If This Was a Movie (Evergreen Park #2)

Chapter 5 – Jules

FIVE

NEW YEAR’S EVE, LAST YEAR

JULES

We walk out to the parking lot to find our cars are parked right next to each other, and once again, I can’t help but think this is some kind of kismet situation. Like my time has finally come, and this is some kind of romance movie moment.

He takes me to the driver's side of my car, and we stand there for a moment.

“I’d really love you to come to my place tonight,” he says, voice low and warm. “Or I could go to your place if you’re more comfortable, or—” he starts, but I cut him off, knowing my place is an absolute disaster zone and I’d like to see where this man lives.

“Your place is fine.”

“Does a friend have your location?” he asks. There’s barely six inches between us, my mind reeling with all the possibilities this night could bring and not really listening to his question.

“What?”

“Does a friend have your location? Like on their phone?” He tips his chin to where my cellphone is in my hand.

“Oh, I mean…” I start, but the answer is yes, both Harper and Ava have my location and I have theirs. He must see the answer because he nods.

“Okay, good. Tell them you’re coming to my place, give them my address. 14 Oak Avenue.”

Understanding what he means, I find myself smiling as I start to type out his name and info into our group chat before I look up with a faux glare. “You know, my best friend is engaged to a guy with a security firm. He could run a background check on you. Anything I should know?” I watch his face meticulously, trying to see if there’s even the hint of some secret he wouldn’t want exposed, but see nothing but an easy smile.

“Tell him to check away. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Okay. Text sent,” I say, my phone buzzing in my hand already with a response.

Ava

A MAN?

Harper

Where did you meet him?

Ava

IS HE HOT?

Harper

Are you safe?

I smile at their responses but look at Nate. “14 Oak?” He nods. “I’ll follow you,” I say, then look up at him smiling down at me. It wouldn’t take much at all for him to dip his head, press his lips to mine, especially not with the way his eyes keep flickering to my lips. His hand moves up to cup my jaw, brushing a thumb along my cheek, and I think he’s going to do it, he’s going to kiss me, when he steps back.

“Follow me,” he says, his voice lower now, almost gravelly.

Then he opens my car door like a true gentleman, watches me slide in and start the car before slamming my door shut and jogging around to his truck. As he starts his car, I send a text to my friends, telling them I’m safe, that I met a hot guy at the bar, and I’m going home with him, promising to report back first thing in the morning.

A slew of squeal texts follow, including an I love you, be safe text from each of them before Nate’s truck backs up and I’m driving to the other side of town.

It’s barely a five-minute drive before I’m pulling into Nate’s driveway next to his car. The house is cute and well maintained, something I wouldn’t expect from a bachelor, unless he was both a contractor and had three sisters who are apparently as meddling as his mother.

He’s already out of his truck and walking to my door, opening it and helping me out before helping me to the front door of his house.

“Talk to your friends?” he asks, digging in his pocket for a set of keys.

I nod. “They’re a bit worried since I don’t…do this,” I say, waving at him and then at me. “But they know where I am.”

“This?” he asks, letting go of my hand to pick the right key. He steps in front of me to open the storm door before working on the lock.

“You know, go home with a random guy from a bar—” I start to explain, but then, as seems to be my way, I make a fool of myself, tripping on the sidewalk and falling. I catch myself on my hands, my palms burning but mostly my own ego bruised.

“Fuck, Jules!” Nate says, stepping down the two steps, the storm door slamming behind him as he comes to me, kneeling before me.

“I’m fine, really. You’d think for a dancer I’d be a bit more graceful, but,” I say as he grabs my hands, gently turning them over to inspect. Each has a small scratch, blood pebbling there, and he curses under his breath. “It’s really no big deal at all, Nate. Seriously. I’m fine.”

He looks at me then, genuine concern in his eyes.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” I say, lower and quieter this time, but then I squeal as he grabs me, lifting me and carrying me up the two stairs and into his house. “Nate!” I say with a laugh. “Put me down! I’m fine!”

“You’re a damsel in distress. Let me play Prince Charming.” Then he sets my ass on the kitchen counter, turning my hands once more to inspect them. He brushes a few bits of dirt and a small piece of gravel that stuck to my palm before glaring at me. “Stay here,” he says, then steps away, disappearing down the hall.

I take the opportunity to look around his place. It's clean, cute, and clearly decorated by a man with the minimal decorations, photos, and art. But it’s cozy and comfortable.

There’s two hallways, one he disappeared down and another to the left. The kitchen I’m in has an island I’m sitting on with stools as well as a dining table. Two giant glass doors face the backyard that butts up to the doors, and there’s a small cottage or house on the property.

I’m tempted to hop down and inspect the rest of his home, but a door clicks and his footsteps become closer, his frame filling the hall in a few moments. In his hand is a white first aid kit.

