Chapter Text
Okay, but really though.
What the actual fuck just happened.
Mark shuts his eyelids tight, then opens them to make sure he didn’t dream of what just happened. He hopes to wake up in his dark bedroom with the ceiling fan staring back at him. Instead, he’s greeted to the bright gallery space.
Okay, so that actually fucking just happened.
The slip of paper with her handwriting burns a hole in his pocket.
Mark rushes out of the gallery and beelines for Pembroke Hall. Petey’s afternoon class should be ending soon, and Mark needs to tell someone about this.
Petey’s office door is closed and locked when he arrives, so Mark waits in the little communal space. He replays the recent memory over and over again in his mind.
“I read the situation wrong,” she said.
But did she?
He wasn’t trying to flirt with her. Sure, he finds her attractive, but a fork is found in the kitchen. God, he even told her about his thesis dissertation. So maybe he didn’t intend to flirt with her, but he didn’t mind it, either.
“Hey what’s up?” Petey asks as soon as he steps into the music faculty’s offices.
“Emergency,” Mark answers and follows him to his office. “Just happened. Fresh off the press.”
As soon as they’re inside and Petey situates his things away, he collapses into his chair. “Okay, well, I’m here. What is it?”
Mark starts to speak, but then eyes the open door. “Can I close it?”
“Jesus, what the fuck is it that you don’t want others to hear?”
“It’s not work-related.”
Petey rolls his eyes. “Nothing we talk about is work-related.” Mark stares sheepishly back at him, so he relents. “Okay fine, close the fucking door. Just stop dragging it out.”
Mark shuts the door and takes a seat in the empty chair in front of Petey’s desk. He inhales a sharp breath to collect himself.
“So, remember last night when Irv mentioned the customer I helped out on Friday?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I was in the Alvey gallery just to kill some time and she was there.”
Petey lights up and leans in. “Holy sh–”
“That’s not all,” Mark interrupts. “She recognized me, and we talked.”
“That’s it? Just talked?”
“No. She, uh…kissed me—”
“Mark, what the— ”
“And I kissed her back.”
“Holy fucking—”
“And I got her number.”
Petey snaps to his feet. “You done for the day?”
Mark blinks. “Yeah, but—”
“C’mon.”
“Where are we going?”
Petey throws his jacket on. “Irv’s. This needs a full consultation.”
“Okay, what’s this all about?” Dylan grouses as soon as he enters Bailiff Books and Records. Petey, Irving, and Mark are congregated around the counter, with Radar asleep on his bed.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Irving replies. “They refuse to say a word until you arrived.”
“Well I’m here now, so what’s so important?”
Petey taps on Mark’s arm. “Go ahead, tell them.”
“You’re making this into a bigger deal than it is—”
“Actually, you did that when you came to my office.”
“We didn’t need to call a conference for this,” Mark retorts, but now that he thinks about it, they always do this. Last time was a month and a half ago, when Dylan requested input on what to splurge on for Gretchen for their twentieth anniversary. They all meet at Irving’s bookstore, or Devon’s house if the women are involved, and hash it out. Mark’s been due for one since the intervention at Devon’s.
“Jesus fuck, can someone just tell us already?”
Mark groans, then looks at Irving. “I saw your customer again.”
“The one from Friday?”
“Yeah. She was in the campus gallery this afternoon.”
“And?” Dylan presses.
“And she kissed me.”
“And?” Petey prods.
“And I kissed her back.” Before he can receive any more badgering, he quickly adds, “And got her number.”
“So it was ‘like that,’” Dylan teases.
“All of this happened just this afternoon?” Irving asks.
Mark nods. “Not even two hours ago.”
“Wait, why are we here then?” Dylan deadpans.
“Yeah, Petey, why are we here?” Mark teases.
“Hey, you came to me right after it happened, so clearly you wanted to talk about it. Now we’re gonna talk about it.”
“But what is there to talk about?” Dylan bemoans.
Mark frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Bro, you literally just said she kissed you, so she’s definitely into you. You kissed her back, so you have to be into her. She gave you her number. What is there to talk about? You’re gonna call her or text her or whatever and ask her out on a date.”
