Chapter 16
In comparison to everything Beckett just told me, the mileage on my engine is nothing. I’m aware comparing anything is rarely time well spent—no situation is ever truly the same—but that doesn’t stop me from feeling silly telling him what I just did.
Looking at everything objectively, I haven’t experienced all that much in my life to account for the “old soul” my mother likes to say I have; and if I’m being honest, I wonder if this is one of those backhanded compliments used to explain away my atypical behaviors.
I can freely admit my interests don’t align with most people my age, but that doesn’t stop me from pursuing them—when I have time.
A disbelieving laugh slips free at the thought of sharing anything about myself when nothing in my life comes close to the trauma he’s experienced.
“I don’t know,” I murmur, my eyes bouncing around the room to avoid his gaze for a moment before finally landing back on him. “What do you want to know?”
His mouth opens and closes, as if he wants to say something but changes his mind. The words that come out of his mouth make me wonder what his first thought was. “Anything you want to share. What interests you about the classics?”
“It’s not that interesting of a story.” I chuckle, leaning my elbow on the back of the couch and propping my head up.
I know I held Beckett’s hand through his entire story, but there’s something about sitting this close to him—his arm draped along the back of the couch and our knees touching—that feels far more intimate. It’d be so easy for one of us to lean forward and our lips to brush.
Where the hell did that thought come from?
“I bet it’s more interesting than you think.” Beckett presses his knee against mine, a small smile forming on his lips.
“I don’t know if this will surprise you or not, but my mom was kind of strict growing up.”
The smile slips from his face, and I can’t say I blame him. While my dad and Wyatt can be oblivious to the things my mom says, Beckett clearly caught on to the way they impacted me at dinner last week.
“I know the stereotype is that parents tend to get less strict with each subsequent child, but sometimes I think the opposite happened with my family. Or maybe it’s just that I was the only girl and I wasn’t planned, so it hit them differently.”
Beckett’s brow furrows, and I see the question in his eyes, but I jump to continue before he can voice it. I don’t want him to think my parents treated me poorly because I came along years after they thought they were done having kids. That would be the farthest thing from the truth.
I’ve never questioned if my parents love me. The number of people who told me my parents were over the moon when they found out they were having a girl is ridiculous. Up until my grandparents died, they told me every time they saw me how happy everyone was.
“My mom had a couple miscarriages, both before and after Wyatt. I think after the last one they thought they were done having kids. But then she found out she was pregnant with me and did everything she possibly could to make sure the pregnancy stuck. No matter how much everyone told her there was nothing she could have done to stop the previous miscarriages.”
And all of a sudden I get it—why my mother held me so close she practically smothered me. I don’t know why it’s this conversation that makes it click, but it does.
The miscarriages were never a secret, and while I’ve never had one or tried desperately to have a child of my own, I don’t need to have experienced either of those things to understand how difficult they are.
To want something so badly you try over and over again to get it only to have it ripped away from you? That has to be torture.
“So maybe her strict nature had nothing to do with me being unplanned or a girl and had everything to do with being afraid something would happen to her miracle baby.” The words are a little more flippant than they should be, but I can’t give them the attention they deserve. Not right now.
Beckett’s hand lands on my leg, gently squeezing in a silent show of support, and I appreciate that he’s so observant and can see my words for exactly what they are.
“Either way, my mom kept a very close eye on me. I know there was a period where I watched all the classic kids shows, but by the time I can remember watching anything, Aiden was already out of the house and Wyatt was out playing with friends more often than not, so I got stuck watching and listening to the things my parents wanted. Which I honestly loved.”
My parents met at a revival movie theater in 1983 and their love of classic movies has carried through their entire relationship.
They still make the drive out to Baltimore for the local drive-in movie theater at least once a month, and they host their own little homemade film festival every summer for the entire family.
Their love of classics is one thing I’ll never be mad they passed on to me. There’s something so comforting about watching and listening to them. Like coming home from a long trip.
“It’s not like I haven’t seen modern movies and TV shows. I just don’t find the same enjoyment in them as I do the classics.”
