A flush climbed up her neck.
"I didn't know it was… this." she hissed under her breath, still refusing to look at him.
Eric chuckled softly, his voice warm with amusement.
"Sure. You just happened to land in a solo seat next to me at almost 8 p.m. Monday screening of a romance that's been trending for its intensity."
Her jaw clenched.
"I didn't land here. Chloe forced me to take this seat."
"Why is this Chloe always forced you do anything?"
Sarah gave him a long, sideways glare. Then muttered, mostly to herself:
"I'm going to kill her."
Sarah kept her eyes glued to the screen like it owed her an apology.
Meanwhile, Eric didn't seem to be watching the film at all. He leaned back, legs comfortably crossed, arms resting casually — none of the secondhand embarrassment she was currently drowning in.
"You know," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear over the swelling background music, "this isn't exactly beginner-level romance."
She flinched as another moan came from the screen.
"I didn't know it had—sound effects," she whispered sharply, cheeks flaming.
He stifled a laugh.
"Sound effects," he repeated, amused. "That's what we're calling it?"
Sarah stared ahead, eyes wide.
"You're enjoying this."
"Immensely."
He didn't even pretend to deny it.
"You're blushing so hard it's making the exit signs jealous."
She rolled her eyes and whispered through clenched teeth, "This is Chloe's fault. I hope she's suffering in aisle three."
Eric chuckled again, then leaned slightly closer, his tone innocent.
"So, just to confirm… you don't usually do steamy movie Mondays with random men you've publicly rejected?"
She gave him a side-eye so sharp it could've sliced through the popcorn bag on his lap.
"I didn't reject you."
He grinned. "You returned my pastries."
"Technically, I returned your pastry box," she corrected, primly.
"With altered inventory."
Sarah blinked, then narrowed her eyes.
"You counted them?"
"They were symmetrical when I packed them," he said with mock solemnity. "You wounded a chef's pride, Sarah."
She groaned quietly. "Please stop talking."
"You started it. With the fake date. And the pastry betrayal."
"You need hobbies."
"I had one," he said, deadpan. "Then someone returned it in a tied-up box."
She let her head fall back against the seat with a thud, muttering under her breath, "Chloe is going to pay for this."
Just as Sarah was about to sink deeper into her seat and pretend she no longer had a corporeal form, the scene on screen had transitioned to something so intense it practically glowed — soft lighting, passionate whispers, unbuttoned shirts — and she could feel his smile in the dark.
He leaned in slightly.
"You sure you didn't know the genre?"
"I thought it was a rom-com," she whispered back, glaring at the screen like it had personally betrayed her.
"Technically," he mused, "romance and comedy are both present. It's just… heavier on the cardio."
Sarah choked on her own breath and hissed, "Oh my God."
"You know," he added, eyes gleaming, "if I'd known this was the kind of movie you liked, I would've adjusted my approach."
She turned sharply.
"I don't like this kind of movie."
"Then you must really like me. You stayed."
Her cheeks flamed so hard she considered becoming a houseplant.
Before she could reply, her phone buzzed.
Chloe: Are you still alive? Did he say something? Did you faint? Did he faint?
Sarah typed back furiously under the armrest:
I hate you so much.
Chloe responded instantly:
You're welcome.
Eric raised an eyebrow. "Should I be worried?"
She exhaled.
"Yes. But probably not for the reasons you think."
He just smiled. That same small, knowing smile that made her want to either run or rewind her entire week.
Another gasp-filled, silk-sheeted scene unfurled on screen — all golden lighting, half-zipped dresses, and dialogue that could set fire to linen.
Sarah blinked. Then blinked again.
Does this movie even have a normal scene? she thought in disbelief.
Where was the plot? Where was the cute grocery store montage? The awkward first kiss in the rain? The comical misunderstanding at brunch?
No. Every scene so far had been a masterclass in ways to ruin dry-clean-only clothing.