Mark mulls over it. “Well…she wanted to have dinner tonight—”
“What the fuck?” Petey exclaims. “You left that detail out earlier.”
“Tonight? This girl is so into you.”
“Her name is Helly, actually,” Mark cuts in defensively. It doesn’t feel right to keep referring to her as ‘the customer’ or ‘girl’ or ‘mystery woman.’ “And I can’t do tonight because I have twelve-step. But I did mention we could maybe do something tomorrow. It was very noncommittal, though.”
“Again, I don’t know why we’re here,” Dylan huffs. “You’re gonna reach out to her. Case closed. Get back to us when the date is over.”
“Yeah, but it’s weird.”
“You are making this way more complicated than it needs to be.”
“Irving!” Petey butts in. “What do you think about all of this?”
Irving folds his arms over his chest. “Well, Mark, what’s giving you pause?”
Two days ago, Mark told—well, yelled at—Devon for pushing him to pursue dating, declaring he wasn’t quite ready for that. Yesterday, he insisted to Petey and Dylan that whoever the mystery woman was, their interactions meant nothing.
But this afternoon? He not only saw her again, they kissed. And he asked for her number.
Mark exhales and rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I keep thinking I’m not ready, that I shouldn’t be ready, like there’s some clear sign that it’s okay to move forward that hasn’t happened yet. But when she kissed me, I didn’t want it to stop.”
“So you feel guilty?” Irving asks. He speaks calmly, with no judgment, but the word ‘guilt’ lands heavy in Mark’s chest.
“Maybe?”
Irving offers a knowing smile. “It’s normal to feel that way if you do.”
“Yeah, and no one is saying she’s going to be the love of your life,” Petey chimes in. “In my professional opinion as a divorced man, the whole point of dating is to figure out what works for you. You go out, you talk. Maybe you kiss. Maybe it’s awful, maybe it’s great. Then you do it again. Or you don’t. You’re not signing a contract.”
“That’s what marriage is,” Dylan quips.
“Exactly,” Petey points to him. “This right now? There’s no stakes, no promises.”
“So are you gonna call her or what?”
Mark sighs. “I’ll think about it.”
Mark first met Gemma at a campus blood drive in early April. They were both grading papers as they waited, bonding over the inane titles their students used. It was Gemma's second semester at Ganz, and Mark's fourth. They organized a first date for that weekend. The mediocre Mexican food embarrassed Mark even more when Gemma said she grew up in San Diego, but it gave them something to laugh about later in the evening as they played kitschy mini golf next door. He kissed her at the sixteenth hole, and then again in the parking lot. It wasn’t perfect, and that’s what made it so. He drove back home that evening, hopeful it would be the last first date he would ever go on. And for six years, it was.
Then there was that date with Alexa earlier this year, which really shouldn’t even count. Part of it was his fault, he’ll admit. Didn’t put his best foot forward, didn’t really try to come across very well. But Alexa, while nice, was also just not right for him. Talking with her felt like pulling teeth, and Mark just assumed he wasn’t ready to start dating anyone, especially after going sober. AA warned him about starting new relationships within the first year of sobriety, though he had no real plans to pursue dating any time soon. He only agreed to the date with Alexa as a favor to Devon and get her off his back.
But this thing with Helly? Only two short conversations and he felt a stronger, more natural connection to this stranger than Devon's friend.
Maybe that’s what makes it all so confusing?
When he came home yesterday, he did everything he could to distract himself from the contact in his phone listed as “Helly R.” He watched A History of Violence to take his mind off of it, and it worked until he had to get ready for bed. He’s not sure how well he slept last night, not with her copper hair in every corner of his mind whenever he drifted off. Now, at eight in the morning, Mark moves about his kitchen, doing his best to go about his day as normally as possible. He packs a lunch for the day while a couple eggs boil in a pot on the stove.
But his phone beckons.
Hi this is Mark , he texts, hovers his thumb over the send icon for a couple seconds, then hits it.
From the bookstore. Just in case she doesn’t remember his name.
And the gallery. Just for extra context.
He’s not even in front of her, and he’s talking too much.
