Toward a very good date and a very bad idea.
Toward one more item I can check off my list.
36
ELIANA
gin joint: /'jin ?joint/: noun
1: Prohibition-era slang for a speakeasy; made famous by Rick’s Café Américain inCasablanca.
2: the kind of den of sin you wander into, inhabited by a man who gives world-class head and steals your underwear as a naughty souvenir; Humphrey Bogart never had game like this.
The credits roll, white text scrolling against black. I realize I’ve been holding my breath for the last ten minutes.
“‘I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,’” I whisper along with the final line before Rick vanishes into the fog with Captain Renault.
Bastian exhales beside me, and I become suddenly, acutely aware that we’re the only two people in this entire gorgeous theater. The house lights come up slowly, though not too bright.
I turn to look at him. “Thank you,” I manage, though the words feel woefully inadequate. “That was… I mean, wow. I don’t even know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“But you—” I wave a hand around at everything. What didn’t he do?
Organist who played vintage music before the show began: check.
Fresh popcorn that appeared in unlimited quantities: check.
The candy counter he told me to raid like a Viking: check.
The fact that he somehow secured an original 1942 print ofCasablancafor a private screening: another unfathomable check.
“This is just… It’s crazy. All of this. You didn’t have to?—”
“I know I didn’t have to,” he interrupts gently. “I wanted to.”
I shouldn’t ruin this moment with stupid questions, but I can’t help myself. “Why?”
Bastian is silent for a long moment. Finally, he says, “Because you deserve to see it the way it was meant to be seen. Not on some laptop screen or your phone. The real thing. The way people saw it eighty years ago.”
“Bastian—”
“And because… ” He pauses, then reaches over and takes my hand. “Because in eighty-one days, you won’t be able to see it at all. So if I can give you this now, while you still can, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
The tears that have been threatening all night finally spill over. I swipe at them with my free hand, laughing wetly. “You’re going to ruin my mascara.”
“I’m going to ruin a lot more than just your makeup if you keep looking at me like that.”
I laugh again, harder this time, and before I can overthink it, I lean over and kiss him. It’s soft and quick, just a press of lips, but when I pull back, his eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them.
That’s how I know: This is it.
The Shift.
Sweet Bastian, the one who rented out an entire theater and made my bucket list item come true, is rapidly being overtaken by something else entirely.
And this something ishungrier.
