Page 24 of The Weight Of Falling
It’s not a real date, I remind myself. What matters, though, is thatIfeel good. My hair hangs past my shoulders in glossy, loose waves, and my scarlet blouse and denim flares embroidered with flowers fit me just right. My friends were right to insist on the pretty underwear. The black lace set I have on is definitely giving me a confidence boost. My makeup is light and natural, but at Tess’s suggestion, I’m wearing bold red lipstick instead of my usual slick of lip gloss.
It was a good call, because Joel’s gaze keeps lingering on my mouth before he drags it away.
Not that I’m deliberately trying to focus his attention there, but still...
“You ready?” he asks.
“All ready.”
I step out onto the porch and pull the door shut behind me. The floorboards creak under Joel’s weight as he takes a moment to scan the cottage’s ivy-covered walls and faded black shutters. Lining the porch steps are terracotta pots overflowing with lavender and tiny pink snapdragons that seem to bloom just for the attention. I’ve always felt as though my cottage wandered straight out of a storybook.
“Nice place,” he says.
I beam. “It is, isn’t it? I rent it from the couple who own the property.”
“Where do they live?”
“In the farmhouse up the hill.”
The two-bedroom cottage is small, but I like the privacy it affords me. I have my own little garden, and I love that I’m within walking distance of a meadow dotted with scattered oaks that turn gold in the fall.
“I picked it for the light,” I tell him, nodding toward the cottage windows. “It’s perfect for painting and the quiet helps me think.”
Joel looks down at me, his eyes dark and intense. “It suits you,” he says quietly.
The early evening sun hits his shoulders, catching the edge of his jaw just enough to make me forget how to breathe properly for a second. His words, as well as the look in his eyes, make the moment feel oddly intimate.
I clasp my hands in front of me like a barrier. “What time does the movie start?”
“Eight.”
It’s just after six. That means we have nearly two hours to kill.
“I thought we’d go for a drink at Kelly’s Bar beforehand,” Joel says. “You okay with that?”
My pulse speeds up. Is he wanting to spend more time with me? Do I want to spend more time with him? Why am I overthinking this? “Sure. That sounds great.”
He nods. “The place is packed on a Saturday. Bobby or Farah are bound to hear we were there. You know how this town talks.”
Ah, yes. Another pointed reminder this date is all for show.
My smile feels bright and forced. “Good thinking.”
As we make our way down the worn flagstone path overgrown with creeping thyme and sun-warmed moss, he stops abruptly and turns to me. “This could make or break our date, but I have to know. Where do you stand on popcorn in the theater?”
“A must-have,” I say instantly. “A movie without popcorn is like walking in the rain without an umbrella. Or passing a bouquet of flowers without stopping to smell it.”
“What about plot discussions?”
I shake my head firmly. “Nope. Those have to be saved for after the movie.”
“Your opinion on people who crackle candy wrappers during the film?”
“They should be escorted out. But discreetly.”
He gives me an eye-crinkling smile. “We’re on the same page then.”
“Good to know,” I say with mock solemnity. “I take my theater experience very seriously.”