This is Helly, right? He cross-references the contact number in his phone with the scrap of paper she wrote on because maybe he typed it in incorrectly. He pours himself a cup of coffee to sip and calm his nerves.
Then her response comes in.
Yes. How are you?
Good, thanks , he shoots back.
Then, he adds impulsively, This might be short notice, but are you free tonight?
He should delete that and start over, but he sends it anyway.
Yes, I am.
Fuck. He doesn’t even know what they would do on a first date. There aren’t many options in Baird Creek for non-students, and it doesn’t feel right to copy his mediocre-Mexican-and-mini-golf date with Gemma. That belongs to her.
Would you want to get dinner and a movie? Not the most original idea, but a safe bet. With me
Okay, he needs to stop clarifying like that.
The pause is a little longer than before. When?
Fuck. What’s even showing in theaters right now? He quickly searches online for showtimes, but then he remembers Century Cinema in downtown and their “Wednesday Rewind” series. They’re playing Bringing Up Baby at seven tonight . He’s never seen it, but Irving has sung its praises in the past. As for food, well, the best option for the sake of time would have to be Zufu, the nearby Chinese restaurant. It’s probably the best Chinese food in this part of up-upstate New York. He can leave campus right after his afternoon class finishes, giving him enough time to get ready.
Okay, yeah. This is a decent plan for something so improvised.
5:30 dinner?
The movie I have in mind is at 7
Is she taking longer to respond, or is he just too wracked with nerves?
I’d love to join you.
Oh, so it’s happening. He has a date scheduled with Helly.
Great!
He types out the details when she sends another message: Will you be able to pick me up beforehand? I don’t have a car. I’m staying at the Grand Kier.
Mark rereads it to wrap his mind around it. She doesn’t live here? She’s just in town for a few days? Is he…disappointed?
Well, what does it matter? So she's not local, just passing through. That should make everything easier then, right? Because if this date goes poorly, he’ll never see her again.
Oh, ok. I can pick you up at 5:15 then?
I'll see you then.
Mark drops his phone on the counter and sighs. So, he has a date scheduled tonight.
This has been a weird fucking twenty-four hours.
And this was the easy part.
“So?” Petey singsongs as soon as he rounds the corner into Mark’s office that morning.
“So what?”
“Don’t play dumb, dickhead.”
Mark slings the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder and brushes past Petey. “I have a class to get to.”
Petey follows Mark's heels. “You contacted her,” he smirks.
“I never said that.”
“Not denying it, either. So when’s the date?”
Mark sighs. “Tonight.”
Petey lets out a low whistle and grins. “That’s a quick fucking turnaround! What’s the plan?”
“Dinner and a movie.”
“Yawn . That’s so boring.”
“I have to lecture about colonial troop movements and underfunded supply lines in the African theatre now, if you don’t mind,” Mark dismisses, already half-turned toward the door.
“Fine, but this isn’t over, Scout. I’m gonna need a full report by noon tomorrow.”
Mark leaves campus as soon as the Practicum class ends so he can beat traffic and prepare for this date with Helly. He tries not to overthink what he’s wearing. He keeps the button down and sweater, changes out of the pair of work slacks into fresh jeans, keeps the sneakers. Standing in front of his bathroom mirror, he runs a hand through his hair, trying to smooth down the nerves buzzing at the back of his mind.
Should he buy flowers for her?
No, that’s too much. It’s just dinner and a movie.
He texts her as he locks up his front door. On my way.
“Oh, hello, Mark! Why, don’t you look sharp!” Ms. Cobel greets him from her front stoop with her syrupy voice. “Where are you off to on this lovely evening?”
Mark hesitates. “Just dinner and a movie,” he says out of politeness. Best to lie by telling the truth
Ms. Cobel grins and beams. “Is there a lucky lady in this equation?”
Can’t a guy go on one date without everyone up in his business about it? “Maybe,” he shrugs as he heads towards his car, but Ms. Cobel is now walking towards him, her hand in her bottomless tote bag.
“Why don’t you take some of these soap samples from my shop to give to her?”
