Theo - Thirteen
I didn’t follow them right away for photos, truthfully, I didn’t think I had the energy. I stayed back by the low wall that curved around the edge of the viewpoint, watching the sea shift below, feeling like if I stood still enough, maybe the chaos inside me would settle too.
It didn’t.
The truth was, I didn’t want to be around anyone. I needed a moment to process the ache in my chest and the fire that had been lit inside it. Everything Celia had said was still spinning in my head, refusing to settle, looping over and over again.
He made me feel small. He screwed somebody else in our bed. I missed having you in my life. It meant something.
I couldn’t believe that the girl who absorbed romance books at the speed of light, knew how to read a room by watching people’s shoulders and who, even at sixteen, knew how to make other people feel so utterly special from a few simple words – had been treated like that.
I pulled the cigarette from my pocket. I didn’t light it, didn’t even really want to. Just held it, as I often did these days. Rolled it between my fingers and stared at it like maybe it could hold some kind of answer, some release.
Part of me wanted the harshness of it. Wanted something bitter in my mouth to match the heat in my chest. The other part of me just needed to feel in control of something.
To give my hands something to do so I didn’t punch the wall or let the grief that came with her story turn into something worse. Something like regret. Something like guilt.
Because God, I hadn’t known. I hadn’t seen it. And if I had, if I’d really looked beyond the Instagram smiles and the occasional birthday message, maybe I would’ve known. But she hadn’t told me and why would she? We hadn’t spoken properly in years and it made me no longer privy to that information.
Yet, I was still furious, not with her – more so with him. With the version of him I’d shaken hands with once at a pub in Shoreditch after he bought her a round and told me he liked my shoes. That smug, controlling bastard. He didn’t deserve her for a single second.
And maybe I hadn’t either, back then. I’d kissed her and let it go.
I hadn’t said the things I should have. I told myself she’d chosen someone else and that was the end of the story.
But now I knew there was a whole part of her life that had been unravelling while I sat on the sidelines, completely unaware.
I thought about how she spoke about freedom tonight like it was something she finally figured she deserved .
I closed my eyes, letting out a deep exhale and bringing the lighter from my pocket to the cigarette. What was the harm at this point?
“I thought you quit,” her voice pierced the air and I took my thumb off the cool metal of the lighter.
I turned slowly, my hand dropping to my side. She was standing with her arms folded, hair wind-tossed, eyes tired but still bright. There was something timeless about her in moments like this. Like I could still see the version of her I used to know layered underneath the woman in front of me now.
She didn’t look like she regretted anything she'd said. If anything, she looked like she was still carrying it all. I could see the weight of it in her shoulders.
“I haven’t lit it,” I said, voice low. “Just needed something to hold.”
She gave a small nod but didn’t move. The breeze caught her hair and she tucked a strand behind her ear.
“Still,” she said gently, “your lungs would prefer sorbet.”
And just like that, the tension inside me shifted- softened, somehow. I watched her step closer, the distance between us folding in, and it was so quiet between us again.
I usually was so good with words but I wanted to say the right thing, she had said so much and she deserved somebody to think about the words given to her. Except, I was coming up blank.
She looked up at me. “Would you like to come and get some sorbet with me?”
And I couldn’t help it — I smiled .
“Only if you let me pay this time.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve paid every single time.”
“I know,” I grinned at her.
And then she turned, just enough to start walking, and I followed her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
We walked in silence at first, our footsteps padding lightly against the pavement as we moved away from the lookout point and back into the winding streets of the old town.
The buildings towered above us in soft ochre shades, balconies dripping with bougainvillea and shutters cracked open just enough to let in the late afternoon breeze.
Celia didn’t say anything, but I noticed the way her fingers toyed with the hem of her dress.
I knew that habit. She did it when she was thinking too much, caught up in her own head.
She used to do it during study sessions, curled up in her favourite jumper, chewing the end of her pen while she reread the same sentence three times.
I wanted to take her hand. Not in a way that meant anything more than reassurance. Just to ground her. To let her know I was still here.
“What flavour sorbet are you thinking of getting?” Celia asked, breaking the quiet between us.
I gave the question some thought, I knew that it was highly likely that she was going to get lemon as it was her favourite sorbet flavour, but sometimes she was torn between a new flavour like peach or watermelon.
Personally, I didn’t care which flavour I ate and I would just pick whichever flavour was her other choice.
“Depends, I think I’ll decide when we get there,” I replied, giving her a smile.
“How spontaneous of you,” she smirked.
I shrugged, trying not to grin too much, “You know me, known for living on the edge and making unpredictable frozen dessert choices.”
That made her laugh – properly laugh – so much so that she snorted out and then muffled her hand over her mouth to stifle the noise and her growing embarrassment, which only made me laugh more.
I had missed the sound of her unfiltered laughter, the way the noise seemed to travel up from her belly and escape without apology.
We turned a corner and stepped into a little square, the sunlight slanting low now, gilding the cobblestones.
The ice cream shop sat tucked away in the far corner, a faded pink awning casting shade over the counter.
Siena was already up front, talking animatedly to the man behind the glass.
Nate hovered just behind her, arms folded, but there was a softness to his expression I didn’t usually see.
It was nice to see him relaxed and not having to be on high alert, like he often was when he was in full dad mode.
“You can go ahead of me,” Celia offered as she stretched on her tiptoes to see the flavours. I could already tell she was keen to see all the options before she committed.