“Glad to see you can follow directions,” he says with a smile, setting the kit on the counter next to me, then rifling through it before setting two antiseptic wipes and two Band-Aids aside.

Next, he grabs me by the wrist, gently turning it over to inspect the damage. I watch with bated breath as he holds my wrist gently with one hand and tears the package open with his teeth before wiping the alcohol over the small cut. I hiss at the burn before he wipes on antibiotic ointments and puts a Band-Aid on.

“You really don’t have to do this,” I say with a small laugh as he moves to the next hand. “It’s just a scratch. I’ve gotten worse.”

“Not on my watch,” he says distantly, attention diverted.

“What?”

“Not on my watch. When you’re with me, if you get hurt, I take care of you,” he says, eyes to my hand as he gently and almost reverently puts the last bandage on before staring at his handiwork.

Finally, he looks at me, a small smile on his lips as he stands between my spread legs. Like this, we're just about face-to-face. Suddenly, I feel brave, probably from the adrenaline of falling and the excitement of what I think is to come.

“You know, if this was a movie, this is where you’d kiss it better,” I say with a smile.

“Is that the only time?” he asks, his voice low now, his eyes locked to my lips.

I shake my head, and when I speak, my words come out breathy. “No, you’d definitely kiss me a lot.”

He gives me a boyish smile before lifting my hand to his face, pressing his lips to the bandage on my hand before repeating it on the other. Then his hand slides up my arm until it’s on my neck, his thumb tipping my chin up as he leans down to press his lips to mine.

I wake up in a strange bed, but it doesn’t feel strange at all: strong arms wrapped around my middle, a scruffy chin in my neck, and soft, warm breaths running along my skin.

It doesn’t take long before it all comes back to me: meeting Nate at the bar, feeling a spark I couldn’t deny, going home with him, falling and him bandaging me up, the multiple orgasms…

And now I’m wrapped in his arms in his bed, his breathing low and easy and comfortable.

I’ve slept with men, of course, and had long-term boyfriends and short flings where I’d spend the night, but I’ve never been able to sleep with someone touching me. I need space to sprawl, and I get way too hot, way too easily. I’ve always assumed when I finally found my dream man, we’d have one of those two-bed marriages in order to not go insane from lack of quality sleep.

Except I just woke up easy, feeling more rested than I ever have in my life, and there’s a warm body wrapped around me. We’re not just sleeping together, but sleeping intertwined.

The beating of my heart picks up just a bit, and for the first time in my life, I wonder if I’ve finally found it: my silver-screen worthy match, the person I was meant to be with.

Ever since I watched My Big Fat Greek Wedding at much too young an age, I saw a part of myself in Toula, in her bone-deep desire to find true love. It started my addiction to romance movies, and I watched every single one I could get my hands on.

I fell in love with the idea of love and told myself I’d only let myself fall when I met him—the one people wrote books and made movies about.

Over the years, I began to lose faith it would happen. How on earth could I find some kind of fictional soulmate naturally? Or even worse, on dating apps? Have you seen some of the men on dating apps? It's not even close to leading-man material.

But now…now things feel like they are clicking into place. Like maybe, finally, some goddess of love smiled down on me and decided I deserved even just the barest glimmer of hope, pushing me into that bar to…Nate, maybe?

As I lose myself in my thoughts, Nate shifts, quietly waking before pressing a kiss to the place where my neck meets my shoulder. “Morning,” he whispers there, sleepiness in the word.

A chill runs through me, a bolt of excitement, and right there, I decide this is it. This is my chance to fall and fall hard, and I’m going to take it and trust in it.

“Good morning.” I shift my body, turning until we’re face-to-face, and then I see that it’s not just his voice filled with sleep but his face. He still looks handsome, just a bit groggy, and his lips are tipped upwards with a smile. “Happy New Year.”

“Can’t think of a better way to start my year than this,” he says. He moves up onto an elbow, looking behind me at a window facing the backyard, and then chuckles, the feel of it vibrating through me.

I hum in agreement, my hand lifting and drawing shapes on his chest, the fine dusting of hair there tickling my finger. God, he has a good fucking chest, doesn’t he?

“Snowed in,” he says, voice rough.

My head perks up, but his eyes are still on the window. “Hmm?”

“We’re snowed in. At least a good foot dropped overnight.” He looks down at me finally. “Maybe this really is a movie after all.”

“No way?” His lips tip up at the corner with a smile. “There wasn’t snow in the forecast, was there?” I’m absolutely terrible at keeping track, and I’m usually only up to speed about the weather when the parents of a class start calling and texting me to see if class is canceled.

“No, but there’s definitely snow out there.” He pauses before continuing. “I think it’s still coming down, actually. Looks like you’re stuck here for a bit longer.”