Mark’s been out of the game for a while, but showing up with soap as a gift on a first date might not make for a great first impression. “That’s really not necessary— ”
“Nonsense! I’m sure she’ll love them. Everyone loves a little something thoughtful,” Ms. Cobel interrupts with a wink and deposits into his palms a handful of wrapped soap squares no bigger than a quarter each. They’re labeled with names like ‘spearmint and patchouli,’ ‘Guinness beer,’ and ‘basil and black pepper.’
“Uh, thanks. I’ll make sure she gets them.”
“Always a pleasure,” she smiles. “Now go on then! Don’t keep her waiting!”
In his car, Mark groans and tosses the samples onto the passenger seat.
He arrives at the Grand Kier seven minutes after five. In the lobby , he texts Helly, but she doesn’t respond right away. He waits a little longer.
Five-twelve rolls around. Everything alright?
Still no answer.
There’s only one Grand Kier in Baird Creek, so he’s definitely in the right place. He briefly looks up at the reception desk, and an idea crosses his mind.
“Excuse me,” he says when he approaches the desk, “can you tell me what room Ms. Riggs is staying in?”
“Do you have an appointment with her?” the receptionist asks.
Well, we wouldn’t use the word “appointment,” but they did schedule to meet. “Uh, yeah, at five-fifteen. She’s expecting me? Mark Scout?”
That satisfies the receptionist enough. “She is staying in the Dieter Suite on the third floor. Once you go up the elevator, take a right and head to the very end of the hallway. It will be on the left.”
Mark thanks him and follows the provided directions. Up the elevator, take a right, very end of the hallway, on the left. The soft carpet muffles his footsteps as he approaches his destination, making everything feel more intimate than it should. He stops in front of the polished wood door labeled Dieter Suite in brass letters. He takes a deep breath and closes eyes.
Why is he so fucking nervous right now?
He rolls his shoulders to shake off the anxiety, then raises his hand to knock, but before his knuckles make any contact, he hears subdued voices on the other side.
Then the door opens.
“Oh, um…hi?”
Standing in front of him are a woman and a man. They both stare at him.
“Yes? Can I help you?” the woman asks with a smile that suggests corporate precision instead of invitation. She’s maybe the same age as Helena and dressed in all clean lines and neutrals, with curly blonde hair pulled back.
“Uh, sorry, maybe there’s a mix up?” Mark stammers, but then he spots the flash of red hair behind the two in front of him. Okay, not a mix up.
But still confusing.
“I’m just heading out,” the man slips past him and down the hallway to avoid this any further, leaving the three of them all surveying each other.
“Natalie, this is Dr. Scout!” Helly says finally. “Dr. Scout, this is my assistant, Natalie.”
“How do you do?” Natalie asks, wary yet perfunctory, then turns her attention back to Helly. “What’s this all about?” That time, there's an edge underneath the professionalism.
Helly is standing next to him on the other side of the door now. “We can discuss this later. Why don’t you take a nice bath and get some rest? See you tomorrow.”
“But—”
“Tomorrow,” Helly asserts with cold intensity and steeliness, then flashes a quick, close-lipped smile. “Have a good evening, Natalie.”
She’s pushing Mark down the hall before Natalie even responds.
Mark has no idea what the hell is going on.
“I’m sorry about that,” she mutters as they wait at the elevator. “I was caught up in a meeting and couldn’t answer your messages.” Then she shifts, a little tense, a little reluctant. “How did you know what room I was in?”
“I asked for your name at reception.”
“My name?”
“Riggs?”
She looks off to the side. “I see,” she whispers.
“So you're on a business trip?” Mark inquires to change the subject. He remembers yesterday when she mentioned something about a meeting in the development office of Ganz.
A ding alerts them to the elevator’s arrival, followed by the swift opening of the doors. Inside the closed space, Helly chews on her bottom lip.
“Yeah, something like that.”
As they descend to the lobby, Mark takes the full sight of her next to him. Her red hair is no longer contained in a sleek bun or ponytail, but cascades over her shoulders in soft, gentle curls. She wears a sheer berry color on her lips. In the dim elevator light, he can’t tell if her dress is navy or blue, but it hugs her figure perfectly.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
The elevator stops and the doors open into the lobby. Navy. It’s definitely a navy dress, and it moves with an effortless elegance as she walks out of the elevator.
