Chapter Thirty-Four #2
‘Gah.’ The guy looks stricken as his gaze drops to the Ice Blast puddle and the scattered popcorn on the ground. ‘Sorry. I’m… I can’t believe I… Are you…?’ He pushes his hands into his hair, his mouth comically turned down and his eyes wide like dinner plates.
‘It’s fine. Really.’ I’m used to it by now. I turn to Noah, who looks as aghast as the Ice Blast dropper, and I balance the bag of Maltesers on top of the popcorn he’s carrying. ‘I’m going to get cleaned up. Back in a minute.’
I slip out of the screen and dial Jonah’s number on my way to the ladies’ toilets. Because although I’m calm and collected on the outside, inside I am freaking out.
‘It happened again.’ I don’t even wait for Jonah to greet me when he answers; I simply start to blabber.
‘I had another meet-cute. At the cinema. This guy was in our seat and when he was moving, he threw his snacks over me. By accident. It wasn’t a tantrum.
It was a meet-cute, Jonah. A meet-cute. Why are they still happening when I’m on a date with Noah?
’ I pause then, partly because I want Jonah’s input but mostly because I’ve run out of breath.
‘Um, Christina?’
I pause on the threshold of the toilets, because that isn’t Jonah’s voice. It’s a female voice, and it’s not Thea or his mother.
‘Paris?’ My stomach plummets, because I’ve spilled too much and she’s going to think I’m mad.
Annoyance creeps up my spine, making me stand ramrod straight.
Why is Paris answering Jonah’s phone and listening in on my private conversation with him?
How dare she trick the meet-cute information from me!
‘Sorry. Jonah’s in the shower and I didn’t want to ignore your call.’
Jonah’s in the shower? At our place or hers? I shake my head. Their location doesn’t matter. What matters is that the meet-cute wish isn’t over. It’s ongoing and my jeans and shoes are damp because of it.
‘Do you want me to get Jonah to call you back?’
I move aside to let a woman out. ‘No, it’s fine. I’m fine. The film will be starting in a few minutes.’ I don’t need Jonah to guide me through this. I am a big girl and I can figure it out myself.
I clean myself up as best as I can before joining Noah in our rightful seats, moments before the film starts.
I try to concentrate on the gruesome killings on-screen, but my head is full of wishes and meet-cutes and happily ever afters.
I am so fed up with dating incompatible men, but Noah doesn’t seem like one of them.
I like him. I’m attracted to him. I want to get to know him better, so why is the universe still pushing other men on me?
Maybe it’s because we haven’t kissed yet? Maybe the universe needs proof, a guarantee that we’re a perfect match before it can put an end to the meet-cute business. I can do that! I can kiss Noah. I’d quite like to kiss him. I think he’d be good at it.
‘Singing in the car or singing in the shower?’
The film (terrible, by the way, one of the worst things I’ve ever paid to watch) has finished and Noah and I are making our way back across the lobby. Noah has resurrected the This-or-That game, probably to take our minds off what we’ve just endured.
‘Singing in the shower, but only if I’m the back-up singer.’
‘The back-up singer?’ Noah eyes me sceptically. ‘You don’t want to be the star?’
‘I could be the star, but I am an awesome back-up singer. Plus, it’s much more fun. Less pressure, and you get the cool choreography.’ I click my fingers to the left and the right and back again to demonstrate.
Noah holds his hands up. ‘Fair enough. I, on the other hand, could never take a backseat. I’m the star of my carpool karaoke.’
‘My turn.’ We step out of the cinema and I pull my coat tighter around my body to ward off the cold. ‘Swimming pool or beach?’
Noah rubs his hands together and shivers. ‘Neither right now, it’s freezing. But, in the spirit of the game, I’d choose the beach.’
‘Me too.’
Noah grins at me. ‘Do you like building sandcastles too?’
‘You like…’ I shake my head and giggle at his playful charm. ‘Of course you like building sandcastles.’
Noah puffs up his chest. ‘I’m good at it too.’
I go to shove him playfully on the chest, but Noah catches my hand, threading his fingers through mine and letting our hands dangle between us.
We didn’t hold each other’s hands during the film (there really was no need.
There was no tension. No fear. Nothing but a sense of longing that the film would end soon) but it’s quite nice to do this now.
‘I’ve had a really great time tonight.’ Noah stops and faces me, our hands still interlocked. ‘Despite the awful film.’
‘Me too, despite the Ice Blast attack.’ I look down at my jeans, where there’s a purple stain around the ankle area.
‘It’s been memorable for all the wrong reasons.’ Noah leans his forehead against mine. ‘Perhaps we should make it memorable for the right reason?’
Noah kisses me, his hand sliding against the side of my jaw and round to the back of my neck as he gently pulls me closer.
The kiss is… okay. Nice. But I was expecting something spectacular.
Something to signal the end of the meet-cute wish.
Fireworks. Butterflies at the very least. But it’s just a kiss.
Nice but not magical, and when someone accidentally chucks their brunch over me at work the following day, I know the spell isn’t broken.