“Excellent choice.” I open the door, grinning. “I’ll even buy the extra large bucket to share.”
“Deal.” He steps out into the cold night air, shoving his hands into his pockets. “But if this sucks, we’re going to get beers.”
“Deal.” I lock the door behind us. The night is clear, the stars bright over the mountains. It’s good to get out, even if it’s just for a cartoon and some popcorn.
The air inside the Fox Hollow Cinema smells like artificial butter, carpet cleaner, and the collective breath of a hundred people waiting to be entertained.
It’s a scent I’ve loved since I was a kid, back when going to the movies felt like an event. Now, it feels like just another thing people do while scrolling on their phones.
“You know,” I say, gesturing around the lobby, “when I was a teenager, going to the movies was a whole thing. It was about the scene. You went to see people, to be seen. Now? Look at this place. It’s sweatpants and hoodies as far as the eye can see. The romance of the theater is dying, Eli.”
I look over at my companion, expecting a nod of agreement or at least a sarcastic comment about my nostalgia for a time that barely existed, but Eli isn’t looking at me. He’s staring past my shoulder, his body language rigid, eyes fixed on the line snaking around the velvet ropes to the left.
“Eli?” I wave a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Baker Boy. You listening to my cultural critique?”
He blinks, dragging his gaze away from the other line. “What? Sorry. Yeah. Tragic. The death of theater fashion.”
I follow his line of sight, curious about what could drag his attention away from a rant about the good old days.
And then I see her.
Amber.
She’s standing about ten people away, looking different than she did the other morning in the shop. Her hair is pulled up ina high, messy ponytail that exposes the long, elegant line of her neck.
She’s wearing a simple sweater, but she’s got these bright green earrings dangling from her lobes that catch the fluorescent light every time she moves her head.
Next to her is a little girl. She can’t be more than ten, with a wild mass of curls and a pair of oversized red glasses that make her look like a tiny, serious owl.
The kid is talking a mile a minute, her hands flying as she tells a story, and Amber is listening with a smile that seems to reach all the way to her toes.
“Ah,” I say, nudging Eli with my elbow. “I see what’s happening here. That’s your florist.”
Eli flushes, adjusting his glasses nervously. “Yeah.”
“Go talk to her,” I tell him, jerking my chin in their direction. “What are you waiting for?”
He hesitates, clutching his own bucket of popcorn like a shield. “I don’t know, Fallon. They look occupied. It’s family time. I don’t want to intrude.”
Before I can call him a coward, Amber looks up. Her eyes sweep the room, and when they land on us, they widen in surprise. She leans down and says something to the young girl beside her, then they leave the line. She walks toward us, her movements graceful despite the crowded lobby.
“Hey,” she says, stopping a few feet away. Her gaze flickers to Eli, softening instantly. “Hey, Eli.”
“Hi, Amber,” he replies, sounding a little breathless.
“Hi,” I chime in, stepping forward. “I’m Fallon. We met briefly at the restaurant the other day. I’m the one you gave the flowers to. I promise I didn’t read your note.”
Amber laughs, the sound bright and unselfconscious. “I remember. Thank you for that. And this is Maisie.”
The little girl steps up, wrapping her hand around her mom’s fingers. She looks up at me with those giant red glasses, completely unafraid.
“Hi,” she says. “I’m Maisie. I lost a tooth yesterday.”
I crouch down so I’m eye-level with her. “No way. That’s a big deal. Did the Tooth Fairy come?”
“Yes! She left two whole dollars under my pillow.” Maisie grins, revealing a charming gap in her bottom row of teeth.
“Lucky you! I haven’t gotten money from the Tooth Fairy in so long.”
