Chapter 25
TUESDAY
THE NEXT EVENING, Chelsey stood outside the old Sticky Shoe Theater AKA Downtown Cinema and stared at the marquee:
She had so much nervous energy all day she almost went into work, but she was sticking to her time off.
So now her house was almost spotless, laundry was done and the garage half organized.
She almost baked a batch of brownies. Almost. She made oatmeal cookies instead, because they were healthier, right?
Now she stood at the entrance of the theater, hugging the light jacket to her and waiting for Taylor.
The buzz of summer mosquitoes, distant laughter from the skate park, and the scent of someone grilling burgers floated on the breeze.
She couldn’t believe she was here, in front of the same theater and watching the same movie with the same boy ten years later.
Taylor came around the corner. Chelsey’s adrenaline spiked at the sight of him dressed down in jeans and a polo and that dimple that should have come with a warning label.
“You came,” he said, a little breathless, like maybe he hadn’t been entirely sure she would.
“You invited me.” The corner of her mouth lifted. “Besides, I wouldn’t miss a chance to see Darcy on the big screen.”
“Even if it means sitting next to the guy who once asked if Mr. Bingley was Wickham’s brother?”
She grinned. “You’re lucky I let that slide.” At the time, she’d gone with him to almost every movie. She shuddered at the thought of the zombie movie she’d tried to watch with her eyes closed the whole time.
They walked toward the ticket window and Taylor bought two tickets. He glanced at Chelsey in surprise. “He said the movie was almost sold out.”
“Of course, it is. Any woman who’s seen this movie more than once is excited at the prospect of seeing a handsome man in a trench coat walking through the morning mist toward his love.”
He stopped as they neared the snack bar. “Seriously?”
“You shouldn’t even ask. Romantic movies are alive and thriving.”
“Especially Regency romance, it would seem.”
She did a slow clap for him. “Very impressive, Compton.”
He chuckled. “Give me a little credit. I know my genres.” He motioned for her to get in line with him. “I’ve even seen my fair share of K-dramas.”
“Look at you, man of the world.” K-dramas? What other surprises did he have up his sleeve?
“Now that we got that out of the way, do you want any popcorn?”
Inside the theater, the place was already packed. The previews started before they slid into a pair of squeaky old seats in the back row. Taylor balanced a precariously full popcorn tub on his knee and handed her a small paper bag.
“Frozen Junior Mints?” she asked, raising her brows.
“Just like old times.” He settled back and offered the popcorn bucket to Chelsey.
She took a handful and ate the popped kernels one by one while studying his profile.
Was it sappy to think of Taylor as her Mr. Darcy?
And did Darcy smell this good after a shower?
She wrinkled her nose. How often did Darcy actually bathe?
The previews ended. The lights dimmed. Chelsey relaxed and let herself fall into the candlelit world of long walks, misunderstandings, and longing glances. And boiled potatoes, of course. Her bag of candy was gone before the first country dance.
About halfway through, Taylor leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Is this the part where you get misty-eyed?”
“Shhh, it’s the hand flex scene.”
He looked down at his own hand, flexed it dramatically, and nearly knocked over the popcorn.
She chuckled, catching the tub before it dumped into his lap. “Romance fail.”
“Maybe,” he said, voice quieter now, “but I’m trying to get it right this time.
” He locked gazes with her in the darkened theater.
All the edges of her soul softened towards him.
She reached out her hand and he took it with a gentle squeeze.
He kept his eyes on her as he slowly dipped his head toward her—slow and a little unsure, giving her a chance to pull away.
She didn’t.
She closed her eyes just as their lips met softly, warm and achingly familiar.
The kiss was gentle and unassuming, a meeting rather than a claim.
Taylor’s lips lingered a fraction longer, as if memorizing her, and Chelsey answered without thinking, her hand curling lightly into his sleeve.
In that small pause between breaths, everything that had felt unsettled inside her grew calm.
Not fireworks. Not urgency.
Home.
When they finally parted, the movie went on as if nothing had happened, but Chelsey stayed still, heart steady.
She gave a little breathless laugh. “You stayed awake this time.”
“I wasn’t about to miss my favorite scene,” he whispered.