“I can understand that. There’s something soothing about things that have been around and enjoyed by so many for such a long time. I mean, they’re called classics for a reason.”
I’m sure my interest in older movies and music also comes from my appreciation of history…
or maybe it’s my love of history that makes me love the silver screen.
Either way, there haven’t been many people who’ve understood my love of the classics, and I sometimes wonder if that’s part of the reason I don’t put myself out there.
Why it’s so easy for me to lose contact with people.
It’s like a small part of me heals with Beckett’s easy understanding, and I can’t help but sink a little farther into the couch, truly comfortable with where I am and who I’m with.
“Sooo…” Beckett drags the word out, a teasing smile forming on his lips. “What’s your favorite movie?”
“No way.” I shake my head. There’s no chance in hell I have an answer to that question. “I could never pick a favorite. There are too many amazing choices.”
“Everyone has a favorite.”
“Can you pick your favorite musician?”
“Touché.” He laughs, tipping an imaginary hat in my direction. “All right, what’s a movie you wish more people watched?”
“Charade with Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant,” I answer instantly.
“That was a fast response.”
“It’s an easy question,” I say on a shrug. “It’s definitely in my list of top ten movies and it’s one I don’t hear many people talk about, especially when you’re talking about two leads like Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn.”
Beckett’s gaze moves around the room before landing on the TV, and I can’t say I’m shocked by the question he asks.
“Can we watch it?”
“Right now?”
I see the moment Beckett’s entire body goes taught, concern weaving its way into his features. “Unless you’re tired of me intruding on your night off.”
“No. I just thought you wanted to work on your music.”
“It can wait.” He shrugs, and I see the truth in his words.
Writing is not a priority for him right now. This conversation and watching one of my favorite movies with me is.
“Sure. Let’s watch a movie.”
My gaze shifts to Beckett as he makes another comment and I can’t help but chuckle at how many comments he’s made only twenty minutes into the movie.
“All right, I understand that being hard when the person you’re playing with isn’t really participating, but come on! It’s not that hard,” Beckett says through a laugh as Cary Grant’s character tries to grab the orange between his chin and chest from the woman on the screen.
It doesn’t matter how many times I see this movie; I always laugh at everything going on in this scene. Cary Grant is a great actor, particularly in his later career, but his physical comedy gets me every time—especially in this movie.
“Ah, now I get it,” Beckett murmurs as the scene shifts to Cary Grant trying to pass the orange to Audrey Hepburn.
Everything around them slows as their eyes meet. The music softens and all the focus is on how close the two of them are. Her lips part the slightest amount and she barely leans in before his attention goes back to the game.
It’s such a small moment and yet the chemistry between them is palpable. I have to stop myself from shifting in my seat, my mind immediately drifting to what it would be like to be in that situation with Beckett.
But then the scene is moving yet again, and Audrey’s attraction to Cary Grant morphs to fear as one of the bad guys whispers in her ear.
“How much of an age gap is there?” The words are soft, as if he didn’t mean to ask them out loud, but I can’t help myself from answering.
“Well, in real life he’s about twenty-five years older than her, but they never actually say how old either of them is in the movie.”
Though it’s clear from the comments Cary Grant’s character makes, the age difference isn’t small.
“Hmm,” he hums.
My gaze shifts from the screen to Beckett, but the only light in the room is the glow from the TV. I wish I could see him better, see his face to get an idea of what he’s thinking.
Twenty-five years is much bigger than ten. I mean, that’s old enough to be someone’s father. Ten years has to feel like nothing in comparison.
“What’s he doing?” Beckett asks, pulling my attention back to the screen in time to see Cary Grant step into the hotel room of the three bad guys. “Please, no. He can’t be a bad guy too.”
When I don’t respond, Beckett reaches for the remote and pauses the movie, his eyes locking with mine.
“I’m not gonna spoil it for you. You’ll just have to watch to find out.”
He doesn’t move, as if waiting for me to break and give him the answer to all his questions.
