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He nods, and I try to narrow in on any hidden emotion he might not be sharing. He speaks of his dad in present tense and not with any animosity, but his mom was on a dating app, so I’m not sure of the story there.

“He did; he’s a big camper. His dad was, and so on and so on.”

“Can I ask where he is?” I say, realizing that instead of wondering I can just ask. Theo doesn’t seem the type to care about prying questions, at least not from me. He makes me feel welcome enough to ask.

“Arizona,” he says. “I see him on the holidays too. My parents divorced when I was ten. Nothing nasty to witness. They were childhood sweethearts, realized they weren’t as in love as adults. They still call each other for catch-ups. All good.”

“Seems healthy,” I say. “Knowing you now, it makes sense to come from people who could go through a divorce like that.” Theo seems so incredibly healthy, confident in himself, and kind. “Like, you’re filled with love because you were raised with an abundance of it.”

His tiny chin dimples appear, and he looks away. “It’s nice to hear you say that,” he says. “Before you said you didn’t have time for any more friends, but it’s clear you want to be mine so bad.”

“I didn’t say all that now,” I mutter.

“Tough to crack,” he says, “but not uncrackable.”

I laugh. “Are you comparing me to an egg?”

“Anyway,” he says, ignoring me. “It’s been a while since we’ve caught up. How is the case going? Anything you need from me?”

The guilt that floods through me is enough to cool the warmth of the new heating pads Theo tosses my way. Sometimes it’s easy to forget what I agreed to last month. Easy to forget the only thing that brought Theo and I closer together was me making a deal to turn my back on him.

I clear my throat, placing the thermos between us. “Good.”

“So stingy with details,” he teases. “You’re that sure of yourself?”

“Always,” I say, aside from this, right now, between us.

“So what’s the plan?” Theo asks me. “Keep taking on cases with the team, then what? You want to be a lawyer? Or something else?”

“Lawyer for sure,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to be one. My mom was, but it’s less about following in her footsteps and more about being lucky enough to have had an example of a dream that I want for myself.” I tell him about the internship, about my carefully thought-out plan to get me to Harvard, then my dream job.

“What is it that you love about it?” Theo asks. “What is it that makes you want it so bad?”

I glance over at him, and he’s looking at me so intently, so filled with curiosity, my cheeks warm. “You know, it’s funny, nobody ever asked me that.”

“I want to know why you want the things you want,” he says. “Why you like things, why you’re drawn to things, why you wouldn’t want something else.”

“Why?”

“Because I do,” he says simply. “I know it’ll frustrate you; I can tell by your face.” I immediately soften whatever just appeared as an expression, and he laughs. “I can’t help how I feel, I just feel things, you know?”

I think about the way my heart gallops when Theo looks at me for too long, or all the times my thoughts have strayed from studying to thoughts of him in the most inconvenient of moments. Yeah, I do know. Whatever feelings they are, sometimes you can’t control them. They appear and do whatever they want, whenever they want.

I suck in a breath. “Well, I want to be a lawyer because of the same reasoning, I guess. Something in me just wants it. And I like sparring with an opponent. Not physically, but during a court case. There’s something so… I know it sounds silly to say, but it’s the only word I can use to describe it—amazing—about outwitting someone, with high stakes being involved. Listening to someone working directly against you, trying to figure out the next words they’re going to say, trying to think of a counter five steps ahead, beating them when they have such good evidence behind them. It’s a rush, a feeling nothing else in my life has been able to replicate.”

Theo’s smiling at me so warmly I clear my throat and look away. “What about you?” I play with the fuzzy lint lining the blanket. “Do you want to be a basketball player?”

“Yup,” he says with a matter-of-fact nod.

I glance at him. “Why?”

His brows come together. “I don’t know; why not?”

My jaw hangs open. “Have you not put any thought into your future, seriously?”

He thinks for a nanosecond before answering. “I mean, easy, right? I’m good at it, so I should play it.”

I place a hand over my mouth. “I can’t tell if this is some carefree act or if you’re serious.”