Apparently, it is now protected historical architecture.
Halfway through the movie, I notice something.
Sadie is laughing.
Again.
Not the polite laugh she gives customers.
Not the careful one she uses when she's tired.
This one is real, unguarded.
She leans forward slightly, hair slipping across one shoulder.
Eyes bright.
Happy.
The sight hits harder than it should.
Because lately I've started collecting moments.
Little ones.
The way she hums while decorating cookies.
The way she always gives Jillie the last cinnamon roll.
The way she pretends not to smile when she's amused.
The way she laughs. Especially the way she laughs.
And suddenly a realization lands with uncomfortable precision.
I know too many things about her.
Not because I've been trying, but because I've been paying attention.
A lot. More than I should. More than someone in a fake relationship probably ought to.
Across the couch, Sadie glances over.
Catches me looking.
For a second neither of us looks away.
Something shifts. Not dramatically. Just enough. Just enough to make the room feel smaller. Just enough to make my pulse notice.
Then Jillie climbs directly across both of us to retrieve popcorn.
The moment shatters instantly.
I almost laugh.
Almost.
Because somehow that little girl has become remarkably talented at interrupting dangerous thoughts.
