Page 78 of One Touch

The pages were stiff and brittle, so I turned them carefully. My fingers gently raked down the smooth pages and over the faded pencil markings. “There are some names I still recognize—families that still live in Outtatowner—who were getting regular deliveries.”

Beckett grinned. “Scandalous.”

“Apparently us townies liked to party, even then.”

His finger stopped on the upper corner of the page. “What’s that?” Circled at the top of each page were a pair of letters—eitherJKorPS. “A bootlegging code, maybe?”

I lifted my shoulders. “I haven’t figured it out yet. I wanted to do some research in the archives at the library first. See if it maybe matches any kind of name or something.”

“Philo Sullivan is one of the early owners of the home. That name is on one set of plans your aunt had.” He shrugged. “Could be something.”

“Huh.” I ran my finger around the lettersPScircled at the top of one page. “Could be.” I beamed up at him. “Thanks.”

Beckett set down the metal box. “But for now let’s leave work at work.” He stretched his back and groaned. “I’m ready to settle in with a movie at home.”

Home.

A warm melty feeling spread through me. Beckett had already turned his back to me, so he didn’t see my heart eyes forming as I watched him turn and walk away.

I mentally shook myself. Leaning into the big, complicated feelings I’d been battling for weeks wasn’t going to do me any good. We had a house to finish, and he had a fancy, important job waiting for him in Chicago.

After changing into a soft cotton pajama set, fluffing my hair, and brushing my teeth with hopes for more of aNetflix and chillkind of night, I met Beckett at the entrance to the upstairs media room.

He opened the double doors to reveal the huge flat projector screen against the far wall. The interior room had no windows, and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I walked forward. I ran my hand across six rows of buttery-soft leather couches. Tucked in the corner was a kitschy popcorn cart.

I pointed to it, eyes wide and mouth open. “Pretty please?”

A soft smirk graced his face. “Of course.”

He made quick work of plugging it in and measuring out the kernels for popping. “Extra butter?”

“Definitely,” I fired back as I scrolled through a ridiculously long list of movie choices. “There are an obscene amount of romantic comedies on here.”

I didn’t miss the soft blush that tinted his cheeks as the light from the large screen illuminated the room.

I gasped. “Beckett Miller! You are a closet rom-commer!”

His face screwed up as he scoffed. “Okay.”

I kept scrolling, giddy laughter bubbling in my chest. “You are!” I accused. “These are all under ‘Recently Watched.’27 Dresses?My Best Friend’s Wedding?The Holiday?”

Beckett spun and pointed the popcorn scooper at me with a scowl. “That movie is a national treasure.”

I erupted in a fit of laughter. “I can not handle this information.”

“It’s not that funny,” he growled.

“Yes. Yes it is. Beckett Miller, permanent grump, secretly loves sappy movies with happy endings. I can’t get over this newfound information about you. This is why pillow talk is vastly underrated.”

Beckett rolled his eyes and focused on the machine. As the popcorn started popping and bouncing over the kettle in the center, warm buttery smells filled the media room.

“So what’s your favorite?” I asked.

Beckett stirred the freshly popped corn and started scooping it into a large red-and-white-striped bucket, stopping every few scoops to lightly dust the top with salt.

“Come on, you can tell me.”

More silence.

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