Without warning, nerves and overthinking kick in because what if that’s a bad thing? What if I’m just in a delusional bubble thinking he’s some kind of miracle sent from the universe, and he was thinking this was just a one-night stand? What if he was hoping I’d leave first thing in the morning, and now he’s stuck with me? What if?—

My mind continues to fall down a rabbit hole, and I must show it on my face because Nate quickly speaks, changing directions.

“Unless you don’t want to be here, then I’ve got a truck. I can get you home. It might take a bit since I’m not sure which roads are plowed. I didn’t put the plow blade on my truck, but I could probably get to the garage to dig it out.” His hand moves, pushing my hair back and over my shoulder before looking into my eyes, genuine concern on his face. “I don’t want you to feel actually stuck here.”

“I don’t,” I say quickly, then feel the need to explain. “But I also don’t want you to be stuck with me.”

“Not much I’d rather be doing than being stuck inside for a snow day with you.”

“Oh,” I say, warmth running through me.

“Yeah, oh.” His head dips down, gently pressing his lips to mine, and even though I desperately want to continue that, to take it further, all my mind can think about is morning breath. He pulls back and smiles, and I wonder if he can read my thoughts somehow. “How about I roll out of here, leave you to wake up, and then when you’re ready, you shuffle out to the kitchen for coffee? How do you like it?”

A bolt of heat runs through me because he definitely knows how I like it after last night.

“My coffee?” He nods, though there’s a glimmer in his eye like he knows what I was thinking. “Milk and one pump of almond, one pump of vanilla.” He laughs again, and I like how much he laughs, how he’s so open with everything. He doesn’t seem like the type to hide anything or try to act too cool to show emotion. “It’s what I order at Evergreen Brew, which, in my opinion, has the best coffee in the world.”

His smile goes wider, and he shakes his head. “Noted. Well, I can’t say I have that on hand, but I do have vanilla coffee creamer or just milk and sugar.

“Creamer would be great.”

He smiles wide before rolling over me, bracing his arms in the bed on either side of my face and doing a bit of a push-up until his lips press to mine. Once he’s clear of the room, just a pair of low-slung sweatpants on, I can’t help it: I take one of his fluffy pillows, put it over my face, and squeal into it, kicking my feet with glee and utter excitement.

“Do you have ingredients here, or is this a bachelor pad?” I ask ten minutes later, standing in his kitchen, a perfect cup of coffee in front of me.

After I had my moment, I hopped out of his bed, finger-brushed my teeth, and did some snooping in his bathroom, thankfully not finding anything but men’s products. Next, I checked the closet and dresser, both clear of anything but men's clothing. Once I determined the coast was clear, I slipped into the kitchen wearing a giant sweatshirt of his and my panties from the night before.

“What?” he asks, moving behind me and spinning me around to face him. His warm hand slides under the sweater to my waist, tugging me close. My chin tips up to look at him, a small smile playing on my lips that’s reflected on his face.

“I know you’re a single guy, but do you have ingredients to make food?” There’s a quick moment, a glimmer of disappointment or something similar in his eyes that I think I see, but it’s gone before I can identify it.

“Are you trying to cook for me?” I shrug. “It’s a snow day. Snow days need snowman pancakes.”

His smile goes wide, transforming into a grin. “Snowman pancakes?”

“Oh yeah. Snow days are for watching movies, pajamas, and snowman pancakes.”

“You don’t have any pajamas here,” he says, his fingers playing with the hem of his sweater I’m wearing.

“Are you complaining?”

He shakes his head. “Not even a little. What do you need for these snowman pancakes?”

“Uh, you know. Pancake ingredients, then powdered sugar, chocolate chips…bacon for a hat would be great.”

“A bacon hat?” he asks through a poorly disguised laugh.

“Or a scarf. Really depends on how you want to dress him up.”

He smiles and leans a bit to press his lips to mine before stepping back and moving toward the fridge. “Not sure if I have powdered sugar, but I definitely have.” There’s a pause as he grabs something out then turns to show me a can of whipped cream. “Will this work? We’ve definitely got the chocolate chips and the bacon.”

“I think we can make it work.”

He comes back to me, pulling me back into his arms and using a hand in my hair to tip my head back. He’s tall, maybe six foot to my five-five, and I like feeling small beside him. I don’t have much time before his lips touch mine, opening so his tongue slides along mine, tasting of mint toothpaste and dark coffee.

We don’t have pancakes for another hour, but when we do, they’re the best snowman pancakes I’ve ever had in my life.

“Favorite Christmas movie?” I ask from the kitchen island I’m sitting on while I watch Nate do the dishes. I’m in his oversized shirt and a pair of his boxer briefs that don’t quite fit. My hair is an absolute disaster, but something about the way he looks at me makes me feel hotter than I’ve ever felt in my skimpiest, sexiest outfit.

