Chapter 29
COOPER
The days after our interaction at Lulu’s are awkward. I think we both silently agreed to never bring it up.
I’m not sure if it’s a result of what I said, or if she was starting to anyway, but part of me really thinks that Amara has started to open up more.
Originally, it was a few more smiles than she had previously graced me with. The next day, she’d touch me softly as she walked by, instead of taking the longest route available to stay away from me.
On the third night, she asked to have a movie night in the family room, and I nearly choked.
A movie night with Amara.
In my family room.
When we were kids, Amara and I used to have a lot of movie nights.
They were always at my house, because although her parents loved me, they were a little bit stricter about what their only daughter was doing than my grandpa, who went to bed promptly at seven pm with only a hope and a prayer that we were all behaving.
He trusted us—sometimes a little too much—but no amount of worry was going to get between him and his beauty sleep.
And Amara’s parents trusted that she’d be having a sleepover with Natalia.
If we stepped out of line, we’d be hearing about it in the form of punishment the next day.
That was, more or less, the only thing we needed in order not to do anything too stupid other than sneaking out.
But as long as I was at home by the ass crack of dawn when he woke up, he was generally none the wiser… most of the time.
We started off huddled under blankets on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, but as we got older, Natalia decided she liked sneaking out a little more than movie nights.
So, it was up to Amara and me.
One day, Amara and I started movie night early. The sun was still up, shining through my grandfather’s window. Between the sun and the ocean, we could barely see the TV, even with the blinds pulled shut.
Amara had the brilliant idea of building a fort with a few thick blankets to block the light.
It was easy. Old people hang so much on their walls, and considering everything was built fifty thousand times better back then, hanging sheets on floor lamps without them tipping over was a breeze.
It became a staple of movie nights. It felt cozier, and whether we’d admit it to each other or not, more intimate. Just our little space.
We never cuddled, really. No lines were crossed, and for the most part, it was always really innocent.
But looking back, I think the times when she would start falling asleep, her head landing on my shoulder, felt a lot bigger than they were.
I think that’s the fun, yet heartbreaking thing about nostalgia.
At some point, you realize that none of the things you thought were the end of the world, or even the things you thought couldn’t get any better, were only the tip of the iceberg.
You sit in your current life, wishing that you spent more time savoring those moments, because at some point time runs out, and you’ll never feel them again.
It's easier to avoid it all to start with. Be someone else.
The second Amara said the words movie night, I was on the phone with Briar trying to figure out logistics. I knew she could keep a secret. My place is still fairly empty, and I wanted to pull off a little surprise.
Her solution was for her to reach out to Heidi and acquire some of her photography equipment, namely a backdrop stand and clamps. “She’s been building out her new studio, but I think Emmett bought her five of everything she needs,” she had assured me.
Briar then got Leo to drop it off not long after, just in case Amara came out of her room and saw someone here.
He had pouted when I told him he couldn’t watch us. Not that there’d be anything to watch. He had rolled his eyes and suggested that, based on how the other night at the bar had gone, he was just waiting for me to have some news.
I just smiled. The only way the boys would ever know something happened, if it ever did, is if Amara told the girls and it got back to them.
I’m not a total idiot.
I drove outside the city to shop for some more blankets right after, coming home with three huge bags of them. She could keep them after all of this is over, if she wanted.
Amara had come out for a drink around four, confirming that we were getting Chinese food for dinner at 6 to start the night.
And I got to work.
First, I raised one of the backdrop holders to its highest position, placing it behind the couch.
I did the same for the second, placing it between the couch and the TV, which hung from the large circular post in front of the windows.
Then, I hung large sheets from them, making sure they’re secured tightly behind the TV so they don’t droop, before hanging the blankets.
Next, I grab the fluffiest, thickest blankets and scatter them on the floor.
Briefly, I consider the fact that they look better than Amara’s green rug, before mentally slapping myself.
She loves that rug. Let her have it.
A couple more blankets are scattered on top of that, and some electric candles—Briar’s demand, considering she does not trust me with real ones—and snacks occupy the coffee table.
I’m just grabbing glasses of wine from the bar when Amara steps out of her room, Fluffernutter hanging from her arms.
She nearly drops him.
Amara goes from looking suspicious, to looking concerned, to looking sad, then happy, to finally looking at me.
“We’re not filming tonight, are we?”
We’ve been acting through this show. Pretending to like each other. Smiles and hugs and laughs. But when the cameras are off, everything is different.
“This isn’t for that,” I tell her, admiring my work.
Her eyes flicker around, taking it all in. “You came up with this today?”
I nod.
“With no help?”
“Well, there was help. But not by production. Briar may have helped a little.”
She bites her lip. “This feels romantic.”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t when we were kids.”
Her face twists with humor. “I mean, it was. Just a little bit. Just in a different way.”
My heart swells with potential.
“I just figured that I have my game in Denver on Thursday, and I had today free. I leave tomorrow.”
Amara smiles, grabbing the menu for our favorite takeout place from my drawer. “What are we ordering?”
I can’t believe I’m here, wrapped up in blankets, with Amara Flores.
“I just think she could have probably come clean a lot faster and avoided all this hassle,” I tell her with an eyeroll.
“You know, we watched this movie together like a million years ago, and your talking points have never changed.”
My arm shoots out toward the TV. “She’s a good soccer player! And her wig seems to come off so easily every other time, but not when she’s playing?”
“Are you telling me that if you wanted to play football so badly but your team was cut, you wouldn’t pretend to be a woman?”
I shake my head. “No. I’d put on a dress for much less, though.”
She smacks my chest, her cheeks turning the most beautiful shade of red.
Fluffernutter lies over her feet, and although we started leaning against opposite sides of the couch, we’ve been somehow scooting closer and closer as the movie progressed.
“Okay,” she smiles. “I feel like I used to know this answer, but what sport would you have played if not football?”
I don’t have to think about it for long. “Hockey.”
She looks appalled. “Why are you lying to me?”
“I’m not!”
“Cooper, you can’t even skate.”
I shrug. “But I could have if I tried.”
“No, remember that time I got you to go ice skating with me? You literally cannot skate. You held onto the wall the entire time and then nearly cried about how scared you were afterward.”
“That’s just a lie Natalia tells.”
“I was there!”
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. Amara’s eyes follow the movement.
“Either way. If I could skate, I would absolutely have played hockey.”
“Not basketball?”
“Not tall enough.”
“Really?”
“Pretty sure most of them are at least six foot seven.”
She grimaces. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re pretty short.”
I roll my eyes, fighting a smile. “I’m an entire foot taller than you, Sweetheart.”
“No,” she chuckles. “You’re ten inches taller. There’s a difference.”
“Two inches is nothing.”
“Clearly it is, since those two inches are keeping you from playing basketball.”
I glare at her, fighting the laugh from escaping with my life.
“What would you have been doing?” I ask her in return.
Her smile disappears, and her eyes turn a little glassy. “I don’t know,” she says simply, making it clear she doesn’t have any intention of continuing the conversation.
Realizing that that’s all I’m going to get, I fall silent, picking up the remote and putting it on the next movie we have up.
I think I’m getting better at reading her. At knowing when to shut up, and sit back and listen to her. Not everything needs a response, and pushing her will only make her shut down even more.
And despite all my faults, I’m pretty proud of myself for it.