Helly avoids his eyes and tugs at the cuff of her sleeve as they walk towards the front door.
“I just threw on what I had on hand.” She says it like it’s an apology.
This is what she has “on hand?” Does she really think she’s underdressed right now? Zufu is a decent place, but it’s far from receiving a Michelin star. If anything, she’s overdressed, but in the best way possible. The way that turns heads and stops conversations. The way that inevitably makes everyone else wonder what she would possibly be doing with him—older, softer, worn on the edges.
“You look great,” he assures before he catches a glimpse of the red bottoms on her navy heels as she steps just ahead of him to exit out the door.
Yeah, he’s definitely out of his depth.
As they head into the parking lot, Mark is suddenly very embarrassed about his old Volvo that he bought shortly after finishing his PhD, and it was used even then. It's been reliable ever since. He can't picture Helly in the passenger seat while she's dressed like this, and yet, it's just seconds from happening. He opens the passenger door for her in an attempt to class up the situation.
“What are these?” she asks.
Mark glances down. Goddammit, he forgot to hide Ms. Cobel's strange soap samples.
“Uh, soap. My neighbor owns the soap shop downtown.”
She sifts through the little wrappers. “I've been there. It's a nice place. I bought some goat milk lotion.” She sniffs each sample. “I've never seen Guinness scented soap before. And she just gave these to you?”
“Yeah, she wanted me to pass them on to you.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, he shouldn't have said that.
But Helly laughs. “A businesswoman through and through, I suppose.” She slips one of the packets into her purse, also navy, and hands the rest to Mark. “I’ll take the spearmint and patchouli. Tell her I say thank you.”
Crisis averted, for now.
“We’re not too late, are we?” she asks as he pulls out of the Grand Kier’s parking lot and heads towards downtown Baird Creek.
“No, we should be fine.” It’s almost five-thirty now, so they might hit some traffic, but Zufu is pretty quick with getting food to the tables, and Century Cinema is just a couple blocks away. They still have a few minutes until they reach downtown, so he tries to get most of the typical small talk out of the way in the car.
“So, uh, what do you do?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re in town for business. What do you do for work?”
She’s quiet for a few seconds too long that Mark thinks she’s evaporated away. Then she finally responds with reticence, “Media.”
“Like journalism?”
“More…public relations.”
Public relations always sounded like a fake job in television shows and 2000s romantic comedies. “So what does that entail?”
“A little bit of everything. Messaging. Events. Making sure the public sees what they’re supposed to see.” She sounds like she’s calculating every word as she speaks it.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s a family business.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” Halted at the stoplight, he looks over to flash a grin, but Helly doesn’t look so charmed.
“Let’s not talk about my work,” she replies. “It’s not very interesting. Tell me about the fascinating world of academia.”
“Well it’s not that fascinating, either. Mostly it’s grading undergrads’ hastily-written essays and pretending I remember enough about Philippe Pétain to teach about him.”
“Why does that name sound familiar?” she ponders out loud.
“Pétain was the great hero of the Battle of Verdun during the First World War, but today he’s probably best known as being the head of Vichy France during the Second World War.”
“Oh, that’s right. Collaboration with the Nazis.”
“Yep. National hero turned national shame.”
He winces. Why is he turning this into one of his lectures?
“Sorry ’bout that. Kinda hard to shift gears from teaching history all day to being in the present.”
Helly laughs softly. “That’s quite alright, as long as you promise not to give me a pop quiz at the end of the night.”
He smiles as he parks the car in the public lot behind Zufu. So far, so good.
Helly specifically requested the booth in the far back, away from the front windows, and he didn’t question why. He always feels like he’s in a Wong Kar-Wai movie every time he eats here, with its glowing red interior, quiet corners, and the liminal elasticity of time. And now, with an achingly gorgeous woman across from him, it feels almost too cinematic to be real.
“So this is sorta related to work, but what public relations business is there for you in Baird Creek?” Mark asks as soon as they’re seated.
