Page 52 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"You bribed someone, didn't you?"

"I prefer to call it 'mutually beneficial exchange of favors,' but yes."

She laughs, and it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. "You're ridiculous."

"You keep saying that, but here you are," I point out. "In my car, about to watch killer dinosaurs on a private movie screen."

"Here I am," she agrees softly.

The screen flickers, and the opening credits ofJurassic Parkbegin to roll. I reach into the back seat again, pulling out a cooler.

"What's that?" she asks.

"Refreshments." I open it to reveal an array of movie snacks—popcorn, candy, sodas, and at the center, two mint chocolate chip ice cream cones, carefully stored in special containers. "I wasn't sure what you'd want, so I brought options."

She stares at the ice cream, then back at me. "How are those not melted?"

"Dry ice," I explain. "And carefully calculated determination."

She picks up one of the containers, a smile playing at her lips. "You really planned this out, didn't you?"

"When it matters, I put in the effort." I meet her eyes. "And this matters the most."

For a moment, we just look at each other, the movie forgotten. Then she breaks the gaze, reaching for the popcorn.

"We'll see," she says, but there's no edge to it anymore.

As the T-Rex roars on screen, I resist the urge to use the oldest trick in the book—the fake yawn and stretch to put my arm around her. Instead, I just enjoy being here with her, watching her reactions to the movie, the way she jumps at the velociraptor scenes, the little comments she makes under her breath.

By the time the credits roll, the moon is high in the sky, casting a silver glow over the empty drive-in. Neither of us moves to leave.

"So," I say finally. "How'd I do on our first extended social interaction?"

She pretends to think about it. "I'd give it a solid seven out of ten."

"Only a seven?" I clutch my chest in outrage. "What would have made it a ten?"

"Well," she says thoughtfully, "the ice cream was a nice touch, but it would have been better with hot fudge."

"Okay, diva. Next time then."

"Who says there's going to be a next time?" But she's smiling as she says it.

"There's definitely going to be a next time." I turn to face her fully. "Admit it, you had fun tonight."

"It wasn't terrible," she concedes.

"High praise from Hannah Banana."

"Don't push your luck," she warns, but there's laughter in her voice.

I start the engine, reluctant to end the night but knowing better than to overstay. "Home?"

She nods. "Home."

The drive back to campus is quiet, but it's a comfortable silence. As I pull up in front of her dorm, I'm debating whether to walk her to the door. Before I can decide, she speaks.

"Thank you," she says. "For tonight. It was unexpectedly nice."

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