He keeps his hand on my wrist, rubbing circles along my skin. I settle in the peaceful silence, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as we leave the main highway and turn onto a narrow, overgrown lane. The sun sinks behind the distant hills, painting the sky in streaks of amber and violet. About half a mile down, Walker makes a right turn by a familiar looking, faded ice cream cone sign.
“Are we going to the drive-in?” I exclaim, clutching his arm with my free hand.
There’s only one within a hundred miles of Bluebell, and it’s been ages since I last came here.
“We are. That okay with you?” he asks, a hint of hesitation in his voice.
“Are you kidding? This was one of my favorite spots growing up.”
“A rancher friend of mine owns the place. They normally only show movies Friday through Sunday, but he agreed to open on a weekday when I told him I wanted to take my girl on a proper date.”
Did Walker just call me his girl?
“This is the best first fake date ever,” I exclaim.
A frown flickers across his face but is quickly replaced with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m glad I’ve set the bar high so no other man will ever measure up.”
Gosh, when he talks like that, I almost believe this is real, and that he’s not just putting on a show.
Just then, we pull into the drive-in, joining a short line of cars. When we reach the front, Walker eases up to the ticket booth and rolls down his window, handing the attendant some cash in exchange for a ticket stub. At the far end of the lot is a massive screen flanked by rusted speakers. Rows of cracked asphalt fan out from the screen, each space marked with faded white paint and dotted with small tufts of grass sprouting through the gaps. A handful of antique light poles dot the perimeter, their amber bulbs flickering intermittently. The place might be run-down, but it has a charm that feels timeless—like stepping into a memory frozen in time.
Walker backs into a spot near the back that’s angled toward the screen.
I crane my neck to look behind us. “Uh, how are we supposed to watch the movie if we’re facing the wrong way?”
“Let me show you,” he says before hopping out of the truck.
I open my door and swing my legs over the seat, about to climb down when Walker suddenly appears at my side.
“Lesson forty-eight: Always wait for me to open your door,” he scolds with his arms folded.
“Really? Even though I can manage perfectly fine on my own?” I counter, brow raised.
“Yes. Now get back in the truck.”
I tilt my head, lips quirking in amusement. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, woman. We’re doing this the right way,” he states, leaving no room for debate.
I decide to play along, curious to see what he does next. Once I’m back inside, I settle into the seat, staring ahead and fighting the grin tugging at my lips. Aside from Earl, no one has ever made a fuss over opening my door—not that opportunities like this have come up often. It gives me hope that chivalry isn’t entirely dead, at least not if I find a man who notices the little things, like Walker does.
When he finally opens my door, I’m expecting him to offer me his hand, but instead, he leans in and brushes his nose against my earlobe. “Good girl.”
My breath hitches, and I nearly melt into the seat as goose bumps race down my spine. I’d let him open every door for me a hundred times over if it meant hearing it again.
“Thank you,” I manage, doing my best to hide how two simple syllables have me nearly ready to combust. “So… you going to show me how to do this drive-in movie thing the right way, or what?” I ask, grasping for a distraction.
Walker hesitates, grazing his cheek against mine and sending my stomach into a whirlwind of flips. I’m seconds from begging him to keep going, to see where this leads when he finally pulls away, snapping me out of it.
He helps me down and leads me around back, removing the tarp covering the truck bed before popping open the tailgate to reveal a queen-size mattress layered with fluffy blankets, amishmash of pillows, and several soft throws. A small speaker sits in one corner, ready to play the movie audio.
“Uh, Walker, are you absolutely sure we’rejustwatching a movie tonight?” I ask, motioning toward the cozy fortress.
“Positive.” He chuckles, propping his arm on the tailgate. “Never had the full drive-in experience, I take it?”
“I don’t think so?” I say, sounding unsure even to my own ears.
Normally, the girls and I cram into Briar’s Jeep with blankets and snacks. I’ve never experienced a setup like this—it looks like the movie-night version of luxury.
