Chapter Three
Kat
I blow dried my hair the next morning.
I rarely blow dried my hair in the summer.
But I wanted to look good in case I ran into Bryan again in the hall. Or anywhere really. Evidently, I was going to have to make sure I looked good all the time since he was staying in my house for two weeks. But I was up to that challenge, because hello – hot and sweet guy staying in my house for two weeks.
Lucky me.
As I applied lip gloss, I asked myself once again how it was possible I’d never known that Nate had such a good-looking best friend? They’d been buddies all through college but it had never once occurred to me that the Bryan my brother had mentioned was gorgeous, with hair I wanted to run my fingers through, and eyes I could barely look away from – a forest green with gold flecks.
The house was quiet when I left for the store, and I wondered momentarily if Bryan was still sleeping. Or if he was an early riser and was out for a morning jog. He looked the type. The guy didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, and his arms had the perfect amount of tone to them. Muscled and trim, and with that boyish smile, he was so easy on eyes.
As I walked to the store, I realized his looks weren’t the only reason I wanted to make sure I had a good hair day. He was so easy to talk to, and we had an instant repartee from the second he’d hugged me in the driveway. I didn’t want to read too much into our connection since he was Nate’s friend, even though I couldn’t help but hope that he sensed a spark too when we’d been talking about movies out on the deck last night, or even when I bumped into him in the hall.
I popped into my favorite cafe, picturing walking into this shop with him, ordering a coffee drink on a first date. Would be take me out for coffee if he asked me out? No, that was silly. He knew I was fond of movies, and he seemed like the type of guy who truly listened to a girl, the kind who would arrange a date to be exactly what she wanted. We’d go to the movies, and he’d hold my hand at some point as the storyline unfolded on screen.
I smiled at that image. Then I promptly reprimanded myself for thinking of him that way. Even if we had an ease of conversation, even if he was handsome, even if we liked the same things, getting involved with him would be trouble for my heart. I was starting college in the fall, and he was starting the real world. There would simply be no us.
Better to erase those ideas now.
That was easier said then done though because my stomach flipped when I spotted him waiting outside Mystic Landing. He had a cup of coffee in his hand, and the ends of his dark hair were still wet. Soon, I was near enough to breathe in that clean, freshly showered scent.
“Hi there.”
“I’m a morning person too,” he offered with a sheepish little shrug. “Hope you don’t mind if I share the morning shift with you. Nate’ll sleep past noon anyway.”
“Not at all,” I said as I hunted for the keys in my purse, as if that action would mask the butterflies racing inside me from knowing I’d get to spend the next several hours with him.
* * *
Bryan
I was slated for the afternoon shift with Nate, but hell if I was sticking to the schedule. I figured one of two things would happen the more time I spent with her. I’d learn she was annoying, a pain in the ass, or silly, and all of those would be great because I could get her out of my system.
Case closed, problem solved.
Or I’d discover the opposite. I’d learn that she was just as sweet and funny and smart as I’d already known her to be, and I’d fall harder.
I’d be screwed.
But for some reason, I didn’t stop. I walked right into the fire because I was dying to know all the things about her, down to what kind of coffee she drank. I gestured to her drink. “Must have just missed you at the cafe. Coffee, too?”
“Caramel macchiato. Only frou-frou drinks for this girl.” Then, she inched closer, and she was so near to me I could smell her shampoo, some kind of tropical rainforest scent that made me want to thread my fingers in her hair, back her up against the wall, and kiss her. Right then, right there Forget everything else but the feel of her lips. She dropped her voice to a whisper, like we were co-conspirators. “I even got an extra shot of caramel.”
She was playful and flirty, and I wasn’t going to miss the chance to keep up that kind of volley. I pretended the added caramel was the height of scandal. “So decadent.”
“And you?”
I tapped the lid on top of my cup. “Coffee. Just coffee, nothing more. I like my coffee the way —”
She narrowed her eyes and waved off my remark. “I don’t want to hear one of those customary guy jokes. I like my coffee the way I like my women — hot, strong, with cream.”
My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe she thought I’d say something so crass. All my crass thoughts were locked up safely in the far corner of my head. I’d be saving them for another time. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
“Oh. Sorry. How do you like your coffee then?” She said as she unlocked the door to the store.
Maybe it was because she wasn’t looking at me then. Maybe I felt the start of a what-the-hell attitude toward her. Maybe it was because I had a crazy hunch she was the kind of person who had a thing for romantic places that made me answer her in a low whisper, “The way they drink it in Paris. Black.”
She tensed briefly, or maybe she shivered. I wasn’t going to read anything into her reactions; all I knew was that I was damn glad I was a morning person, and was here with her.
“It’s my dream to go there. I want to visit all the boutiques and shops and see all the gorgeous jewelry. I want to be inspired by the designs.”
