Page 50 of If This Was a Movie

“What?”

His body shifts then, his hand moving to my hip in a way that burns through my thin leggings. It’s gentle and hesitant, and the look in his eyes—the mix of nervous and excited—has my body shifting unconsciously to face him.

“If this was a movie, I think this is when I’d kiss you,” he whispers under his breath, mine catching with his words.

“Yeah, probably,” I say back, and he smiles again, pulling me in a bit closer. Again, without the permission of my logical side that has seemed to have gone dormant, I move to my tiptoes, shifting my body as his head dips down.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear a tiny gasp from Sophie, but it only takes a moment before I’m lost in the feel of Nate’s lips on mine.

It’s gentle and PG-rated at best, just a soft brush of his lips to mine, but it has my heart racing all the same, even more when his hand moves to my jaw, pulling me a bit closer, deepening the contact of our lips.

My hands move up, winding around his neck and holding him there, and all I can think is I am so totally fucked.

TWENTY

NATE

I lied, I hung up the mistletoe.

And it was so fucking worth it.

TWENTY-ONE

NATE

Jules eats dinner with us and, just like Sophie and I schemed together while she was at practice, my daughter begs her to stay, read a book, and get her ready for bed—a request Jules doesn’t even bother trying to decline.

As we go through the routine of the night together, I find myself wondering what this would be like if it were our real life: Jules helping to brush the tangled knots out of Sophie’s curly hair, making her giggle instead of whine like she does with me, picking out her book and reading it to her while I clean up the kitchen and close the house up for the night.

Like a team.

Someone on my side. Someone on Sophie’s side.

I’ve never had that. Her mom was someone I barely was with before things ended, and I’ve never felt comfortable enough with a woman to introduce her into Sophie’s life this way.

Until Jules.

When she slips outside of Sophie’s room, clicking the door quietly behind her and tiptoeing toward the kitchen where I’m standing, watching her, there’s a small smile on her lips.

“A success?”

“She’s out like a light,” she says.

“Yeah, she gets like that after a busy day.” I continue to take her in and watch Jules’s demeanor go from comfortable to unsure, her eyes moving back and forth from the back door that leads to the cottage and the couch in the living room.

Hesitation, like she wants to sit with me there but isn’t sure where we stand.

“I guess I should…” she starts, letting her words trail off, and even if this isn’t her intention, I take the open door she offers me.

“Stay,” I say, tipping my head over to the couch.

“Stay?”

“Yeah. Watch a movie, keep me company. Like the other night.”

“I don’t—” she starts to argue, but I don’t let her.

“Do you have something else to do tonight?”

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