CHAPTER 11 #2
I’m sensing you think that might be a bad thing?
Scarlett sighed.
I think it might be.
Why?
Because here I am, in a whole new country, and all I’m doing is focusing on my job—which I love, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I think I’m missing out on things. Things I should be experiencing because eventually, I’ll probably regret it. But I can’t seem to get out of my own way.
The doorbell rang, and she went to pay for her food. After setting up everything on the small dining room table, she sat down, her knee bent, foot on the chair, as she began to eat. Picking up her phone, she saw Mr. Wrong Number had responded.
What exactly do you want to experience?
I don’t know. But shouldn’t I be wanting to go out and do these things?
Maybe you’re a homebody.
I mean, I am, definitely, but still…
Delete, delete, delete.
Oh dear. He was taking a while. Maybe she had said too much. Or he was writing some inspirational nonsense that would only make her feel bad for not going—
Do you want to go out tonight? With me?
Scarlett froze, fork in hand, with noodles hanging out of her mouth.
Did she? There was no use in denying that Mr. Wrong Number had become her confidant in the past few weeks.
She could ask him any obscure question, and he would answer, either teasingly or seriously.
But regardless of their connection, she enjoyed the comforting buffer of their anonymity. She didn’t want to ruin it.
I don’t know… What about watching that movie?
There’s this old theatre north of Green Quarter that plays cult classics. Their website said they’re playing The Eagle and the Hawk tonight. It’s an old WWI movie. We could go together, but separately.
Scarlett hunched over her phone as she swallowed her food.
What do you mean, together but separately?
We can both go to the theatre, but not sit together.
You mean not talk or introduce ourselves? We would just be in the same theatre at the same time?
Watching the same movie.
She bit her lip as her pulse jumped at the idea. They would be in the same place at the same time, but they wouldn’t know exactly who the other person was. It was tantalizing in a way.
I think I could do that. But what if it’s not busy and there’s only, like, four of us?
It’s a very popular Instagram spot, so there’s usually at least fifty people there, if not more.
She bobbed her head.
What time?
Eight. I need to call ahead for tickets.
She checked the time. That gave her only about forty-five minutes.
Yeah. I think we can do that.
I’ll meet you there.
Great.
As fast as she could, Scarlett ran up to her room and started scouring her dresser drawers. Everything she owned was business casual except for her two pantsuits, and as comfortable as those were, she wanted to look more than just coworker nice. She wanted to dress pretty.
The downstairs door opened. “Scarlett? I’m home! Devon’s here!” Maxie called out.
Scarlett raced down the stairs.
“Hey, Scarlett,” Devon said. He gave her a little wave as he held a bouquet of sunflowers.
They had met during the dinner Maxie had invited her to, and it was obvious to everyone that Devon was infatuated with Maxie.
He was shorter than her, with a round, sweet face, green eyes, and shaggy reddish-blond hair, and was wearing a pair of jeans and a checkered button-down, not unlike the one he had worn to dinner.
Maxie, on the other hand, was wearing a monochromatic lime-green outfit that looked to be constructed from a thick material.
They were definitely opposites, and Scarlett was curious how they’d started dating, but she didn’t have time to ask that now.
“Hi, Devon. Maxie, do you have anything that’s pretty, but not like I’m trying to be pretty? Something natural and effortless, but also something that doesn’t hide it?”
Devon glanced at Maxie, who blinked. “What?”
“I’m going on sort of a date, I think,” Scarlett said, uncertain. “And I don’t have anything that says I’m effortlessly pretty.”
Maxie laughed. “You are effortlessly pretty. And who are you going out on a date with? One of the Bees?”
“God no.”
“Then who?” Scarlett gave her a pained sort of expression, and Maxie’s eyes widened. “Oh no you aren’t! Mr. Wrong Number?”
“Who’s Mr. Wrong Number?” Devon asked.
“It’s no one.” Maxie waved his question off. “And would you mind getting rid of those? I can’t breathe around sunflowers.”
Devon’s mouth dropped. “I had no idea.”
“It’s quite all right,” she said, turning back to Scarlett. “Now, when did you agree to go on a date with Mr. Wrong Number?”
“A few minutes ago, and I have to be there at eight, so can you help me?”
“Yes, of course. Come on,” Maxie said as she walked up the stairs. Scarlett leaned against the wall to let her pass. “Where are you going? Out to dinner or something?”
“No. Some movie theatre in Green Quarter. Wherever that is.”
“That’s north of the city. It’ll take you forty minutes to get there by car.”
