Page 69 of Play On

Pick and Mix

“How did you find this place?” I ask Noah. “I’ve lived here my entire life and I’ve never been to this cinema.”

I stare at the old Art Deco-style cinema which is straight ahead of us, my fingers laced through Noah’s as we walk along the pavement. It’s tucked into the middle of a street, nestled between shopfronts, but the entrance is lit up in old-school lights, with the word “CINEMA” glowing brightly in vintage signage.

“Probably because you didn’t want to drive forty minutes from home to see a film?” he says, flashing me a smile.

I chuckle. “You have a point.”

Noah has found a quaint cinema that is a bit of a drive from Wintersmith Hall—and we passed multiple towns with bigger, more modern ones on our way here. But this cinema—which Noah said has only two screens—is the one he picked for our date tonight.

I smile happily. He told me over dinner that he found a cinema that had been renovated and had been around since the thirties, and if I didn’t mind the drive, he thought it would make for a cool experience for our first date.

Did I mind?

Far from it. In fact, my heart melted from the thought he put into making our first date something special.

So of course I told him I would love to go. Then again, I’d go anywhere Noah asked me to.

Even more so after he told me what a butterfly meant to him.

Warmth rushes through me as I review our date so far. We chatted easily on the drive to a pub, where we continued our conversation over dinner. Noah was recognised a few times and posed for some selfies with fans. I could tell it made him uncomfortable, and he apologised profusely after each interruption. I reassured him it didn’t matter—and teased him by saying I was more annoyed that nobody wanted a selfie with Lady Violet, but only with Saucy Shorts, and that made him flush with embarrassment.

Is there anything more endearing than watching this sexy footballer blush?

No,I think with a smile,there’s not.

We walk up the steps to the cinema, and I marvel that it’s still in business. I wonder whether it will be like stepping into the past once we go inside.

“You’re quiet. What are you thinking?” Noah asks.

“I’m amazed this place is still operating,” I confess. “There’s something special about that fact in today’s world of the mega-cinema complexes.”

“I know. I was surprised when I found it,” he says, reaching the queue for tickets.

On this Wednesday evening, there are only two people in front of us, so we get behind them. And indeed, there are only two films showing tonight. One is the action thriller that we decided to see. The other is a production of the National Theatre Live.

Soon it’s our turn, and Noah purchases two tickets for us. We move towards the entrance, and he pauses at the door and opens it for me. “After you.”

I step through first, and as soon as I do, I’m completely and utterly charmed by the Art Deco interior. The lobby is small, with polished black marble floors and the cutest concession stand I have ever seen. It’s tiny, and only one person is manning it right now. All of the items and prices are listed on a board hanging on the wall, and unlike the modern cinemas, it’s very limited. They have popcorn, of course—I can smell it the moment we walk inside. I can hear it, too, popping away behind the counter. They also have fizzy drinks and a small selection of sweets at the till.

“Ooh, they have frozen Coke!” I say excitedly. “I haven’t had one of those in ages. “I might have to get one to go with the pick and mix. It’s a rule that you have to have something to eatanddrink at the cinema.”

Noah releases his hand from mine and places it against the small of my back, and goosebumps sweep over my skin when I feel his fingertips move against it.

“A rule?” he asks.

I look up at him, finding those warm espresso-brown eyes gazing down at me.

“I can’t watch a film without eating something. Otherwise, it’s weird.”

“It’s weird to not eat in the cinema?”

“Noah, you need to know the rules,” I tease as he hands our tickets to the attendant.

“You’ll be in screen one,” the attendant says, handing Noah the stubs. “Enjoy the show.”

“Thank you,” we both say.

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