her brows with an expression that said Are we doing this?
And before I could answer, Madeleine was already pulling out shirts from a rack.
“Perfect,” she said. “You boys need to match. Here—navy for you,” she said, holding a crisp button-down to Theo’s chest, “and this for you, golden boy,” she added to Nate, handing him something that looked suspiciously rust-orange.
Nate laughed. “What is this, couples’ dressing?”
Siena grinned. “Come on, Finch. Don’t pretend you’re not thrilled.”
But my eyes were still on Theo. And his were still on me.
CECE
The first problem I had was that the restaurant was too pretty.
Sunlight filtered through climbing vines that tangled around the pergola above us, dappling the white tablecloths in gold.
There were fresh-cut lemons in a glass bowl at the centre of our table, and the waiters wore crisp linen and gave us tiny menus that looked like love letters.
It was too pretty and it was definitely too perfect. In contrast to the messiness inside of me that was consuming my every thought .
I sat opposite Theo. Naturally. Siena had taken the seat opposite Nate; the pair of them had been in an intense debate regarding sun exposure and it’s lifelong effects.
Despite the occasional jab in his direction, Siena was surprisingly warming to him, even if she did have more of a flirty casualness with him but I didn’t have the energy to pick her up on how quickly she had seemingly changed her attitude towards Nate.
Siena was incredibly smart though and rarely let anyone in, so I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about her and if I tried to check in on her, she would only brush off my concerns.
I turned my attention back to the man across the table from me.
Theo was looking down at the drinks menu, his finger tapping once, twice, against the stem of his water glass.
His hair was falling in a chocolate mop around his face, my fingers were itching to touch it and his shirt—yes, that shirt, the one Madeline had picked because it “matched your girlfriend”—was unbuttoned at the collar allowing a sliver of tanned skin to show.
The tapping caught my attention again and normally the sound would go through me, provoking me almost, but it was such a dainty sound that my eyes again became fixated with Theo’s fingers.
And then his hands.
God, his hands.
There was something about them, I couldn’t describe it and yet I was completely transfixed by them. They too were tanned and when his fingers moved my eyes tracked the corded muscles, following the path of a particular vein up his forearm.
“So,” Siena said brightly, reaching for the breadbasket, “how long have you two known Madeline?”
I blinked. It took me a second to realise she was talking to Theo and Nate.
I had been too busy basking in the sight of Theo that I’d forgotten where I was and that we were surrounded by other people.
“She was our mum’s best friend when we were growing up,” Theo said, setting the menu down. “Used to babysit us sometimes. I once got gum stuck in her curtains and blamed it on Nate.”
Nate didn’t miss a beat. “I still haven’t forgiven you.”
“You’ll live,” Theo replied.
“We always pop in and see her if we’re ever back over here as a courtesy and she always gives us a coffee.
She’s absolutely wonderful and she never takes no for an answer,” Nate explained, gesturing to his orange shirt that he had tried and failed to convince Madeline that it wouldn’t compliment his skin tone.
Laughter erupted, easy and genuine. Even I smiled.
And for a moment, it almost felt normal again.
But then I looked back at Theo and his eyes were already on me. His expression unreadable. Warm, but serious. He looked away first this time.
I picked up my glass of rosé and took a sip. The wine was cold, crisp, and not nearly strong enough.
That simple look had ignited something inside me, but I chose to ignore the feeling and took another sip.
I felt how I did that first night we’d bumped back into one another; when I couldn’t stop drinking wine to hide my nervousness.
I felt similar to then, except everything was even more heightened again.
This time felt different, more intense.
Was it obvious to anyone else at the table that my crush for Theodore Finch had returned tenfold?
I could have sworn my cheeks were on fire. I made myself put down the wineglass so I didn’t end up getting too tipsy, too quickly and embarrass myself.