Helly keeps her gaze on the menu in her hands. “It was supposed to be a vacation,” she mutters. “Work just followed me here.”
“You picked to come here for vacation? Why’s that?”
“My family used to vacation up here frequently when I was younger. We’re originally from this area.”
“Oh yeah? Where do you live now?” Probably in the city, he guesses. Manhattan. Maybe Boston or Philadelphia, but she’s definitely Northeastern.
A waiter arrives at the table, breaking the rhythm to take their drink orders, so Mark has to wait for her answer. He opts for some ice water.
“What does your selection of red wine look like?” Helly asks the waiter.
“We have a house red.”
Mark can tell she’s hiding back a look of disappointment. “I guess that’ll do,” she sighs.
When the waiter leaves, she returns her eyes to the menu and says offhandedly, “New Jersey.”
“Jersey?” There is no way this woman lives in fucking New Jersey.
She looks up at him. “What?”
“You live in Jersey.”
“Yes. Holmdel.”
“Where is that?”
“It’s about forty miles outside of New York.”
Ah, so New York-adjacent. “Okay, that makes more sense.”
“What makes more sense?”
Their drinks arrive, thankfully saving Mark from having to answer that, and they place their food orders. When the waiter leaves again, Helly sips her glass of wine. Mark stirs the straw in his ice water.
“How’s the wine?” he asks.
“It’s better than I thought it’d be,” she replies. “Are you going to order a drink?”
“I have water.”
“I mean a proper drink.”
“No. I shouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“I’m sober.” The confession tumbles out of him, unsure if mentioning his sobriety is a better or worse first date topic than Philippe Pétain’s allegiances.
Helly gasps oh so slightly, but just enough for Mark to notice it, and sets her wine down. “Oh, I didn’t—”
She releases a sigh of regret. “Let me start over. Congratulations. That’s a big step.”
“Twelve, actually.”
Her brows knit together, but then she chuckles. “Sobriety humor. That's clever.”
“And oh so easy.”
Her smile lingers for another second or two, but then the reality settles in, and her expression falls into something more somber. “Can I ask…” She trails off, seeking his permission with her doe eyes.
“You can.” He’s never had to share the full story with anyone yet. Everyone in his life so far already knows.
“Was there a moment? A reason?”
He exhales through his nose and looks down at the condensation sliding down his water glass, then takes a sip to prepare himself.
“My wife died in a car crash over two years ago. She taught at Ganz, too. That’s how we met. But then the crash happened and it really… really fucking sucked.”
Another sip of water. He avoids making eye contact with her.
“You know, I didn’t think I’d end up like my dad, but I did. Alcohol was kinda the only thing he and I had in common. I just needed a way to numb the pain, and alcohol was cheaper than therapy.”
He pauses, but doesn’t sip his water this time. He’s getting too sidetracked, bringing up family trauma bullshit into this.
“Anyways, back in February, my sister organized an intervention, and she was like…eight months pregnant doing that. All my friends, at least the ones in this area, were there. I realized I either need to get my act straight, or I’m definitely going to end up like my dad. Dead in a shitty apartment with empty bottles on the floor and no one calling until it’s too late.”
Helly doesn’t say anything right away. Her expression is still, steady but unreadable.
“So, yeah,” he finishes. “Seven months sober. Or eight. Depends if you’re counting from the last drink or the first meeting.” He gives a short, humorless laugh. “Sorry, is that better or worse than talking about Nazi collaborators on a first date?”
She considers it. “Hmm. Objectively, better by a thin margin. But it’s honest. And that counts for something.”
He exhales, a little lighter now. “Is that bar that low?”
She swirls her wine but doesn’t drink it. “You’d be amazed how many people manage to talk for an hour and say absolutely nothing of note.”
“Tell me about it. Academic conferences are full of them.”
That earns a smile from her, and it soothes all of Mark’s lingering anxiety.
“Thank you for telling me. I know I’m a bit of a stranger, but I appreciate the honesty. And it sounds like you and your sister are close, if she’s setting up an entire intervention.”
“Yeah, uh, she’s alright for a little sister. I think you’d like her.”
The waiter returns with their respective plates, not even ten minutes after placing the order. Good, reliable Zufu.
