Page 58 of One Wrong Move

“Head! It’s the foam part on top of the beer. Honestly, Nate, haven’t you learned anything British in these two years?”

“Why don’t you enlighten me when I—” Someone interrupts him in the background, a feminine voice, but I can’t make out words. “Sorry about that,” he says once he’s back. “I’m leaving the concert hall now, walking over to you.”

“Sounds good. Pip pip!” I say.

“You’re crazy,” he says. But then he mutters “cheerio” under his breath and hangs up the phone.

I lean against the brick wall with a smile on my face. The people-watching is excellent. Those coming in and out of the movie theater are so different from the ones exiting the prestigious restaurant next door, and the atmosphere is buzzing with energy. It’s Friday night and the start of a brand-new weekend. Full of possibilities and options.

By the time Nate arrives, strolling up the street in a tuxedo, I know what I want to do.

And it doesn’t involve going home.

He glares at the unruly guys outside the pub with a disapproving frown, as if they’d done more than just be loud a few feet away from where I’m standing. But when he reaches me, his mouth tips into a crooked smile.

“Forgot your keys, did you?”

“Yes. At work. I won’t be able to get them back until Monday.”

“That’s fine, you won’t need them over the weekend. I have spares.” He looks around the street. “Had a good night?”

“Yes, it was great. I think I made a new friend.”

“You did?”

“Yes.” I tilt my head to the side, excitement pouring through me. “Tell me, are you in the mood to go home? Be honest.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t know, Harper. Are you?”

I point to the marquee sign across the street. Midnight showing, it says, and beside it the name of the latest action-adventure movie.

“The movie started five minutes ago. I bet we can still get tickets.”

Nate looks at it for a long moment. His profile—the sharp cut of his jaw, his brown hair falling over a high forehead—stands out against the brightness of a nearby streetlight. I’ve never seen him in a tux before.

Only suits.

It makes him look distinguished. Different.

I wonder if he’s been to a movie in years. If he even goes to pubs, or diners, or walks places like he just did. When we go home later, will he take the Tube? I can’t imagine he would.

He looks back at me. “You want to go to a movie, Harper.”

There’s something in that sentence that feels heavier than it should. Something in his eyes…

But then he grins. “Let’s do it.”

Seven minutes later, we’re seated at the very back of the theater, a giant popcorn box between us, and sodas in our hands. The previews had already started, but no one seemed to mind when we made our way to our seats.

Nate sits beside me. I glance at him a few times until he asks what under his breath without looking away from the screen.

“You’re wearing a tux,” I whisper back, “in a movie theater.”

He reaches for the popcorn. “That’s what happens when you don’t give a man enough time to choose his outfit.”

I laugh into the back of my hand. It’s a quarter after midnight, I don’t have keys on me, and I’m watching a movie in a foreign city.

And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it’s not something I would have done six months ago. Not something Dean would have ever thought was a good idea. And over the months, then years with him, those thoughts seeped into me. Became my own.

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