chapter 32
[Angelica]
“Do you have plans tonight?” Jude asks me after breakfast.
I shrug, leaning closer to him. We’re sitting on the two barstools that fit at my short counter between the kitchen and the living room.
“Depends,” I reply.
“On?”
“On what you want to do.”
That twitchy smile of his slowly continues to a full, soft grin. “Yeah?”
I don’t answer, just continue to watch him.
“I feel like our date the other night got interrupted by the guys in the sky box.”
I offer him reassurance. “I had fun.”
“But I still wanted it to just be us,” he hangs his head a second, picking at a piece of bacon on his plate. “And with Beau not having a rehearsal dinner, I feel like I owe you a better date.”
The brewery is now set as Beau’s wedding venue, which feels very appropriate for my laidback brother. With the small number of attendees, a rehearsal dinner would be like a second wedding, and we only need one. We’ll wing the processional the day of the celebration.
But what doesn’t sit right is Jude thinking he owes me something.
“You don’t owe me anything. I’d say we’re definitely even, if we need to be.”
Jude lifts his head, hearing the irritation in my voice.
“We don’t need to be even,” he counters. “But I still want to do this.”
I’m curious what this is.
“Okay,” I hesitate.
“Be ready by seven?”
I agree, and then Jude and I go our separate ways for the day.
+ + +
When Jude picks me up, it’s started to snow outside, although he’s already told me we’ll be inside.
He drives us to the Ravenswood neighborhood, where old warehouses along the train tracks have been converted to a variety of spaces for entertainment.
“What is this place?” I ask of the rather nondescript building with classic red brick that’s difficult to appreciate in the dark.
Jude only smiles as he uses a main code to enter the outer door, then leads us up a floor and uses another code to enter a large room.
The space is big enough to hold roughly thirty classic cars roped off with red velvet loops near the front of each vehicle, suggesting one can look but not touch.
The cars range from a 1920 mobster-looking sedan to the most current Corvette.
Several walls contain metal automotive signs from historical gas stations and iconic highways. An antique gas pump dominates one corner of the room.
A focal point of the room is a 1950-something, cherry red, Chevy pickup truck, complete with wood slats on the back, like it’s from an orchard or a Christmas tree farm.
Or maybe, it even belonged to Santa Claus.
The truck is separated from the rest of the collection and parked in the middle of the space, as if highlighting its uniqueness.
I’m not a car enthusiast, but the collection is impressive.
“Where are we?” I ask, spinning in a slow circle, just taking it all in.
“A guy from the softball team owns this place. He didn’t have space at his house for his babies, so he stores them up here, and rents the place for corporate parties and wedding receptions.”
Tonight, though, we’re the only people present.
“And we’re here because . . .” I’m not complaining about our being alone, I’m just confused.
“You asked me once if I’d ever been to a drive-in, and I told you no.”
“Okay?” I glance around the space again, taking in the shiny chrome and vibrant paint jobs on most of the cars.
“Since you’d never been to a hockey game, and that was a first for you, I thought I’d take you to the drive-in, which would be a first for me.”
Still puzzled, I say, “Here?”
“Here.” He holds out his hand, pointing toward that cherry red beast in the center of the space. Walking over to it, Jude follows, then leads me to the driver’s side. He opens the door, exposing a beautiful red leather bench seat with a picnic basket pushed up against the passenger door.
“Hop in.”
I do as he asks, and then he slides in after me, closing the door. From this seat, I see a large movie screen opposite the hood.
“Jude,” I whisper, suddenly excited by the prospect of what’s happening here.
He leans across me for the picnic basket, exposing a red and white striped box of popcorn, a variety of candies, and a thermos.
“We have movie theatre popcorn, a selection of chocolates, and mulled wine.” He shakes the thermos.
“Jude,” I whisper again, unable to find the words. This is so romantic.
Jude reaches for a remote on the dashboard, and the lights in the warehouse dim. It’s then that I notice strings upon strings of white Christmas lights overhead, dangling from the ceiling like stars.
Jude sets his arm behind me on the bench seat and twists, aiming the remote out the back window where a projector apparently clicks on and the movie screen lights up.
How the Grinch Stole Christmas begins playing on the screen, and I laugh, clapping my hands together. “Are you serious?” But my voice is tickled.
“At the drive-in, there’s typically a double feature. Or a short film before the featured show. I figured we could watch this one first.”
I shift beside him. “This is the sweetest, Jude.” I can hardly contain my smile, and I lean toward him, kissing him, soft and sweet, taking my time to savor his mouth until the first word from the narrator.
Pulling back, I offer him another wide grin.
“Is this the part where you try to seduce me and I don’t need to question it,” I tease.
His brows hitch. “Does this feel like a seduction? We don’t have to do anything other than watch the movies.”
“It feels romantic,” I admit, maybe a bit wistful, watching Jude’s face morph from serious intention to something softer, almost vulnerable. Like he hadn’t considered how romantic this might be.
While the movie plays, Jude pours each of us a mug of mulled wine and points out the variety of candy.
“Mint M&Ms, please,” I exclaim, excited to see the seasonal candy in the mix.
“You and your mint chocolates,” he teases, selecting a package of Mikes and Ikes.
When the first movie ends, I’m warm from the wine and sharing the confined space with Jude. He shrugs out of his jacket, and I do the same, but Jude pulls a plaid blanket from behind the seat and settles it over our laps.
The space isn’t cold, but it’s not overly warm either, but snuggled beneath his arm, tucked inside this truck, I’m cozy.
The next movie begins after a brief commercial with dancing hot dogs and singing sodas about visiting the concession stand.
I laugh while Jude combs his fingers through my hair.
When the words A Christmas Carol highlight the screen, I shift to look at Jude.
“You didn’t?”
“I did.” He curls a long spiral of my hair around his finger. “Figured it was my theme this year.”
“I love it.” I snuggle back into his side, setting my head on his shoulder, accepting I might be in love with Jude. After such a short time, my heart is nearly bursting, three sizes too large for my chest.
As the movie plays, Jude and I occasionally kiss, until the kissing turns to making out, then heavy petting, and finally each of us has our hands down the other’s pants until we’re shoving the picnic basket to the floor and Jude lays me back on the bench seat.
We have sex while the movie plays on and miss the transformational moments for Ebenezer Scrooge, having our own life-altering moment in the cab of the truck.