If This Was a Movie (Evergreen Park #2)

Chapter 3 – Jules

THREE

NEW YEAR’S EVE, LAST YEAR

JULES

If this was a movie, I’d be cozy on a couch with a glowing Christmas tree in my peripheral vision, a roaring fire warming me as I lay in the arms of the man of my dreams. Or maybe we’d be all dressed up at some chaotic, fancy party, getting drunk and preparing to ring in the new year in style.

But this isn’t a movie, so instead I’m spending my New Year’s Eve alone. .

My life is anything but cinematic.

My two best friends are off living their best lives, Ava and her beau Jaime are hosting some crazy party on behalf of the Miss Americana pageant in California, while Harper is at some fancy work party with Jeremy. Both have someone to kiss at midnight, someone to start the new year in love with.

And I’m here.

Lonely and miserable but too proud to tell anyone, eating at a bar before I go home and take a melatonin so I can go to bed early. It’s one thing to be alone on New Year’s Eve, but it’s a whole other to stay up until midnight and start another year alone.

“Hey, Donovan,” the bartender says, lifting a hand toward the front of the bar as a cold gust of wind enters, dancing along my skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Hey, Tyler, how’s it going?” a deep voice asks, getting closer with each word.

“Eh, you know, I’m working New Year’s Eve, so it could be better.”

The man laughs from behind me, getting closer before a tanned hand and gray sweater are stretched next to me, giving the bartender a manly handshake. I can't lie and say I didn’t check the hand out, noticing a few small scars and calluses on his hands, implying he works with them and no ring on a certain important finger.

The bar is nearly empty, maybe half a dozen patrons in all taking up various seats, so I jump a bit when the stool next to mine is pulled, the legs scraping on the floor.

A tall man settles next to me, ordering a beer and bullshits a bit with the bartender, taking a look at the menu that is passed to him before turning to me.

“You come here often?” he asks. It’s so bad, an overused and cliché line, but it makes me laugh out loud without thinking twice. “That bad, huh?”

“It wasn’t great,” I say as I take him in.

He’s cute.

Really cute, with light brown, almost blond hair that screams he spent a lot of time in the sun before winter kicked in, pushed back with his fingers rather than some kind of product, a fitted dark gray sweater on, paired with a pair of worn jeans.

“Not really great at this whole thing,” he admits, a light pink flush on his cheeks that I tell myself must be from the cold outside.

“This whole thing?”

“Talking to a pretty girl.” He smiles, and that’s good too.

“I think step one is telling her your name,” I say, giving into the fun of flirting. My best friend, Ava, is the queen of flirting. She’ll flirt with anyone if she’s bored enough, and while I’m not on her level, I can’t help but want to flirt with this stranger. This is how all of the best romance movies start after all: a lonely woman meets a man at a bar, and they begin their journey to forever.

My mother tells me at every chance she gets I’m too much of a hopeless romantic, that I need some realism before I get really and truly hurt. I know she’s just projecting because when I was five, my dad left us to start a new family with someone half his age and never looked back. That was her reality check, and she tells me every chance she gets. Him starting over was the moment she realized she needs a man for stability, security, and status more than anything.

But I want nothing but true, all-consuming, movie-worthy love.

I know down to my bones, one day, it will find me.

“Nate,” he says, putting a hand out for me to shake.

“Jules,” I smile, taking his hand. It’s rough and calloused, much bigger than my own, and after we shake, he holds in for a moment longer than necessary. “Are you from Evergreen Park?”

He nods. “Yeah, I was born and raised here, never left. I know nothing but this town.”

“That must have been nice. I grew up a few towns over in Spring Hill, utter chaos at all times. Moving here was a nice change of pace.”

“It’s a great place to be,” he agrees before we fall into a comfortable silence.

The bartender brings Nate over his beer and takes his dinner order. The entire time, I try to figure out how to comfortably and casually keep talking to this man. My belly is in knots, a slew of butterflies beating around my stomach, and it could be that I’m just single on one of the most romantic nights of the year, but I feel…something. Something I can’t explain, a voice in my head that is screaming, talk to him, get to know him .