“There is little as inspiring as Paris,” I said, and I could picture being there with her, letting time slow down all around us. Just like I’d pictured having coffee with her at the cafe around the corner, now I was picturing kissing her in Paris, because she was the kind of girl who should be kissed by the river.
“Have you been to Paris?” she asked, and her voice sounded wistful.
“Only once. But I’m fluent enough from taking French in school, and the company I’m starting to work for has offices there, so I’m hoping go back,” I said as we walked into the store together, and she began straightening up the shelves, unlocking the register, and readying the store to open.
“I want to work for your company. So I can go to Paris too,” she said with a wink. Her brown eyes sparkled, like we had another secret.
“I’ll go ahead and book a flight. We’ll sneak away.”
She stopped in her tracks behind the counter, then looked at me, her eyes meeting mine. Had I crossed the line? Shit. I thought I knew her, but the most I knew was how I felt when I was with her. I didn’t even know if she had a boyfriend, if I should be flirting with her like this.
“Let’s do it. Let’s go to Paris. We won’t tell a soul,” she said in a whisper, her lips punctuating that last word with a beautiful O.
“Wander around the city. No one will know where we are,” I said, and it was like a slow dance, and with each step we were somehow swaying closer to admitting what was happening.
“Get lost in Montmartre on a cobblestoned, hilly street.”
“Where someone is playing old jazzy music on a phonograph and it floats out the window.”
“And then we’d –” she said, but I didn’t get to hear what we’d do next because our Paris reverie was broken by the sound of the bell jingling above the door. The first customers strolled in.
Kat and I immediately segued out of our wanderlust and into business. We stayed like that all through the morning shift, and maybe it was because of our conversation, or maybe it was because we both knew there was this unmistakeable vibe in the air, but everything between us clicked.
We were good together with customers. I talked to a pair of sisters visiting from Missouri who wanted a picture table book of the nautical old sea towns along the Connecticut coast. A little later, she chatted with an older couple who debated which serving plate to buy – the white one with yellow painted flowers, or the green one that was just the right size for asparagus, the woman said.
“How often do you find a plate that’s the perfect fit for asparagus?” I chimed in with a smile.
“Hardly ever,” the woman said in a cheerful tone. “And that’s why we’ll take it.”
When they left, I turned to Kat. “We’re like a tag team.”
“We absolutely are if you can keep doling out those vegetable serving tips,” she teased.
When Nate arrived for the afternoon shift, Kat gave him a rundown of the morning business and crowd. “That all sounds great. Mom and dad will be happy. What are you guys going to do now?”
“I think I might go see a movie,” Kat said. “I know, big shock there.”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course. Movie junkie here. Are you going to go to the movies too?” Nate asked me, and I knew he wasn’t giving me permission to take out his sister. It wasn’t as if I’d said, “Nate, I’m totally falling for Kat and I want to know if it’s okay if we sit in a darkened theater for two hours,” but it was as close as I was going to get to some kind of tacit yes. Eventually, I’d say something, I told myself. Just not yet. There wasn’t anything to tell him anyway. Once there was something to say, I’d say it. For now, we were two friends going to the movies. Nothing more.
At the local cinema, we perused the list of movies and both picked a Will Ferrell comedy, then she turned to me. “I’m going to be totally honest here. I kind of have a thing for silly humor. Stupid humor. All that stuff. I know it probably doesn’t go with the whole I-want-to-go-to-Paris and be inspired by the designs, but sue me. I think Will Ferrell is a comedic genius.”
Straight shot to my heart.
“Kat, I don’t know how to tell you this,” I said in a mock serious tone. “So I guess I’m just going to be blunt. Will Ferrell is a comedic genius, and the fact that you have recognized this cosmic truth means the kettle corn is on me too.”
Her lips curved up and I was pretty sure she could get me to do anything with her smile.
“Lucky me,” she said.
“No,” I corrected, feeling bold as we were surrounded by the smell of fake butter and the snapping of kernels. “Lucky me.”
When the lights went down in the theater, we shared the popcorn, and yes, there were a few moments when my fingers brushed hers and vice versa. Those moments were enough to make me entirely forget the scenes unfolding on the screen because all I was thinking about was how my blood was racing faster, and my skin was heating up from a sliver of a touch.
By the time we left the cinema, the movie was swiss cheese to me. Full of so many holes, that I was faking my way through our post-mortem discussion. I remembered bits and pieces of it; the film was a goddamn slapstick comedy, not a twist turny thriller, but still. My memory of it was comprised of a few good chuckles, and the moments when I wanted to hold her hand to know if this was or wasn’t a one-way street. I craved the feel of her fingers sliding through mine, simply because it would be a confirmation that this wasn’t all in my head, that I wasn’t imagining there was something more to the way she seemed to flirt back and to sneak in little glances now and then. All the reasons why I wasn’t supposed to fall for her were gone.