“I’ll wait. Ladies first,” I said in response and put my hand on her lower back guiding her to see the glass cabinet of sorbet and ice cream .
Celia hesitated beside me, her eyes scanning the row of flavours. “You’re not seriously going to wait until I order, are you?”
“That depends,” I said, leaning in slightly. “Do you still do that thing where you ask for three samples and then panic and pick the first one?”
She narrowed her eyes at me, mock offended. “That was one time. And it was a hard decision — mango and lemon? Come on.”
I grinned. “Classic Celia indecision.”
“You remember that?”
“I remember a lot of things.”
I caught the small smile that she was attempting to hide, before she looked down at the display case, tracing the curve of the counter with her finger.
“Lemon,” she said eventually. “But I might try a bit of peach too.”
I nodded to say I had heard her and then to steer the conversation back towards humour I turned to face her, “Fancy ordering considering how well you did with the apples?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes, again trying not to laugh and gave me the middle finger.
“You can go off people you know,” she mumbled.
Grinning, I stepped up to order, giving the man behind the counter our choices in slow French. When I handed her the little cup of lemon and peach her eyes lit up, especially when she realised, I had only ordered the flavours she’d said.
“Thank you,” she beamed.
I just gave her a smile and said, “Anytime. ”
We found a low stone wall at the edge of the square and sat down, legs stretched out, the sorbet melting quickly in the heat, despite the fact the sun was descending.
“This tastes like heaven,” Celia moaned around a spoonful of lemon sorbet and I noted she had already dismissed the peach flavour like I had anticipated. Except, me being right was far from what had captured my attention – the sounds and shape of Celia’s lips as she ate was mesmerising.
I wanted to taste the lemon sorbet too, but not from the paper cup.
I found myself momentarily transfixed by her mouth and when a drop of melted sorbet dripped off the spoon and onto her chin, I knew some divine being had blessed me with a small window.
My thumb moved on its own accord and I swept the droplet from the corner of her plump lips before sucking the thumb into my own mouth.
Her eyes widened at my touch. Her eyes tracking the movement as I pulled the thumb from my mouth, flicked my own eyes to her lips once more and then spooned a mouthful of peach sorbet into my mouth.
“The lemon tastes better,” I concluded, giving her a grin.
It was another second before she tore her eyes away from me and for the first time in years it had felt like I’d affected her in the same way she had always affected me.
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to. It felt like she saw me — not as her friend, not as some harmless side character from her past, but as someone who could touch her and leave her breathless .
And Christ, that did something to me.
She went back to her sorbet with unnecessary focus, like the peach suddenly deserved a second chance. She took a small bite, then gave the tiniest shake of her head.
“I told you,” I said quietly. “The lemon always wins.”
“I was trying to be adventurous,” she mumbled, still not quite looking at me.
I leaned back on my elbows, letting the heat of the stone wall sink into my arms. “You don’t need peach to be adventurous, Celia.”
Her eyes flicked to mine, sharp and amused now. “Are you calling me predictable?”
“No,” I said. “I’m saying you know what you like. There’s nothing boring about that.”
That gave her pause.
And for a moment, I thought she might say something. Something real. Something that cracked the surface.
But then Siena’s voice cut across the square, loud and dramatic.
“Right. What’s next, then?”
Nate had appeared beside her, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. He glanced over at Celia, then me, then back to Siena.
“I should probably head back,” he said. “My daughter’s expecting me.”
There was a beat of silence. Celia looked at me. I looked at the melting sorbet in my cup, suddenly feeling twelve years old and completely out of my depth .
I didn’t want to leave. But I wasn’t sure if I was meant to stay.
This wasn’t my holiday. Not really.
Still, I shifted closer to her on the wall, my voice low. “I’m trying to think of a hundred different excuses, but the truth it I want to spend more time with you Celia.”
She didn’t say anything, but her eyes softened.
“But it’s your holiday with your best friend and I’m not about to steal all your time away. I just –” I hesitated, ran a hand over the back of my head. “You are—Christ, Celia. You are so beautiful. And I want to be clear this time, because apparently, I wasn’t all those years ago.”
Her brows pulled together slightly, curious. Waiting.
I leaned in, just enough for her to hear every word. “You’re not just beautiful in a friend way, Celia. You’re beautiful in a lose-my-mind-every-time-you-look-at-me way.”
Her breath caught and her eyes dropped to my lips and her mouth parted as if she was about to speak, when my giant, idiot of a brother ambled over, cutting the moment in half.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Cece,” he said casually reaching towards her for a farewell hug.
“Okay – wait, what?” she asked and I looked at him in confusion too. As far as I was aware no plans had been made. Besides, he had his daughter and Natalie was leaving so wouldn’t be around to look after her.
Shit, Natalie. I still hadn’t told Celia. Tomorrow would have to be the day to have the conversation.
“Yeah,” he continued, as Siena came up beside him, now licking a scoop of blood orange gelato. “I’ve got a boat. I’m taking us four out for the day. Bring a bag — it’s an overnight trip.”
Celia nodded, bemused, and Siena gave a little whoop of excitement before ushering her away, but she brushed my hands gently, “see you tomorrow,” she said quietly.
As we watched them walk off, I turned to Nate.
“Since when do you have a boat?”
He shrugged. “I don’t.”
I stared at him.
“But I’ll hire one,” he said simply, “if it means you’ll finally kiss the poor girl you’ve been pining over for the last eight years.”
I let out a breath of laughter, equal parts exasperated and grateful.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “It’s a small boat.”