He smiles at me over his shoulder, a smile I feel in my lower half, but that also tells me whatever he’s about to say is going to earn an eye roll.

“ Die Hard .”

My jaw drops as I gape at him. “You have got to be kidding me. That’s not a Christmas movie!”

“It so is,” he says, a laugh in his words.

“Just because it takes place during Christmas does not make it a Christmas movie,” I say with a laugh. His broad shoulders shrug as he rinses off a plate. I offered and even insisted on doing the dishes since he cooked, but he grabbed me by the hips, placed me on the counter, placed a kiss to my lips, and told me to just keep him company.

He seems to like having me up here.

Strangely enough, considering I like to always keep busy, I don’t mind.

“Beg to differ. That’s how they decide those kinds of things. It’s got Christmas, it’s a Christmas movie. It’s got sappy love shit, it’s a romance movie.”

My eyes go wide with his wholly inaccurate statement. “So you’re saying any movie with a romance subplot is a romance movie?”

“Hell yeah. Top Gun might as well be a chick flick.”

I throw a chocolate chip at the back of his head. “That’s…that’s sacrilegious.”

“I feel like that might be a small exaggeration.”

Even though he can’t see it, I shake my head, aghast. “Not at all. At this point, I find it necessary to warn you, I am an expert of all things romance movies.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite?” He turns off the water as he sets the last dish into the drying rack, grabbing a dish towel to dry off his hands as he turns, leaning on the counter across from me and crossing his arms on his chest.

I think genuinely about his question for a moment before I answer.

“It depends on my mood, I guess. Do I want a Christmas movie? A contemporary? A romantic comedy? Or are we going by decade—’80s? ’90’s? 2000s? A Nora Ephron? A Nancy Meyers?”

His smile goes wider with each addition like he finds me wholly entertaining.

“Wow, I didn’t know there were so many things to ponder.”

“Oh, the list is endless.”

“Okay, so, Christmas movies. What’s your favorite?”

“ Love Actually , obviously. Serendipity is second best. I love the whole invisible string theory, always pulled together despite not being together, you know?”

“Mm, yeah,” he says. “So is that what you want? A romance that’s movie-worthy, some invisible string kind of relationship?”

I shrug, not wanting to take this from fun and silly to something too much for having just met him. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

He takes me in for a moment before pushing off the counter and walking to me, standing between my legs and holding my gaze. “That’s a lie,” he says low. “Like a bold-faced lie, Jules. Something tells me you always know exactly what you want. You’re just scared someone’s going to belittle you when you tell them.”

I think about telling my ex about First Position and my dreams for my little business and having him tell me it was a silly idea, a waste of time. A fun hobby, Julianne, but not something to devote your life to.

I think about telling my mother I wanted to find love, true love, instead of the security she always told me to settle for and her scoffing at the mere idea.

Might as well scare him off now.

“I want…I want to be loved madly. I want to live a movie-worthy life and wake up knowing every single day it’s my reality. I want to find someone I wake up every morning excited to spend time with. I want someone who loves everything about me, even the parts I don’t like. Some people in my life…they think I’m being crazy, that I’m being unrealistic, and that’s fine. I know one day, I’ll find it, even if it takes a lifetime. I refuse…I refuse to settle for less than I deserve.” I stare at him, the way he’s silently taking me in, and suddenly feel self-conscious, like I said much, much more than I should have.

“I’m sorry, that was…a lot for a first date,” I say with a self-deprecating laugh and turn away, desperate for some kind of escape.

God, why am I this way?

But then his hand moves, grabbing my face and turning it so I have to look at him.

“I think we’re well past the first date,” he says with a smile.

“Yeah, I guess. But dumping all of that on you isn’t exactly cool or coy or mysterious.”

He keeps staring at me, his rough thumb brushing over my bottom lip gently, and I fight the urge to look away again.

“Do you feel it?” he asks in a whisper.

“What?”

“This…pull. There’s something between us.” My heart skips a beat. “It’s crazy, Jules. I wasn’t planning on going to the bar last night, but I walked past and couldn’t stop it, like there was some thread tugging me right to you.”

I swallow, trying to get words out.

“That’s very romantic, Nate,” I whisper.

“I’ve never been one.”

“Never been what?”

“A romantic. I’ve never believed in any of the grand ideas of soulmates or love or invisible strings. My dad does; he says he saw my mom and knew that day she was meant to be his. They met at some party and talked all night, and then she disappeared.” His lips crack into a smile, and it’s contagious, spilling onto my own face. “A couple of years later, they met again, and he didn’t let her run off the second time. A year later, they were married.”

“A year!” I say with a laugh. “Kind of quick.”

“Yeah, well, as my dad says, when you know, you know.”

“Hmm,” I say, running a hand through his hair.

“I think I understand what he means now.”