At some point that afternoon, I stopped thinking about Nate. Sure, in the back of mind there was that little nagging ball of guilt, a reminder that I’d need to man up and tell my friend I was having very unfriendly feelings toward his sister. But I found it far too easy to ignore that worry because so very much of my brain was occupied with thoughts of Kat, what she liked, how well we got along, how she laughed at my jokes, how she teased me right back, and how I was going to have to find ways to spend more time with her.
I’d become that guy falling hard for a girl.
That’s who I was that week, counting down the hours until our shared morning shift ended, and we went to the theater. It was our routine, our habit, right down to the popcorn, and the seats in the second row from the back. We worked our way through the marquee, seeing a thriller the next day, then catching a sci-fi picture, and after that we saw a movie with talking animals in it, starring a chipmunk as the lead character.
Kat laughed the whole time, and so did I. The fact that this girl had such a wild sense of humor was another chink in my armor.
When the final credits rolled, she stroked her chin and spoke in a deeper voice, adopting the persona of a pretentious movie critic doing a review show. “You know, Bob, this has shades of that talking raccoon movie that audiences fell in love with years ago. Do you recall John The Chattering Raccoon? It had similar themes, wouldn’t you say?”
I nodded as if she were intensely seriously. “Absolutely, Sally. Though I do have to say I feel John brought a bit more pathos to the lead role than the chipmunk did in this picture. A touch more empathy, do you think?”
She pretended to consider my question, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, then returning her focus to me. “Might that have been because John had such a nice mask around his eyes?
Then she cracked up, a deep belly laugh where she placed her hands on her stomach as she laughed, and I couldn’t help myself. It was too fun to be with her. “You can’t deny the makeup people in John the Chattering Racoon did an excellent job,” I said because I wanted another laugh, and I got one.
We returned to our normal voices as we stood up and made our way out of the theater. “You’ve pretty much seen every movie, haven’t you?” I asked.
“I’ve seen a lot of movies.”
“Why? I mean, besides the obvious. That movies are fun. Why are you such a fan of movies? Don’t get me wrong. I love them too. But your love is intense.”
“Isn’t that a good enough reason? Just for entertainment?”
“Totally. So that’s the reason?”
“Sure,” she said with a little shrug that seemed to suggest there was more to it.
“All right, Kat Harper. What’s the story?” I asked as we walked down the street, the afternoon sun warming us. I wanted to know everything about her. I wanted to understand her. “Tell me where your love of movies comes from. I mean, where does it truly come from?”
She took a deep breath. “I do love movies for pure entertainment value. But I also love them because they kind of represent family to me, if you know what I mean?”
“Tell me. Why do they represent family to you?”
“All these big events in my life were marked by movies,” she said, as we walked past a local art gallery where a guy had set up an easel outside and was painting a vast open sky. “When Nate was in eighth grade and won the election for class president,” she began, and my gut twisted the slightest bit from the mention of her brother, but I pushed the feeling aside to listen to her story, “We all went to see the re-release of Raiders of the Lost Ark, because it was this great action adventure, and I gripped the armrest when Harrison Ford raced against the boulder. The time I was picked to design the cover of the junior high yearbook we went to see Ocean’s Eleven. That’s just how we celebrated things. I even remember when my grandmother died. We went to the memorial service. I was twelve and I read a poem at the service, and then we decided that we should see Elf. Which probably sounds like a weird thing to do after a funeral,” she said, lowering her voice a bit as if that was hard to say.
I reached for her arm, resting my hand against it briefly before I pulled away. “No, it doesn’t. Not at all.”
“It was really the perfect movie to see, because I think we all just needed to not be sad every second, you know?”
“It actually makes perfect sense,” I said, and she stopped walking and looked me in the eyes. This time, there was no flirting, no wink and a nod. Just a truly earnest and caring look in her deep brown eyes, as if she were grateful that I’d understood her.
“But I guess it all started with my mom. She’s a huge romantic comedy fan, so she started showing me all the great ones. Sleepless in Seattle. Love, Actually. Notting Hill. You’ve Got Mail,” she said and we resumed our pace. I wasn’t even sure where we were headed – to her house, to the beach, down the street. But I didn’t care. I was with her, and I didn’t want the afternoon to end.
“And do you still love romantic comedies?”
“I make jewelry. I drink caramel machiattos. I wear Hello Kitty to bed. Of course I love romantic comedies,” she said, and the second she spoke those last few words, I knew I had to seize the moment. To somehow turn these afternoons at the theater into the possibility of a real date. I’d deal with the barriers. I’d find a way to tell her brother. I knew I was treading in dangerous waters, but I was too far gone to swim back to shore.
I cleared my throat. “I think there’s a romantic-comedy we haven’t seen at the theater. Do you want to go again tomorrow?”
“I have to take care of some things for school in the morning, so I won’t be working. Can you do the store solo and I can meet you at the theater?”
“I would love that.”
“Me too.”