“Do you have any siblings?”
Helly shakes her head as she unwraps her set of chopsticks. “I’m an only child.”
They both dig into their meals. “Mm, wait a second,” Helly says as soon as she finishes a bite of her steamed shrimp and vegetables. “Earlier you said it makes sense that I live near New York. What did you mean by that?”
He did? He doesn’t remember saying it.
“Oh, uh…I mean…look at you.” He gestures toward her with a faint, open-palmed motion, then immediately regrets it. Sounds too forward.
“I mean… you’ve got this very controlled vibe that just seems like you belong in Manhattan. Jersey doesn’t really seem like a place you belong. But you’re in the greater New York metropolitan area, so that makes sense for you.”
She blinks at him, surprised. Maybe even a little flattered, though she masks it well.
“So I’m intimidating and high-maintenance.”
Shit. Mark can feel the earth opening up underneath him.
“I mean—”
“I’m teasing,” she interrupts. “And you’re not wrong.” She says it breezily, with a flicker of wry acknowledgment behind her eyes. Mark takes that as a sign that this date is going surprisingly well. Despite the Nazi collaborators and the deep-dive into his sobriety.
“Rapid fire round?”
“Rapid fire of what?”
“Answers. No explanation, just answer from your gut.”
“Okay. I think I can handle that.”
“Dogs or cats?”
“Cats.”
“Same. Next one. Winter or summer?”
“Fall.”
“That’s not an option.”
“Winter, then. I like the cold.”
“I’m more of a summer guy myself.”
“Because you have less work to do?”
“Hey, the point of the rapid fire round is we don’t explain. Now, are you ready for the next one?”
“Okay, okay.”
“Ice cream or cookies?”
“Cookies.”
“Think I’m going ice cream on this one. Burgers or pizza?”
“Pizza.”
“I do love a good pizza slice, but I gotta pick burgers.”
“I have one.”
“Okay.”
“Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee.”
“I prefer tea.”
“We haven’t agreed on anything since cats.”
“That’s okay. I’m sure we can agree on something else.”
“Like what?”
“This date is going well. Yes or no.”
“I’m gonna say…yes?”
“See? I agree with you.”
“Are we going to make the movie in time?” Helly asks as Mark pays for the check. They finished their meals maybe thirty minutes ago but just kept talking, and then Mark ordered dumplings to split between them. Now it’s quarter to seven, and the Wednesday Rewind series can fill up quickly, depending on the movie.
“Yeah, it’s right around the corner.” They step outside onto the street, which now buzzes with more life than when they first arrived downtown, crisp early autumn air around them. Helly’s posture stiffens every time someone passes them on the sidewalk as he guides her towards Century Cinema.
“Everything alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” The worry in her forehead melts away, but her walls still seem up. When they come into view of the theater’s marquee, she beams. “Oh, this theater! I remember it now. I saw Dirty Dancing here for the first time.”
“Did you know that resort is actually in Virginia, not the Catskills?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I did my undergrad in Virginia. College of William and Mary.”
“Isn’t that next to Colonial Williamsburg? Were you churning butter on your off time?”
“You’re not the first one to make that joke, but I might’ve spent a semester as a seasonal costumed interpreter,” he quips as they approach the box office. “Two tickets, please.”
“That’ll be twenty,” says the old man in the booth wearing a Buffalo Bills cap.
“Here, let me pay,” Helly butts in.
“But I’m the one who made the plans.”
“I insist.” She lays her credit card on the counter before Mark can make any additional rebuttal. The card lands with a metallic clink .
The audience inside is not too large, but not too sparse, either. Usually these nights attract an older audience, but several undergrads mill about the space tonight. Mark senses Helly tense up again as they walk through the front lobby after their tickets are taken and they pass the line leading to the concessions. She keeps dodging her head as if trying to hide, and some of the younger patrons keep doing double takes at them.
“Can we sit in the back?” she whispers.
“What about the balcony?” he offers, and she softens at the suggestion.
They sit in the very first row of the balcony, with no one to obstruct their view. There are less people up there, which seems to relax Helly more. As they wait for seven to approach, she turns to him. “What are we even seeing? I should’ve read what the marquee said outside.”
