Page 2 of The Second Chance Cinema
“Maybe notallmysteries are bad,” he decided as he slid back onto the stool next to her. “I mean, there is Nancy Drew.”
“The books?”
“The dog.” Drake took another sip of beer. “Mine, my dog.”
“You named your dog after a fictional teenage spy?”
“Not exactly. She had the name when I adopted her.”
“Does it suit her? Nancy Drew?”
Drake shrugged. “Sort of,” he said. “She’s a golden, on the older side, with a habit of eating things that aren’t really food,” he explained. “She also seems to be aging in reverse.”
As they nursed another drink, Ellie learned that Drake loved building homes and wanted to start his own construction business. He was drawn to the way a family would move into a space and share so many important moments within its walls. Maybe that was the result of a happy childhood, he admitted. “But that wasn’t what you asked.” He tsked and cracked his knuckles. “You asked what I donow, which is project manage identical newbuild homes that most families will live in for about two to three years before moving somewhere better. Homes without a legacy, I call them. I kind of hate it. That was too honest, wasn’t it?”
“You know, you sound fairly nostalgic yourself,” Ellie gleaned.
“Me?” he asked. “No. It’s the opposite. I’m a dreamer, and I’m always looking forward. I see a blank wall and think about how a dad is going to measure their kid getting taller there. In the future.”
Ellie was trying to pinpoint what she liked so much about Drake when the bartender came back. “Have you saved this placeyet?” he asked, setting their checks down. Finn’s was closing for the night. Drake swooped up both checks before Ellie could make a move.
“Still working on it,” she said.
He walked away without acknowledging the comment.
“I think Sam’s jealous,” Drake noticed.
“Why?”
“Because I got to have drinks with you.” His grin was so genuine. God, he was cute; she was doomed.
“That’s such a line.”
“Nah. It can’t be a line if it’s true,” he told her. “A squiggle, maybe.” Drake signed for the checks and asked if he could walk her home. Ellie glanced out the window. The overcast sky looked like it had a personal vendetta against them. “I’ve got an umbrella,” he said, reading her mind. Ellie’s apartment was more of a train ride away, but she agreed to a long walk.
It was brisk for a late-spring night. Without words, Drake pulled his jean jacket off and slid it over her shoulders. Outside, he expanded his trusty umbrella and held it above them. “Hey, thanks for letting me walk with you. I’m enjoying trying to solve The Case of the Girl at the Bar.”
Ellie nudged him as they started down the sidewalk, letting some of the rain into their bubble. “Sounds like you’ve read some Nancy Drew.”
“Of course I have. Who hasn’t?” Drake wrapped his arm around her and drew her in close. All the lights in her body turned on, brightening rooms Ellie hadn’t known existed.
What Ellie liked about Drake, she decided, was this. He was a beer guy without being a sports guy, a denim guy without being a horse guy. A definitive Pisces. He’d felt guilty for a second when he mentioned outmaneuvering the bartender, his level of empathy unwavering even when he was the victor. His voice went up an octave when he mentioned Nancy Drew. Drake had beeninvested in her work without being threatened by it, or worse, wanting to use it as some small ladder for himself.
Mostly, she could picture sitting in comfortable silence for hours at a time in bed with him.
She was getting ahead of herself.
Ellie had slipped up that night, she knew. She needed to focus on the story, and she’d barely spoken to anyone else at the bar. But maybe Drake was the story. Maybe the hook about Finn’s was what had happened naturally: it was the type of place where a woman could meet the last good single guy out there. It was cheesy, and Ellie was no romantic. This reminder made her do what she did best, the long-practiced art of self-sabotage.
“What’s wrong with you, anyway?” Ellie asked.
“Come on.” Drake’s hand found her back. He was getting— slightly—bolder. “What kind of a question is that, ‘what’s wrong with me’?”
“You just seem kind of perfect,” she said, gesturing for them to turn onto the street that eventually led to her apartment. Drake followed her lead.
“I was thinking the same thing. So, what’s wrong with you—”
“Seriously, though. What’s your baggage?” Ellie caught a glimpse of them reflected in the glass window of a wine store. They looked great together. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to think that maybe this would be their wine store one day. She’d ask Drake to run out and buy a bottle while she stayed home and botched the dinner. “Wouldn’t that be refreshing? If we just spilled all our secrets, right here, right now?”
