Page 141 of My Merry Mistake
He gasps. “For real?”
“You’ve probably already watched it?—”
“No, I haven’t,” he says. “I mean, not this year. Have you?”
I shake my head. “Still haven’t seen it.”
He claps his hands together. “Let’s watch it!” Then, as if he’s trying to restrain himself, he says, “I mean, if you want to.”
I shrug. “Sure.”
“Yeah?”
“Why not? I didn’t want to ride the train back anyway.”
“Let’s go!” We walk toward the parking lot, comfortable chatter between us, which carries through the car ride back to my house.
He feels like what he is—a friend. And it’s nice. No need for that to change, right?
When we reach Loveland, he navigates to my house without the help of GPS, which says something, but I’m not sure what. He parks in my driveway, turns off the engine and looks at me. “You have hot chocolate, right? Because we can’t watch this movie without it.”
I shake my head. “Yes, you weirdo. Your obsession with this movie is a little concerning.”
“You’ll see. And you’ll kick yourself you waited so long to watch it.” He gets out of the car and marches toward the front door. “Hurry up, Hart!”
I laugh as I join him on the porch. I unlock the door, and we step inside, taking off our boots and our coats, and then I turn to face him.
“Fine, but if we’re watching a movie, I’m going to need to change my clothes. Jeans are not comfortable enough for a movie night.”
“Fine. Go.” He waves me off and moves toward the kitchen. “I’ll make popcorn.”
“There is no way you’re still hungry.” I think he sampled something from every food vendor at that market.
“The heck you say.”
I shake my head and rush off, and once I’m safe behind my bedroom door, I lean against it and try to slow my breathing. My stomach is doing backflips, my head is spinning, and I am literally the epitome of everything I said I would never be—the giddy schoolgirl with a big, fat crush, and it’s starting to get away from me.
“I’m putting butter on this!” Finn calls from the other room, snapping me back to reality.
He’s my friend. He’sjusta friend. I will not lose my head over a guy.
“It’s already buttered!” I call back, rushing around to find clothes that are comfier than jeans.
“It needs the real stuff!”
Once I’m in sweatpants, I come back into the kitchen to find Finn ruining a bowl of perfectly good popcorn with what has to be a whole stick of butter. He’s also making two mugs of hot chocolate, which he douses with whipped cream because “whipped cream makes everything better.”
I queue the movie, we plop down onto the couch, and I quickly learn that Finn is a movie-talker. He narrates his favorite scenes, and frankly, I’m surprised he doesn’t get up and dance the entire “Hot Chocolate” number. He’s engrossed in the entire thing. Watchinghimwatch the movie is more entertaining than the movie itself.
As it ends, he clicks the pause button on the credits and turns to face me. “Honest reaction?”
“I really liked it,” I say, surprised to realize I’m telling the truth. “Except for the creepy elves.”
“They aresoweird looking. Plus the hobo on the train, what the heck is that doing in a kid’s movie?” Finn laughs.
I scrunch my face. “Super weird.” The room is lit only by the white lights of the Christmas tree and the dim glow of the TV, and there’s something soft and magical and calm about it.
I go still, but notice how content I feel right now. “I really have to thank you,” I say, thinking over the whole day.
