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And if it feels that good on my back, I don’t want to think about how it would feel in other places. Well, I do. Of course I do. But it’s a bad idea when the guy has shown zero interest in me despite my occasional attempts to flirt.
I do a quick scan of the lobby, as I’ve been doing all day, just to make sure no one pretends to snap a selfie across the room while really taking a picture of Colin. The last thing he needs is unwanted publicity when he’s trying to escape the limelight.
I’m also vaguely aware of my other motive—to make sure my brother doesn’t see us together. It’s ridiculous because I have every right to spend time with anyone I want. Especially if my brother has seen fit to house that “anyone” right outside my door. But I’ll always secretly want my family’s approval. Annoying.
Colin is wearing the baseball cap he’s had on all day. Coupled with a pair of sunglasses, he was unrecognizable to the few people we passed when we stopped in Calistoga for lunch. It also makes him look younger and hotter, and I’ve been practically salivating over him all day long.
What is it about this guy? Half the men I know wear baseball caps on the weekends, and I don’t look twice. They look…normal. Not Colin. He looks like a film star trying to avoid being recognized and somehow appearing even more like a film star.
He turns the hat backward, and the hot meter ticks up another thousand notches.
Now I can see his face more clearly. The sharpness of his features meshed with the softness of a few days of beard growth are an intoxicating combination. His eyes flash with that Adriatic blue that makes me want to leave the safe haven of shore behind and dive in.
His brow furrows as he stares at the list of snacks and drinks posted over the concession counter, and my brain goes mushy as I stare at him. When he turns to ask me a question, the concentration melts into laughter. “You okay?”
I nod, shaking myself back into sensibility after the momentary lapse.
Must not stare at hot guy. Must focus on snack food.
“Yes. Sure. Spaced out for a sec.” My cheeks feel hot, and I look away. Let’s face it, I have the snack menu memorized. That’s what happens when you’ve been to the one theater in town a hundred times.
“What do you want?”
“Oh. I guess a chardonnay and popcorn,” I say without thinking. It’s my usual when I come here.
“They have wine at the movie theater?” He looks again at the snack sign, where he must have missed that option.
“It’s Napa.” I shrug. “Would be sacrilege if you couldn’t get wine.”
He digests this piece of information, nodding. “Two glasses of chardonnay. Actually, scratch that. Can we get a bottle?” he asks the lanky, bored-looking cashier slouching in a tight black tee.
“How many glasses?” The cashier scratches the back of his neck and adjusts a pair of hipster glasses.
Colin points at me. “Two. And an extra-large popcorn, a box of M&Ms, and some Junior Mints.” I can’t remember the last time a man took charge and ordered without asking my opinion, and I like it.
There’s something about Colin that’s different from the guys I casually dated through the first half of my twenties. They were more like teenage boys in adult bodies with nice-enough-looking faces. They had swagger, but they didn’t command a room.
Colin Hathaway commands any space he enters without even looking up from the floor. Standing at the concession counter in a worn tee and vintage San Francisco Giants cap, he looks every bit the chill Silicon Valley tech employee, and I know they’re a dime a dozen down where he lives. And here in Napa, guys come up all the time casually dressed like him.
None of those men do what Colin does when he walks into a room. He owns it. His presence magnetically charges the air around him. People don’t know why, but they know something is different when he’s entered their immediate space.
His tone when he speaks is velvet. His movements graceful. His intellect hotter than the midday sun.
I should know. I’ve been listening to him talk about satellites all day long and haven’t understood half of it. And yet, I’d listen to him talk for another day because he’s so invested in the potential for technology that he makes me feel invested.
Colin tucks the bottle of wine under one arm and accepts the cardboard takeout carton containing plastic stemless wineglasses and our snacks in one hand.
He gestures at the popcorn for me to carry, and I have to laugh at the size of the extra-large bucket I’m handed. “This is enough popcorn to feed half the population of Napa.” I half-expect him to reconsider his choice and tell the concession guy to downsize the order.
Instead, Colin nods. “So, perfect amount.”
The theater isn’t jam-packed, but people sit in pairs and groups throughout the place, and we scan the rows. “Front or back?” he asks.
“Back.”
We find seats a few rows down from the last row and work our way to the empty pair in the center.
“PJ? Heeeey!” I recognize the voice. Mallory Rutherford is a friend of the family, though if you ask my brother Jackson, she’smore of a frenemy. The two of them had a fling for a hot minute after his wife left him, and he avoids her now like the plague.
