Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Evie smile. The sight made something twist in his chest. He shifted on the couch, suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were sitting. How the blanket felt too warm across his legs, but he was damn well keeping it there because right now it was hiding his unexpected hard-on.
As the opening scenes played out, Shepherd found himself relaxing despite himself. The familiar dialogue and action washed over him. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed this movie.
"You want a beer?" Evie asked during a lull in the action.
Shepherd hesitated. He shouldn't. He needed to leave soon… and do what? Go home to his empty apartment above the coffee shop.
"Sure," he heard himself say, like his mouth had a mind of its own.
Evie returned with two bottles, condensation beading on the glass. Their fingers brushed as she handed one to him. Shepherd jerked back, nearly spilling his drink.
"Sorry," Evie apologized. "Butterfingers.”
Shepherd grunted, taking a long pull from the bottle to cover his discomfort. They both knew it had been him, even though Evie was graceful enough to cover for him.
The cold beer slid down his throat, a welcome distraction from the warmth of Evie's presence beside him. He focused intently on the screen, watching John McClane navigate the Nakatomi Plaza party.
As the evening progressed, Shepherd found he genuinely enjoyed himself. This was no longer a half-hearted, half-obligated, and a lot awkward attempt at… whatever. Evie's quiet laughter and occasional commentary were... nice. Different from watching alone in his spartan apartment. Different from the minefield his ex-wife had made of everything. He caught himself smiling at her enthusiasm during the action scenes.
When Hans Gruber made his dramatic entrance, Evie leaned forward, eyes bright. "God, Alan Rickman was amazing in this," she said. "Such a great villain."
Shepherd nodded in agreement before he could stop himself. Damn it. He wasn't here to make friends or swap movie opinions. This was a one-time thing, born of pity and his own misplaced sense of duty. He had no business getting comfortable.
And yet as the night wound down and the credits finally rolled, Shepherd realized, despite his earlier misgivings about being here, he was actually reluctant to end their time together.
Evie was nothing like Liz. She hadn’t tried to pick a fight. She hadn’t belittled his opinions, not on a single damn thing they’d talked about during the evening. Not even when she hadn’t fully agreed. She hadn’t made him feel like he needed to walk on eggshells and second-guess every word out of his mouth.
There’s still time. She’s just drawing you into her web.
And that really wasn’t fair. Evie wasn’t Elizabeth. She hadn’t manipulated him to get him here; he’d shown up of his own accord. He needed to stop letting his ex-wife's ghost haunt every woman who smiled at him.
Just the thought gave Shepherd the sudden urge to bolt. The credits rolling on the screen signaled an end to this strange interlude, breaking the spell that had wound around them. He set down his empty beer bottle and stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the end table.
What a klutz!
Jeez, she was probably rolling her eyes behind his back.
"I should go," he muttered, avoiding Evie's gaze, his skin prickling with an unfamiliar warmth that had nothing to do with either the beer, the blanket, or the crackling open fire.
"Oh," Evie said, her voice small. "Right, of course. It's late."
Shepherd's chest tightened at the disappointment in her tone. He gritted his teeth, tamping down the ridiculous urge to sit back down, to stay longer in this cozy bubble they'd created.
He strode to the door, Evie trailing behind him. As he reached for the knob, her hand brushed his arm.
"Shepherd," she said softly. "Thank you. For the food, and... everything."
He turned, meeting her soft sable eyes before he could stop himself. The gratitude there made his throat constrict. Without thinking, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
For a half-second, he didn't even register what he was doing. It was as if some part of him, long dormant and unreachable, had seized the controls and bypassed all higher thought. There was no elaborate internal debate, no weighing of potential fallout or emotional hazard—just the sudden, silent certainty that if he didn't kiss her, right then and there, he'd regret it for the rest of his life.
He expected resistance. Hell, he almost wanted her to laugh or recoil, confirming that his instincts were as unreliable as ever and that he'd just committed a galaxy-class blunder. Instead, he was met by a single, stuttering inhalation from Evie, a soft gasp of surprise that feathered against his chin and made him realize she hadn't seen it coming, either.
Shepherd braced himself, already mentally drafting an apology. But Evie didn't flinch or pull away; her lips parted, barely, and the scent of sweet honey and beer mingled in the air between them. For the briefest of moments, she hovered at that impossible precipice—an infinite pause filled with the possibility of rejection, or of liberation, or of something that was neither but entirely new.
And then she kissed him back.
It wasn't tentative, not really. It was careful at first, as if neither of them could believe the other wasn't about to vanish or change their mind. But then Evie settled into it, her hand finding his shoulder for balance, her thumb brushing the line of his jaw with a touch so light he almost thought he'd imagined it. Shepherd's fingers, clumsy and unsure, found the small of her back and pulled her closer, drawn by a gravity he'd spent his whole life denying.
