Page 94 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

This man is going above and beyond to make me feel special, and I’m soaking in every minute. From the beginning, he’s paid attention to the little things—like my favorite drink and the firstmovie we watched together—and it makes me feel seen in a way I never have before.

Harrison shuts the engine off, taking the keys out of the ignition, and gets out of the car, coming around to open my door. He takes my hand and guides me to the back of the theater, ushering me inside.

Fairy lights hang along the ceiling, and the walls feature black-and-white photographs with moviegoers in hats and overcoats. I notice there isn’t a single worker in sight, but follow Harrison who walks over to the concession stand where a bottled water, Diet Coke, bucket of popcorn and a mini charcuterie board covered in plastic wrap is set out with a selection of cheeses, meats, nuts, olives, chocolates, and crusty bread.

“I gave the manager a heads-up when we were five minutes out, and they pulled all of this out of the fridge for us so it was still cold.” He gathers the charcuterie board and popcorn in his arms, nodding for me to get the drinks.

I grab his arm. “Wait. Are you sure this is all gluten-free?” Concern edges my voice.

Gluten-free foods are often mislabeled or contaminated, but I shouldn’t worry so much considering Harrison eats foods prepared by others when he’s out of town and is diligent about his celiac disease.

He gives me a grateful smile. “Don’t worry. Cabrina had it special ordered just to be safe.”

I shoot him a pointed look. “Worrying about what you eat is literally in my job description.”

“Damn, I thought it was because you liked me.” He winks.

I grab the drinks off the counter. “Like is a strong word,” I tease.

“Come on, trouble,” Harrison says, moving toward the screening room. “The manager is going to start the movie soon so we better take our seats.”

The theater may be small, but it does have reclining leather seats, albeit a little worn.

Harrison leads me to the back row, making me feel like we’re in high school looking for a secret place to make out. We settle into our seats just as the lights dim, and I find myself laughing at the idea that he rented an entire theater to watch a low-budget indie film from thirty-five years ago.

He catches me giggling and gives me a quizzical look. “What’s so funny? The movie hasn’t even started yet.”

I bite my bottom lip, fighting back a smile. “Just thinking about us making out,” I answer wryly.

“Thinking about it is fun, but doing so is much better.” He pats the open space in his recliner, and I slide in beside him. I’m halfway in his lap with my legs draped over him, but he seems to like it.

“Comfortable?” he asks, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

I nod with a grin. “Very.”

We’re so close our lips are almost touching, and I lift my chin to kiss him. His tongue darts out and sweeps against mine as a soft moan passes my lips. I pull away when the movie starts, resting my head against Harrison’s chest. He leans his arm over and grabs a tray of snacks, setting it on the empty seat next to us as we enjoy the film and cuddle.

Since we landed in Aspen Grove, he’s been noticeably more relaxed, free from the usual weight of deadlines and business meetings. It’s refreshing to see him in his element and giving himself the chance to slow down and have a break from his usual work-driven mindset. It makes me wonder how I can help him find a better balance, because it makes me happy to see him carefree and at ease.

Toward the end of the movie, however, I notice Harrison’s body is tense, clutching his stomach.

At first, I think he’s reacting to the movie, but when I look over, he’s grimacing in pain.

A pit of dread forms in my stomach. “Are you alright?” I whisper.

“I’m fine,” he says with a forced smile. “The movie is almost over, so let’s finish it.”

I notice the beads of sweat on his forehead, and his breathing is shallow, each inhale coming faster than the last.

Something is wrong.

“You don’t look okay,” I say, my concern growing. I gently touch his face and watch closely as he tries to hide his discomfort.

“Don’t worry about—” He stops short and bends forward, groaning.

“That’s it, we’re going to the hospital. I think you’re having a reaction to gluten.”

I glance at the charcuterie board, trying to figure out what caused it. My suspicion falls on the crackers. Harrison had a couple handfuls, and if they had gluten, that would explain his reaction.

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