He arches a brow. “Field of Dreams?”
“Dances With Wolves.”
“Standing Fist?”
My head snaps in his direction, and I ignore the mail I was pretending to sort through on my counter. “You’ve seen it?”
“Of course,” he finishes as if it were a silly question.
“It was one of my favorite movies growing up. I used to watch it all the time with Gramma. I know it’s probably problematic now, but there was this Disney version of Pocahontas element to it I just loved. Two people from different worlds that spoke different languages, and still managed to find one that both their hearts could communicate with.” I shrug, diverting my eyes back to the mail to hide my flushed cheeks.
He stands from the floor after tossing the stuffed penguin again with a wild grin on his face. “You’re something.”
I shrug. “Not like other girls?” My tone is sarcastic. I hate this expression.
JP shakes his head slowly, soaking in every surge of energy in the room until I’m finding it hard to breathe. “Not like anyone.”
That’s it. I stop breathing. I am very aware of every breath I’m holding inside my two lungs. When I finally remember how to exhale, I say, “Want to watch it, or do you need to get back to...?”
Where? I have no idea where he has to get back to and yet, I’d love for him to snuggle me on my couch and watch a movie from 1990.
“Tomorrow is Memorial Day. I can get wild and watch a movie from the nineties with you,” he says with his perfect smile.
I run my tongue along my teeth and nod. “Great. Mind if I change?”
He shakes his head and directs his attention back to Kevin. My dog likes him—always a good sign. I roll my suitcase into my bedroom and unzip it, pulling out my laundry bag and tossing it in the hamper, then move to my closet and pull out a pair of gray sweats and a white hoodie. I change into pajamas and fresh panties, wash my face and brush my teeth. After swishingwith mouthwash, I look at my seven-step skincare routine, remembering I always do a face mask on Sunday evenings.
“Hey, JP!” I call down the short hallway.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, making an appearance at the cased opening.
“Want to do a face mask?”
He chuckles softly and immediately says, “Hell yeah, make me pretty.”
I invite him through my bedroom and into the bathroom, offering him a washcloth and cleanser, then apply the charcoal mask around his face and add the collagen eye patches. I do the same. We laugh and bite our lips and blush underneath the charcoal. He tells me it feels amazing and I tell him he should do this more often and that no, it never stops feeling good.
“I’m going to be so pretty,” he says, pulling out his phone and adding, “Say cheese!” He snaps the mirror selfie, both our faces covered in our day spa disguises. “Do we need cucumbers?”
“For a snack?”
He lowers his gaze.
“Oh! I get what you mean.” I laugh. “We have a movie to watch, JP.”
“Right, right.”
For a moment, we freeze. Eyes searching. Hearts pounding. How is this what we’re doing after knowing each other for such a limited time? There’s a part of me that wants to jump his bones for the hell of it, but if I’m honest, there’s a part of me that just wants to be his friend for the rest of my life.
And at this moment, I wonder, is this what falling in love feels like?
I swallow hard, guide him out of my bathroom, and down the hall to my open-concept kitchen and living room.
“Wine?” I ask.
“Sounds great.”
“Popcorn?”