His fingers move over and over on something, and I look closer, eyeing it to notice a small matchbook. “Do you smoke?” I ask, because that’s a deal-breaker for me, something I won’t fuck with.

“What? No,” he asks with a confused chuckle.

I tip my chin toward his hand where he’s flipping a matchbook over and over in his hands, opening and closing it, fidgeting away.

“No, I’m just inexplicably nervous, and it’s keeping my hands busy,” he admits, a shy smile on his lips as he drops the matchbook.

I reach over and grab it, playing with it myself now. “Nervous?”

“Again, pretty girl, not something I do often…it might be a line, but I’m telling the truth. I feel very much out of my wheelhouse.“

Something is refreshing about that, a man being nervous and embarrassed but not trying to play it off like some macho idiot. Because of it, I give him a wide smile, slipping the matches into my pocket.

“If it helps, I don’t do this either. Sit next to a handsome man flirting with me, trying to flirt back.”

His smile turns to a grin, taking over his entire face.

“It does. Okay, tell me about yourself,” Nate says.

Relief that I won’t have to find a way to break the ice myself floods me right before the panic of having to talk about myself kicks in.

“Tell you about myself?” I ask with a stutter. He nods. “Well, uh, what do you want to know?”

“Whatever you want to share,” he says, but he must see the anxiety on my face because he chuckles before adding, “Okay, how about what do you do for fun?” he asks, and I contemplate how to answer.

I used to dance for fun, and I guess I still do, but it’s a job now, as all good hobbies become. I used to do crafts, but I don’t have the time or mental capacity anymore, so that feels disingenuous. Despite how often Ava recommends books, I never find the will, time, or energy to pick up one.

“I watch movies.” The answer clearly takes him aback because he lets out a laugh, something deep and comforting that slides through me and settles in my bones like that’s where he’s meant to be, meant to stay. I smile back at him and shrug before he speaks.

“You watch movies? What kind, like the classics?”

“I mean, they’re classics to me. I love romantic comedies.”

“All right, so you watch romantic comedies for fun and you’re sitting in a bar alone on New Year’s Eve—am I safe to assume you’re single?”

“Woooow,” I say with a laugh. “God, that one hurt.”

“Fuck, shit. I didn’t mean it that way, I just?—”

My laugh builds, and I touch his arm. The sleeve of his sweater is pushed up so my fingertips graze his arm, bare skin sending a bolt of recognition through me as I do.

“I’m just messing with you. Yeah, I’m single. Kind of obvious, unfortunately.” I pause, trying to decide if I’m brave enough to ask, then do it anyway. “You?”

“Same,” he says with a smile that goes wider. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“That’s how this game works, isn’t it? You ask a question, I ask another. Get to know each other.” I smile and nod in agreement, trying not to squeal as I remember Ava telling me she and Jaime did this when they were stuck in long car rides together before they were together. “So it’s your turn,” he says with a tip of his head and moving to take a sip of his beer.

I try and think of what to ask, what I need to know, before landing on the easiest one.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I own a contracting business. I renovate homes and businesses, do new builds, the whole nine.” So he does work with his hands.

“That’s interesting. Did you go to school for that?”

He shakes his head. “No, wasn’t for me. I did a bunch of apprenticeships out of high school, and my dad’s a carpenter. Learned about a lot, then started my own business.”

“That’s admirable,” I say.

“And that was two questions,” he says, and I blush.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—” His hand reaches out, grabbing mine as he smiles at me.

“I’m just fucking with you, Jules. But I get two now. What do you do?”

“I own a dance studio downtown.”

“Are you a dancer?”

I nod. “I danced as a kid and through college, but I always knew it wasn’t going to be a forever thing. I danced because I loved it, not because I was phenomenal or I wanted to make it my life’s career.”

“I’m sure you’re amazing,” he says.

