Chapter 8 #2
The screen glowed gold and blue, the ballroom scene unfolding in sweeping animation. Belle’s gown shimmered. The Beast held her carefully, as if she might vanish if he wasn’t gentle.
Evie folded her arms tighter across her middle, hating the fact that she was jealous of an animated character.
She hadn’t completely lied about the headache entirely. It had just migrated from her temples to somewhere behind her ribs.
Sneaking around with Slater had been fun at first. Electric. Private smiles across rooms. Fingers brushing in passing. But now that the secret was kind of out? It made her feel awkward and uncomfortable and exposed, like something fragile had been dragged into the fluorescent light.
She wasn’t built for that.
And she wasn’t built for falling for a man who would never be anything more than a memory.
On the screen, Belle rested her cheek against the Beast’s chest, and Evie swallowed hard.
I want that.
A shadow passed over her row, and she tried not to be annoyed that someone would come in this far into the movie.
But her huff of irritation was out when they sat down right next to her.
There was half a theater of seats to choose from, so why sit here?
She turned to give the person the stink eye but gasped instead.
Slater slid into the seat beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world. He set a bucket of popcorn between them and tucked a drink into the cupholder.
He didn’t look at her right away as he leaned back and took a piece of popcorn. “The animation in this is amazing,” he murmured, eyes still on the screen. “I mean, look at the details.”
Her pulse betrayed her with a sharp thud. On screen, the music swelled. Evie stared straight ahead. “What are you doing here?”
He turned then, just enough that she felt it. “I wanted to see the movie. With you.” His tone was sweet and tender, but she didn’t give herself time to appreciate it.
“You know you just gave everyone more to talk about,” she whispered.
“They’re going to talk no matter what, Evie. I’m choosing to ignore it.”
“What about dinner? You didn’t just walk out, did you?”
“I ate, but it felt wrong being there without you. Everyone was asking about you.”
She groaned quietly. “Seriously?” Her voice stayed low, but the strain threaded through it. “I hate feeling like… like we’re entertainment.”
His jaw flexed. She saw it in the flicker of light. “I should’ve shut it down harder. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not about that.” She finally looked at him. “It’s about the fact that this was never supposed to be something people noticed.”
The ballroom dance filled the screen—twirling, golden, and beautiful.
Swallowing hard, she forced herself to speak the sad truth. “We were never… destined for anything deeper, Slater. You know that.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into the popcorn bucket, grabbed a handful, and set it in her palm like an offering.
“I don’t care what they’re saying,” he said quietly. “I’d still rather be here.”
“With me?” she asked, hating how much she needed to hear it.
He didn’t even hesitate. “With you.”
She searched his face, half expecting to find deflection or humor or an escape route. Instead, he looked steady. Uncharacteristically so.
“There’s nothing I can do about people talking,” he continued. “They will. They always do.” A beat. “But I’m not ready for this to end.”
The simplicity of it nearly undid her. It wasn’t a grand declaration, and it certainly wasn’t a promise of forever.
Just not ready for it to end.
On screen, Belle’s hand rested over the Beast’s heart, and Evie’s fingers tightened around the popcorn he’d given her.
“You don’t get to say that unless you mean it,” she whispered.
“But I do mean it.”
The theater glowed around them—soft, dark, and private despite the crowd. He didn’t reach for her or push; he just let his pinky brush against hers on the armrest.
It was such a small thing, but it was intentional, and her chest ached in a way that felt dangerously close to hope.
On screen, the music soared.
And for the first time that night, Evie let herself lean back in her seat—feeling lighter because she wasn’t alone anymore.
On screen, the ballroom shimmered, and Evie tried to focus on it; she really did. But Slater was warm beside her. It felt unfair that he could just walk in and tilt her entire emotional equilibrium with a bucket of popcorn.
She reached into it again, more for something to do with her hands than because she was hungry. Still, she popped a few pieces into her mouth.
He leaned slightly closer. “Careful,” he murmured.
She glanced at him. “What?”
“You missed one.”
Her brow furrowed, and then she felt it—a tiny piece at the corner of her mouth. Before she could react, his thumb lifted, slow and deliberate, and brushed the grain away.
The touch was light, too light, and it lingered half a second longer than necessary, feeling far more intimate than it should have.
Her breath stalled. The theater disappeared—the families, the flickering light, the animated artistry—all of it dimmed to the heat where his thumb rested near her lip.
