Page 51 of If This Was a Movie

“What?”

“Do you have something else to do when you get to the cottage?”

Slowly, she shakes her head and bites her lip.

“Come on. Pick a movie, keep me company. I’ll just be answering emails and whatnot.”

She hesitates, once again biting her lip and glancing from me to the couch and back again before finally, she nods. “Okay.”

A couple of hours later, Jules is dabbing at her eyes, watching some actress stand in the foyer of her home, her husband’s best friend proclaiming his love for her via fucking flash cards, and I can’t fight the laugh back anymore.

“Are you crying?” I ask.

She turns to me and gives me the world’s fakest glare before slapping my arm that’s around her shoulders. I kind of lied when I said I had something to do. I kept my laptop open for maybe thirty minutes, clicked around before putting it down, and moved one cushion over so I was sitting beside her.

It felt like high school, sitting stick straight beside a girl and trying to spot the hint that it was okay for me to put my arm around her. But it came ten minutes or so later when her body shifted just a bit, her arm brushing against mine. I kept my eyes on the television as she quickly looked at me to check my reaction—a reaction I didn’t give her for fear I’d scare her off.

Ten minutes after that, I got tired of playing games, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and tugging her close. I didn’t care if it was the most uncomfortable, juvenile position to sit with a woman on the couch. It felt fucking great, touching her, holding her.

It was even better when a few minutes later, her body relaxed, her head resting on my shoulder as we watched the rest of the movie together.

I’m learning that with Jules, I need to give her time, ease her into things. If I do that, the overthinking slows, and she doesn’t panic about her fears, instead letting me disassemble her wall brick by brick.

Now she’s looking up at me with glassy eyes, glaring. “Stop, don’t make fun of me,” she says, trying to lean back but wearing a smile all the same.

“I’m not,” I say with a laugh, my arm tightening to pull her in close once more. “I’m laughing at the writers, thinking this is romantic enough to put in a movie.”

“It is romantic! It’s an iconic moment. He’s telling her she’s perfect to him, that he’s in love with her and knows she’ll never be his, but that’s okay, knowing her is enough.” That’s Jules’s problem: she’s willing to settle for someone who thinks knowing her is enough.

Simply knowing Jules will never be enough for me. I know that now.

“No, that’s not romantic. Romantic is a man who will move heaven and earth until she’s his.”

She gives me a small, nervous smile.

“I don’t know, this is a pretty popular movie. It’s a famous scene,” she says, tipping her head toward the TV.

A beat passes before I lift a hand and brush a dark lock of her hair back, smiling.

“What’s more romantic, this movie or meeting a girl in a bar on New Year’s Eve and knowing she’s the one for you?”

Her mouth drops open a bit, and her eyes go wide in a way that is too fucking cute for her own good. “Nate…” she says low, and I smile.

“I’m just saying. Pretty romantic, that happening. Even more romantic walking out of a store and bumping into her a year later. Like it was meant to be or something.”

“Nate,” she whispers.

I smile then settle back again, her tight against my side.

“Watch the end of your movie, dollface.” Her body is tight for just a second before she sighs and settles back into me.

“I should probably head to the cottage,” she says as the movie’s credits run, though she doesn’t move when she says it.

“Mmm, I guess,” I say, even though I’d be happy to sit here all night. Even if she fell asleep, I’d stay awake, documenting every single moment of her body touching mine, trying to convince myself this is real and not some figment of my imagination.

“I have an early class tomorrow,” she explains as if I asked. All I can think of is how I can try and steal some time with her after, since it seems I won’t be able to convince her to stop by for a cup of coffee before she leaves in the morning. “And it’s a crazy day, preparing for the recital.”

“Yeah,” I say simply.

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