“I’m decent, but now I get to do what I love and I get to teach other people about it, give them the outlet that’s always brought me so much joy. Best of both worlds, you know?”

“Kids? Adults?”

“Both. I have a few kid classes and adult fitness classes. But that was, what? Three questions?” Now it’s his turn to smile and apologize before I ask what his favorite movie is. ( Top Gun , a typical guy response.)

It goes like this for the next two hours, an entire meal, and countless light brushes of his hand on mine and shivers down my spine. I learn he has three younger sisters, that his parents have been happily married for forty years, he’s thirty-five, and has never seen any of my favorite movies.

“You really love movies, don’t you?” he asks after I tell him the entire plot of You’ve Got Mail .

“Only romance, really,” I say.

“Why’s that?” I shrug, but answer anyway.

“It’s easier to relate to, and there’s always a happily ever after. The world is chaos and full of disappointment and heartbreak. I like living in the fantasy of that, that two people could meet and go on some grand adventure and fall in love and ride off into the sunset.” I shrug sheepishly, but continue anyway. “I picture everything as a movie. Romanticize it a bit, pretend that no matter what, everything is for the plot, that at the end, the happily ever after is impending.”

He continues to stare at me for long moments, and I feel the self-consciousness sneak in, and instead of shutting my mouth, I keep speaking, trying to explain. “Plus, if you think of every bad moment as a plot twist, everything seems less…consequential. Then you can be excited, waiting to find out what happens next instead of stressing about it.”

The silence swirls around us again, and I almost speak to change the subject, but then he gently shakes his head like he can’t believe something before speaking.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Jules.” He says it in awe, and I panic.

“Is that…is that a good thing, or do you mean it in a you should seek professional help way?”

“In all the best ways,” he whispers before he once more shakes his head before leaning in and smiling. “Okay, so if this was a movie, what would happen next?”

“Oh, we’d definitely leave together, go back to one of our places. You’d kiss me at midnight, and it would start to snow, probably. We’d be stuck inside and have to spend a few days together. You know, normal romance movie stuff,” I say.

I don’t know if the single drink I’ve had is going to my head or if I’m just drunk on the idea of Nate, but I’m not as embarrassed as I think I should be, saying that out loud.

“Sounds perfect,” he says, his face serious despite the slight tip at the edge of his lips, like he really thinks that would be perfect.

“Last call, we’re closing down early tonight,” the bartender tells Nate with a tip of his chin, breaking the moment. “Holiday and all.” I reach into my bag to grab my card to pay for my food and drink, but the bartender shakes his head. “It’s covered.” I turn to my dinner companion and smile.

“That wasn’t necessary,” I say.

“Happy New Year’s, Jules. You being here made mine a hell of a lot better.” Again, I smile, my cheeks starting to hurt as I do because it’s pretty much all I’ve done since he sat next to me. But then he stands, his stool pushing back as he does, stepping down and away with a wave to the bartender. “Later, Tyler. Have a good one, yeah?” The bartender waves and wishes him a Happy New Year before Nate takes three steps away from the bar.

I watch him, unable to do anything else, my gut dropping to my feet as I watch what I kind of hoped was my own little rom-com in the making walk away. I shift a bit to grab my purse and leave, planning to go to the bathroom so we don’t leave at the same exact time because it’s embarrassing, before Nate’s body shifts.

He looks over his shoulder at me, a wide smile on his lips and a bit of goofy confusion on his face before he speaks.

“You coming?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“Are you coming with me?”

Warmth rolls through me, slow and sweet like heated honey.

“What?”

He turns more fully toward me, then puts a hand out in my direction like he’s expecting me to grab it and follow him.

“I’d love nothing more than to ring in the new year with you, Jules,” he says, voice low, eyes filled with promise.

I should probably just give him my number at best and go home, take my melatonin, and go to bed, but instead, I stand. I slide my jacket on and loop my bag over my shoulder before stepping forward and taking his hand.