Page 8 of If This Was a Movie

“I’m decent, but now I get to do what I love and I get to teach other people about it, give them the outlet that’s always brought me so much joy. Best of both worlds, you know?”

“Kids? Adults?”

“Both. I have a few kid classes and adult fitness classes. But that was, what? Three questions?” Now it’s his turn to smile andapologize before I ask what his favorite movie is. (Top Gun, a typical guy response.)

It goes like this for the next two hours, an entire meal, and countless light brushes of his hand on mine and shivers down my spine. I learn he has three younger sisters, that his parents have been happily married for forty years, he’s thirty-five, and has never seen any of my favorite movies.

“You really love movies, don’t you?” he asks after I tell him the entire plot ofYou’ve Got Mail.

“Only romance, really,” I say.

“Why’s that?” I shrug, but answer anyway.

“It’s easier to relate to, and there’s always a happily ever after. The world is chaos and full of disappointment and heartbreak. I like living in the fantasy of that, that two people could meet and go on some grand adventure and fall in love and ride off into the sunset.” I shrug sheepishly, but continue anyway. “I picture everything as a movie. Romanticize it a bit, pretend that no matter what, everything is for the plot, that at the end, the happily ever after is impending.”

He continues to stare at me for long moments, and I feel the self-consciousness sneak in, and instead of shutting my mouth, I keep speaking, trying to explain. “Plus, if you think of every bad moment as a plot twist, everything seems less…consequential. Then you can be excited, waiting to find out what happens next instead of stressing about it.”

The silence swirls around us again, and I almost speak to change the subject, but then he gently shakes his head like he can’t believe something before speaking.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Jules.” He says it in awe, and I panic.

“Is that…is that a good thing, or do you mean it in a you should seek professional help way?”

“In all the best ways,” he whispers before he once more shakes his head before leaning in and smiling. “Okay, so if this was a movie, what would happen next?”

“Oh, we’d definitely leave together, go back to one of our places. You’d kiss me at midnight, and it would start to snow, probably. We’d be stuck inside and have to spend a few days together. You know, normal romance movie stuff,” I say.

I don’t know if the single drink I’ve had is going to my head or if I’m just drunk on the idea of Nate, but I’m not as embarrassed as I think I should be, saying that out loud.

“Sounds perfect,” he says, his face serious despite the slight tip at the edge of his lips, like he really thinks that would be perfect.

“Last call, we’re closing down early tonight,” the bartender tells Nate with a tip of his chin, breaking the moment. “Holiday and all.” I reach into my bag to grab my card to pay for my food and drink, but the bartender shakes his head. “It’s covered.” I turn to my dinner companion and smile.

“That wasn’t necessary,” I say.

“Happy New Year’s, Jules. You being here made mine a hell of a lot better.” Again, I smile, my cheeks starting to hurt as I do because it’s pretty much all I’ve done since he sat next to me. But then he stands, his stool pushing back as he does, stepping down and away with a wave to the bartender. “Later, Tyler. Have a good one, yeah?” The bartender waves and wishes him a Happy New Year before Nate takes three steps away from the bar.

I watch him, unable to do anything else, my gut dropping to my feet as I watch what I kind of hoped was my own little rom-com in the making walk away. I shift a bit to grab my purse and leave, planning to go to the bathroom so we don’t leave at the same exact time because it’s embarrassing, before Nate’s body shifts.

He looks over his shoulder at me, a wide smile on his lips and a bit of goofy confusion on his face before he speaks.

“You coming?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“Are you coming with me?”

Warmth rolls through me, slow and sweet like heated honey.

“What?”

He turns more fully toward me, then puts a hand out in my direction like he’s expecting me to grab it and follow him.

“I’d love nothing more than to ring in the new year with you, Jules,” he says, voice low, eyes filled with promise.

I should probably just give him my number at best and go home, take my melatonin, and go to bed, but instead, I stand. I slide my jacket on and loop my bag over my shoulder before stepping forward and taking his hand.

FOUR

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