“Beckett.” I laugh. “You can stare at me all you want, but I’m not going to tell you.”
The sigh he releases is so dramatic I can’t help but laugh again.
He falls back into the couch pressing play, but not before he mumbles under his breath, “I swear. If you made me watch a movie where Cary Grant’s the bad guy…
” His words trail off, and I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t know how to finish the thought or if it’s because he’s already so invested in the movie.
“They’ve known each other for a few days and he lied to her. How can she possibly love him?” Beckett asks in disbelief.
“Maybe it’s instinct.”
My eyes stay trained on the screen and I wonder if it’s possible—to feel so strongly for a person you just met.
Movies aren’t meant to be taken literally, but it’s still a question worth pondering.
“What do you mean?” Beckett pauses the movie and without moving from his lounged position, he turns to look at me.
“I don’t know,” I say, mirroring him. “I’ve never experienced it myself—falling in love so quickly—so I have no idea if it’s possible, but people say it is.”
“Hmm. I don’t think love at first sight is real. Attraction? Lust? Absolutely. But love?” His gaze moves back to the TV. “I think love takes knowing a person.”
I follow his gaze and find the screen paused on Audrey’s character kissing Cary’s cheek.
“But do you think it’s possible to know someone on a deeper level than you realize?
Like, maybe it’s not about knowing the facts about someone and it’s more about trusting your gut.
More about how you feel when you’re with that person. ”
Beckett doesn’t say anything, but I feel him watching me and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve said too much. If I’ve given away something I didn’t even realize I was holding onto.
“You know, besides his name, he never actually lied to her,” I whisper as the movie ends. “I think it’s why she picked him in the end.”
“Still seems like a pretty big lie.” Beckett’s gaze doesn’t move from the TV where the screen is paused on the final shot—a split screen showing all the different men Cary Grant played in the movie.
“Hmm…maybe.” I turn to look at him, curious what he’s thinking—not that I can read him like he can read me.
“But how important is a name? It’s not like it changes who a person is deep down.
He always wanted to find the truth and he still fell for Reggie, regardless of which name he went by in the moment. ”
Beckett’s gaze slips from the TV to meet mine, and even though I’ve been able to feel his heat at my side for most of the movie, it’s not till this moment I realize just how close we are.
“Did you like it?” I whisper in the silence when Beckett doesn’t say anything else.
“I did.” His response is as soft as mine, as if we’re both afraid of disturbing the air around us.
“Good.”
In the silence of the room, I feel like I imagine Audrey’s character did when she was trying to get the orange from Cary’s character. But just like the movie, Beckett pulls away before anything can happen.
“Thank you for sharing this with me, Madison.” Beckett stands, turning to look at me, a wrinkle in his brow.
“Of course.”
Following his lead, I stand and grab the blanket we were using but before I can do anything with it, Beckett gently takes it from my hands, folding it and putting it back in the basket I grabbed it from before we started the movie.
“Thanks for keeping me company tonight,” I murmur as I follow him to the front door.
“Thanks for letting me crash your night off.”
“No, this was good. I didn’t realize I needed it.” I smile, hoping he knows just how much I mean that.
Neither of us reach for the door, and I don’t know which one of us is the one to lean in first, but I know, in the end, it doesn’t really matter when his lips touch mine.
His hands frame my face and he has all the control, but I don’t care. The kiss is soft, yet firm. Maybe a little hesitant, but the moment his tongue slips out to run along my bottom lip everything changes.
I don’t remember ever being kissed like this. Like it’s the first one and the last one at the same time. Like it deserves to be savored and etched in stone so neither of us ever forget it. And honestly, I don’t know how I possibly could.
Before I want it to end, the kiss is over. Beckett doesn’t let his hands fall, though, and when I finally open my eyes, it’s to see the beautiful deep blues of the man who just changed my life with a kiss.
“Lock the door behind me,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead before letting me go and slipping out the door.
I don’t know how long I stand there, but I’m still thinking about the kiss when I climb into bed, even after using my showerhead to help release the pent-up tension.