“What about by train?”
“No, you’ll never make it. Devon and I will take you.”
“What about getting home?”
“Are you coming home?” Maxie asked as they walked into her room.
“Yes. It’s not that sort of date.”
“Then what sort is it?”
“Well, we’re not actually meeting each other.”
Maxie paused upon opening her closet and gave Scarlett a befuddled expression. “I’m sorry? What do you mean, you’re not actually meeting?”
“We’re going together, but separate. We’ll be in the same place at the same time, and we’ll watch a movie,” Scarlett said, smiling.
Maxie didn’t seem to understand, but she continued to search her closet. “Right. Sounds… kinky, I suppose.”
“It’s not kinky.”
“Oh, I think it’s the definition of kinky. Somewhere between voyeurism and being ignored, I suppose.”
“I don’t know enough about either of those to disagree with you, but I’m going to anyway.”
“Here,” Maxie said, ignoring Scarlett as she handed her an eggplant-and-lavender tie-dyed cotton body-con dress. “Pair it with my jean jacket and flats.”
“Are you sure?” Scarlett asked, holding it up. “Why’s it so tight? I don’t know if I can pull this off.”
“Of course you can pull it off. Now get dressed. Devon!”
“Yes?” he called up.
“Start the car. Our darling has a date.”
Forty-five minutes later, after fighting with her hair to lie just the right way in the car, Scarlett was standing on the slanted sidewalk in front of a long brick building that had been colorfully painted in street art.
The red awning had the words Cult Plex written on it, and at least three dozen people were standing outside, waiting for it to open.
“Have fun,” Maxie said, leaning out the window after Scarlett crawled out of the back seat and closed the door. “And no talking to strangers.”
“Very funny.”
“We’ll be back in an hour and a half. Unless of course you find Mr. Wrong Number and fall madly in love and decide to move to the country to start a homestead.”
“Thank you,” Scarlett said pointedly, ignoring her last statement as Devon drove away.
A wave of apprehension swept over her as she spun around, noting a few glances that were sent her way. But she pushed all of her anxieties out of her mind and cut through the crowd to find a small ticket window on the building.
There, a young woman with purple hair and a septum piercing looked up from the tablet she held behind the glass. “Name?” she asked through the circular speaker.
“I’m sorry?”
“Your name?”
“Er, Scarlett Simmons.”
The woman scanned the tablet and shook her head. “No, I’m not seeing you. Sorry.”
Scarlett searched around her, but didn’t see any telltale signs of anyone recognizing her. She spun around.
“Ah, excuse me real quick,” she said, stepping to the side.
Pulling out her phone, Scarlett tapped out a message to Mr. Wrong Number.
What do you call me?
I’m sorry?
I’m at the ticket window, and I don’t know what name the tickets are under.
Oh, right! Sorry. Your ticket is under Airport Hen.
Scarlett’s brow scrunched, but then she let out a laugh and, stepping back in front of the window, waved to get the woman’s attention. The young lady didn’t look amused.
“Yes?”
“Can you check again, under Airport Hen?”
The woman glanced down at her tablet, then bobbed her head. “Bingo.”
She tapped the screen and twisted around in the little booth before ripping off a ticket from a roll on the wall. Slipping it underneath the glass, she gave Scarlett a smirk and returned her attention to the tablet.
Scarlett approached the edge of the crowd. Phone still in hand, she continued to text.
Are you here?
Yes.
The idea that Mr. Wrong Number was somewhere close made Scarlett’s heart rate increase. It was exciting to think that he was near, but not knowing who he was or what he looked like set her on edge. Maybe this was kink, because she was definitely experiencing some anticipation.
She glanced up, seeing a number of people on their phones, while others chatted or laughed with their friends.
A man about her height with long strawberry-blond hair was standing by himself.
He was staring down at his phone, and Scarlett wondered if he might be Mr. Wrong Number. She glanced back down at her phone.
This is so weird. You could be anybody.
I was thinking the same thing.
The doors opened then, and the crowd began to move into the building.
After you. Or maybe follow me?
Scarlett smiled. She tapped out LOL and headed in.
Apparently, there was only one theatre in the whole building, and they filtered into the long, narrow room that smelt vaguely of bleach and mildew.
It was definitely more art house than cineplex, but Scarlett scooted down the second-to-last row to take a seat closest to the wall.
Only she couldn’t. Because someone was already there.
Theo Ross.
She stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment before she tried to leave, but it was too late. He had noticed her, and by the expression on his face, he was just as shocked by her presence.