“Got it,” he said quietly. But he didn’t move right away.
Her pulse beat low and heavy in her throat. “You’re trouble,” she whispered.
A corner of his mouth curved. “I know. But I brought snacks.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” His hand finally dropped—but not far. It rested along the armrest again, close enough that the back of his knuckles grazed her thigh when he shifted.
Accidental.
Probably.
She swallowed.
On screen, the Beast told Belle that she could go because her father was sick. It was such an emotional scene, and as much as she tried to force herself to focus on the movie, she was hyperaware of him now. Of the inches between them. Of the fact that if she tilted her head just slightly…
“Evie,” he said softly. The way he said her name felt like a question. Or maybe a warning.
She looked at him.
His expression changed—less teasing now. Something that matched what he’d said before.
I’m not ready for this to end.
“This doesn’t change anything,” she admitted, barely audible. “But I don’t know what the right thing to do is.”
“Neither do I.” His voice was low and clear. “But I refuse to let anyone dictate what we can or can’t do.”
“I wish I had your confidence. I don’t know how to make myself be okay with all the rest.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth—just briefly. Just enough to make her breath hitch.
“Then we'll figure it out together,” he said. “But I’m not walking away because it’s inconvenient or because of stupid stuff our friends are speculating about.”
Her heart did something reckless in her chest.
He shifted closer—not enough to draw attention, just enough that their shoulders touched fully now. The contact sent a quiet spark down her spine. His fingers turned on the armrest, palm up.
An offering. No pressure. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she slid her hand into his.
His grip tightened. In the dim glow of the theater, he leaned in just slightly—his mouth close enough that his breath brushed her ear.
“You’re not the only one who feels exposed,” he murmured.
“But I’d rather feel that than nothing.”
Her throat tightened. “How do you always know the perfect thing to say?” she whispered back.
He huffed a quiet laugh against her skin. “I don’t. I’m flawed, Evie. But with you, I feel a little less flawed.”
She turned her face toward his, and their foreheads almost touched. The kiss hovered there and she wanted to feel his lips on hers more than anything.
But then, somewhere behind them, a child loudly asked, “Is he going to turn human now?”
Evie startled, breath breaking into a soft laugh. The moment was gone, but not entirely.
Slater smiled against her temple. “Timing’s off,” he murmured.
“For now,” she replied. But she didn’t let go of his hand.
The movie carried on, but Evie couldn’t have told anyone what was happening anymore. All she could feel was Slater’s thumb slowly tracing the inside of her wrist. She wasn’t sure if it was intentional or absentminded, but it was wreaking havoc on her senses.
“Stop that,” she breathed, barely moving her lips.
“Stop what?”
“You know what.”
His mouth brushed close to her ear again. “You’re the one holding my hand.”
Her pulse jumped. “You started it.” A quiet hum of amusement vibrated in his chest. She felt it where their shoulders pressed together.
On screen, the Beast lay wounded. Evie’s throat tightened—although she wasn’t sure whether it was the movie or the way Slater’s fingers had tightened around hers when Belle whispered that she loved him.
He leaned closer. “Do you really believe what you said?” he asked softly.
For a moment, she wasn’t sure what he was referring to. “Which…?”
“How we were never destined for anything deeper?”
Oh. Her stomach twisted. “I believe,” she whispered back, “we were kidding ourselves when we thought that this was supposed to be easy.”
“And it’s not?”
“No.”
A beat of silence stretched between them. His lips brushed her hair—not quite a kiss. Just a graze.
“Maybe I don’t want easy,” he murmured.
Her breath caught. “You say that now, but in a few weeks…”
“I’ve said it to myself for years.” His voice had lost its teasing edge entirely.
It was rougher now. Honest. “I told myself I don’t want more because I know who I am and who I take after.
I’ve lived my life refusing to be like my old man, and so I just told myself I was okay with keeping everything light and casual. ”
Her heart pounded so loudly that she was sure someone would hear it. “And now…?” She turned toward him fully this time.
The light flickered over his face—gold, shadow, and then gold again.
“Now I’m not so sure,” he said quietly. “I’m being selfish; I know that. It’s part of my flaws, Evie. But I can’t stop wanting you. Tell me you want this to end and I’ll walk out of here.”
Her throat closed. He was so close now that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her mouth.
“I don’t want it to end,” she admitted.