The credits rolled as the soft piano theme played, bathing the inside of the theater in flickering gold. People stirred in their seats, gathering up purses and wrappers, and whispered opinions about Mr. Darcy’s smolder as he walked across the field, sun rising behind him.
Chelsey had her head on Taylor’s shoulder. She didn’t dare move and break the spell that the movie, music and Taylor’s closeness created. He shifted slightly and kissed the top of her head. She held a sigh. How much better could this get?
“Did you know I bought the soundtrack to this movie and listened to it on repeat for months? Mom said it was good the music was instrumental, or she would’ve thrown the CD and me out to the street.” She sat up and kissed his cheek.
“What was that for?” He covered the spot with his hand, as if he would never wash it again.
“For bringing me here. For hearing me, especially when I talk about my mom.”
“You take after her, you know. Sweet, kind.” He paused and pretended to think. “Sometimes sassy.”
Chelsey smacked his shoulder. “Just when you were saying all the right things.”
“I almost always say the right things.” He finally stood, stretching his long arms overhead with a soft groan. “I think those seats have shrunk since high school.”
She rose beside him. “Or you grew. At least emotionally.” She held her thumb and index close.
“Oh, I’m definitely taller from all the on-screen character development.”
“Keep practicing, Compton. You’ll have it down one day.”
They filed out into the warm evening, the doors swinging open to a flood of cicadas and porch light glow. Main Street was mostly quiet now—except for a few teens skateboarding and a couple walking arm-in-arm on the sidewalk.
Taylor took Chelsey’s jacket and held it up for her to slip on.
“Thanks for tonight,” she said. “That movie hits differently every time.”
“I know,” Taylor glanced at her sideways. “And I thought maybe…we could keep the memory tour going.”
She turned to him, butterflies stirring in her stomach. “Oh, yeah?”
He stopped under the string lights draped between lamp posts, turning to face her fully. She touched his dimple. She always loved poking it because it made Taylor smile even more, like he was doing now. “Go roller skating with me tomorrow?”
Chelsey dropped her hand and blinked. “What?”
“Like we used to,” he added. “Back when I still thought I could impress you by skating backwards.”
“You crashed into the snack bar.”
“But I nailed the couple’s skate,” he said, pointing at her like that detail was crucial.
“You kissed me for the first time during that couple’s skate,” she said, her voice dropping into something softer. The memory rushed back to her in waves—the disco ball, the electronic 80s slow jam, the scent of nacho cheese in the air. Why were nachos always a memory-inducing food?
“That’s the moment I’ve been chasing ever since,” Taylor said, barely above a whisper.
She covered the heat crawling up her neck. How many times had he induced that blush in her? Sometimes he made her blush so hard it crawled clear up to her ears. “Only if there’s a Coke Freeze involved.”
“Deal.” He held out his elbow and started to walk towards her car parked across the street. “I’ll pick you up at eleven o’clock. In the morning.”
She pulled him to a stop. “I thought skating only happened on Saturdays.”
Taylor shrugged nonchalantly and tugged her back across the street. “I know a gal.”
She put her free hand on her hip. “How much did you bribe Mrs. James?”
“It’s a surprise.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sleeping Beauty. Make sure and wear your knee and elbow pads.”
“You’d better wear a good helmet.” She knocked on his head.
She unlocked her car, and he opened the door for her. She slipped inside and started it.
“See you tomorrow,” he said before shutting the door.
She bit the inside of her cheek as he backed away. She eyed him in her rearview mirror, standing in the glow of a streetlight, until she turned the corner, and he disappeared from her sight. She’d almost said “I love you” to him. She was in so much trouble.
SHE SAT ON the porch steps, the same steps her mother used to sweep clean every morning, humming under her breath.
A chipped clay pot of daisies sat beside her, their white petals gone soft with the heat.
They’d been her mother’s favorite for a reason—cheerful, uncomplicated, always reaching toward the light.
Across the valley, porch lights flickered on, one after another, like small, steady hearts.
Juniper Valley was winding down for the night.
The same rhythm it always kept. Reliable.
Predictable. Her chest ached with the wanting it all plus the adventure, the love, the home she might lose if she went.
A soft breeze lifted the petals of the daisies, brushing them against her wrist. It smelled like earth and clean air and something colder, wilder—like change.
She used to think home was an address, but maybe it was a heartbeat.