“We’re here,” Jack says, the car slowing down, falling into line behind Anderson’s car. I see the big white screen at the edge of the open field, cars already lining up, backed into parking spots in the grass, couples and groups of friends setting up their spots before it gets dark and the movie begins.
“I still can’t believe I was talked into this. My fun fact about myself was how I’ve never seenTwilight,” I admit with a sigh.
“That’s not a very fun fact,” Jack says, looking over at me with a grin as he squeezes my thigh.
“I don’t have many in my arsenal,” I retort as the truck inches closer to the ticket window.
Jack scoffs playfully. “I can think of at least three right off that bat.”
“Yeah, right.”
“One, you can recite One Direction’sUp All Nightalbum tracks in order from beginning to end. Two, you can tell the difference between gummy bear flavors just by taste. Three, your eyes are the exact same color of North Two Lake.”
As he lists off the first two facts, I can’t ignore the flip in my stomach at the thought of him noticing those tiny things about me from our random conversations this past week, but it’s the last fact that gives me pause.
“North Two Lake?” I ask, having no idea what that is.
“It’s the lake my grandfather’s cabin is on,” Jack answers, his eyes on the car in front of him as he slowly releases the brake to move us through the line before stopping the truck again.
“In Lake Tomahawk?” I ask, remembering how he mentioned the small town a few days ago when he was telling me a story about the owner of the diner up there and how she caught him and Emerson loosening all the salt shakers on her tables and made them be her bussers for the whole week they were visiting their grandparents.
Jack nods his head. “I noticed it the first time I saw you—how your eyes are the same color of the lake when the sunlight hits the water.”
“The first time you saw me, you grunted like a caveman and then got embarrassed and left,” I tease, giggling at the memory.
I expect Jack to say something more, but he doesn’t. He smiles, but it’s one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He seems to go into his head for a moment, almost zoning out, but before I can ask what he’s thinking, it’s our turn to pull up to the ticket counter.
Sending his reaction to me bringing up the first time we met in the back of my mind to revisit later, we get our tickets andpull into our spot next to Anderson and Ava, the sun just starting to set as the screen begins projecting old trailers for the fiveTwilightmovies.
Jack cuts the engine, hopping out of the truck and jogging around the front to open my door, holding his hand out to help me down. “I brought a couple blankets to make the bed of the truck a little more comfortable,” he says, opening the back door and grabbing more than just a couple, tucking them under his arm. “Emerson might have mentioned that this was all necessary for this kind of date.” I can’t help but smile at that boyish charm he gets when he’s embarrassed. “There are pillows back here too,” he says, and I can’t believe I didn’t notice the four big pillows he had tucked back here when I got in the truck.
“If you want to grab some snacks from the concession stand, I can set up the bed.” My cheeks heat instantly as the words leave my lips, and I can’t help but clarify, “Thetruckbed.”
Jack notices, both of us fumbling through the actions like we’re on a first date.
And I guess we kind of are.
It’s our first date without Evee—just the two of us.
“Anderson can go with you,” I hear from behind the truck, turning to see Ava and Anderson coming into view, a look passing between them, and I can already tell that Ava sucked Anderson into her silly antics when it comes to Jack and me, always looking for a way to push us closer to one another.
Jack nods at Ava, throwing the blankets on the bed of the truck before turning around to give me a quick kiss on the lips, as if it’s something he doesn’t even have to think about—as if it’s instinct to do so.
As Jack and Anderson head to grab snacks, Ava and I set up our areas, Ava using the trunk of Anderson’s car, making it bigger by pushing down the backseats, as I climb onto the truck bed, laying out the blankets and setting up the pillows.
“You and Jack seem to be getting close,” Ava says. Her sentiment may seem harmless, but I can read between the lines just as easily as I can read the smirk on her face.
“I think so,” I answer nonchalantly, watching as she splays out the last blanket she packed with her on the pile she already meticulously laid out in Anderson’s trunk.
“And you like him?” Ava asks, still not looking at me and making herself busy aligning all the pillows she brought, as if trying to make light conversation rather than dig for information like I know she wants to.
“I think so,” I repeat, careful not only with my words but with that dangerous thing we call hope that I feel in the way my heart beats a little fast thinking about how I feel about Jack.
I’m so used to hope being the lie we tell ourselves to keep going, and I learned at an early age that reality often falls short of our hopes.
Almost always, the letdown can feel worse than if we hadn’t hoped at all.
Ava lets out a groan, walking over to the truck and hopping up to sit on the edge. “You know, you two really are perfect for each other. Such conversationalists. I swear, you both must fight over who gets to talk first on those late night FaceTimes.”
