On screen, the ballroom shimmered, and Evie tried to focus on it; she really did. But Slater was warm beside her. It felt unfair that he could just walk in and tilt her entire emotional equilibrium with a bucket of popcorn.
She reached into it again, more for something to do with her hands than because she was hungry. Still, she popped a few pieces into her mouth.
He leaned slightly closer. “Careful,” he murmured.
She glanced at him. “What?”
“You missed one.”
Her brow furrowed, and then she felt it—a tiny piece at the corner of her mouth. Before she could react, his thumb lifted, slow and deliberate, and brushed the grain away.
The touch was light, too light, and it lingered half a second longer than necessary, feeling far more intimate than it should have.
Her breath stalled. The theater disappeared—the families, the flickering light, the animated artistry—all of it dimmed to the heat where his thumb rested near her lip.
“Got it,” he said quietly. But he didn’t move right away.
Her pulse beat low and heavy in her throat. “You’re trouble,” she whispered.
A corner of his mouth curved. “I know. But I brought snacks.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” His hand finally dropped—but not far. It rested along the armrest again, close enough that the back of his knuckles grazed her thigh when he shifted.
Accidental.
Probably.
She swallowed.
On screen, the Beast told Belle that she could go because her father was sick. It was such an emotional scene, and as much as she tried to force herself to focus on the movie, she was hyperaware of him now. Of the inches between them. Of the fact that if she tilted her head just slightly…
“Evie,” he said softly. The way he said her name felt like a question. Or maybe a warning.
She looked at him.
His expression changed—less teasing now. Something that matched what he’d said before.
I’m not ready for this to end.
“This doesn’t change anything,” she admitted, barely audible. “But I don’t know what the right thing to do is.”
“Neither do I.” His voice was low and clear. “But I refuse to let anyone dictate what we can or can’t do.”
“I wish I had your confidence. I don’t know how to make myself be okay with all the rest.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth—just briefly. Just enough to make her breath hitch.
“Then we'll figure it out together,” he said. “But I’m not walking away because it’s inconvenient or because of stupid stuff our friends are speculating about.”
Her heart did something reckless in her chest.
He shifted closer—not enough to draw attention, just enough that their shoulders touched fully now. The contact sent a quiet spark down her spine. His fingers turned on the armrest, palm up.
An offering. No pressure. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she slid her hand into his. His grip tightened. In the dim glow of the theater, he leaned in just slightly—his mouth close enough that his breath brushed her ear. “You’re not the only one who feels exposed,” he murmured. “But I’d rather feel that than nothing.”
Her throat tightened. “How do you always know the perfect thing to say?” she whispered back.