“Bringing Up Baby.”
“I don’t know that one. Have you seen it before?”
“No, but a friend of mine really loves it.” Mark smiles. “Irving, actually. The bookstore owner.”
“Does he know we’re on a date right now?”
“Sorta.” When she tilts her head, he furthers, “I mentioned seeing you yesterday, but I haven’t followed up with him about this.”
“Are you going to tell him?” she inquires impishly.
The house lights go dark before he can answer that question. The movie starts, and they’re drawn into the black-and-white chaos that unfolds for the next hundred minutes. Flighty rich heiress Katharine Hepburn moons over paleontologist Cary Grant who insists he feels nothing for her despite so obviously being in love with her.
“Now it isn't that I don't like you, Susan, because, after all, in moments of quiet, I'm strangely drawn toward you,” Cary Grant sputters in goofy coattails and a top hat, “but…well, there haven't been any quiet moments.”
Mark steals a quick glance at Helly as the characters all end up in a jail cell and Katharine Hepburn pretends to be “Swingin’ Door Susie.” Her profile cuts sharply through the blue illumination of the screen, with every angle and curve etched in light and shadow. A quiet smile plays on her lips, and she remains unaware and unguarded. He can’t look away because if he does, then she might vanish, and it will be revealed that this is all a vivid dream. He blinks for a split second, expecting all of it to disappear into his dark bedroom, alone at three in the morning with the sheets crumpled up into a ball next to him and his forehead slick with sweat.
But she’s still beside him like she belongs there, like this is normal, like this isn’t some sick joke the universe is playing on him.
When the movie ends, the red curtain draws and the house lights go up. Mark starts to stand up, but Helly stops him.
“Let’s wait until the crowd thins.”
“Okay. Sure.” He sits back down. “What’d you think?”
“It’s funny.”
Mark expects her to provide an explanation, but Helly doesn’t say anything. “That’s all?”
“Yes. I liked it. I thought it was funny. What about you?”
“’S good. Not sure if I buy Cary Grant as a paleontologist, but it was 1938, they needed some escapism back then.”
“Well, I bought it,” she smirks.
“Yeah, I’m sure you did.”
“Do you own a pair of glasses like that?”
“No.”
“That’s a pity.”
“Is that so?”
“You’re a professor, you should dress the part.”
Their eyes lock together, and Mark’s mouth goes dry. Is she leaning in? He can’t tell. The balcony section is empty now except for the two of them, the faint noise of footsteps and chatter from the lobby below.
“We can probably head back downstairs now,” she suggests, breaking the spell.
They spent the drive back discussing movies, though Helly admits she hasn’t watched many recently. “What was the one you mentioned on Friday in the bookstore?” she asks as he parks the car at the Grand Kier.
He has to think it over because he doesn’t quite remember that detail, but then the memory floods back to him. “Whiplash.”
“What’s that one about?”
“Jazz. It’s pretty intense, but worth the watch.”
Helly looks past him at the front entrance of the hotel. “Thank you for picking me up and dropping me off.”
“I’ll walk you to the front.”
He darts out of the driver’s seat to let her out on the other side, and they stroll side by side. The night is even cooler now, and the sounds of the night echo in the distance—the trickle of the stream, an owl or two hooting to one another, a few crickets chirping, the last vestiges of summer as the autumn takes a hold.
“Well, this is me,” Helly says. She stands next to the brick wall of the Grand Kier’s facade and smiles up at him.
“I hope you had a nice time tonight,” he says.
“I did. Did you?”
“Yeah, I did.”
And to prove it, he leans forward to kiss her, slow and deliberate, pressing her back against the wall. He’s wanted to do this all night. Ever since they were in the elevator, when he first noticed just how breathtaking she looked. She reciprocates the kiss without hesitation, her arms first snaking around his neck, then her hands winding through his hair. Her fingernails lightly scratch against his scalp, and he can already feel pressure tightening against his jeans. Right here, right now — it’s both intoxicating and sobering. Better yet, it’s her, it’s real, and he’s present for all of it, with no buzz to cloud his judgment.