She shifted in her seat, very aware of the human furnace sitting beside her. Her entire body felt like it had been plugged into a space heater of shame.
How is this still going?
Why is there fog?
Was that a piano?
Who even had the stamina for this much cinematic cardio?
She glanced at Eric from the corner of her eye.
Big mistake.
He was already watching her. Smirking. Like he'd just won a game she didn't know they were playing.
Sarah turned back to the screen immediately, cheeks in flames, clutching her bag like it might grant her invisibility.
I am never trusting Chloe's movie suggestions again.
And definitely not on a Monday.
Beside her, Eric sipped his drink with criminal calm.
Then, in the same low voice that had haunted her across cafés, gardens, and godforsaken kitchen aisles, he murmured—
"You sure you don't like this kind of movie?"
Sarah's jaw locked. "Positive."
"Because you're really focused."
"I'm trying not to die," she muttered.
He leaned just slightly, stage-whisper soft:
"That scene? Very educational. We should take notes."
Her head snapped toward him. "We?"
He offered a devilish grin. "Well, I didn't bring a notebook, but I'm a visual learner."
Sarah's cheeks went nuclear.
She turned back to the screen, ears buzzing, eyes wide, hands clenched in her lap like she was preparing to go down with the ship.
Eric, entirely unfazed, added thoughtfully.
"They really committed to the choreography. I respect the work ethic."
She shot him a warning glare and stared at the screen, then at the ceiling, then at her own soul, trying to find a single way out of this cinematic nightmare.
Could she… run?
She could run.
Maybe fake an emergency. Maybe pretend she got a call. Maybe just launch herself into the aisle and sprint like a woman possessed. Would that be dramatic? Yes. But also: survival.
Her phone was still in her lap. She thumbed it open beneath the armrest, screen dimmed.
Sarah:
I can't do this.
I'm going to run.
Chloe read it instantly.
Chloe:
If you run, I swear I'll post that blurry crying selfie from last October with the caption:
"She fled the cinema but couldn't flee her feelings."
Try me.
I'll tag Eric.
I'll geotag the theater.
I'll add dramatic piano music.
Oscar campaign level.
Sarah's eye twitched.
She looked up. On screen, two people were now aggressively kissing against a stained glass window while Vivaldi's Four Seasons swelled in the background.
She was trapped in a fever dream.
She flicked one more message.
Sarah: I hope your pillow is always warm and your coffee always slightly cold.
Chloe: Love you too
Sarah turned off her phone, swallowed her dignity like a bitter pill, and faced the screen again — posture stiff, neck hot, pulse erratic.
She was running.
Not literally, unfortunately.
But spiritually?
Gone.
She hadn't blinked in over a minute.
Her eyes were locked on the screen, but her brain had fully short-circuited somewhere between a moan and a slow-motion shirt removal.
She didn't even notice she was gripping her purse like a life vest in a shipwreck.
Eric, of course, noticed everything.
He leaned ever so slightly in her direction, voice low, lazy, laced with amusement.
"Silent now. That's not a good sign."
Sarah said nothing.
He added, almost innocently, "You okay? You look like someone just dropped you into a sauna with no escape route."
Still nothing. Just a subtle inhale through her nose and a jaw so clenched it could've cracked porcelain.
He tilted his head slightly. "Should I be worried you're having a medical emergency? Or is this just secondhand embarrassment? Because if so…"
He nodded at the screen, where the couple had now migrated onto a countertop, candles flickering.
"…we're only halfway through."
Sarah exhaled like she was deflating.
He smiled. "You didn't think to check the genre before buying the ticket?"
She nearly threw her purse at him.
Instead, she whispered, deadpan, "I hope one of the candles on screen sets the whole movie on fire."
He chuckled — that low, unhurried sound that vibrated in his chest.
And then, quietly, he offered her one of the napkins from his drink.
"For the blush. It's starting to match that heroin dress."
Her eyes flicked to the screen—
—and instantly regretted it.
The actress was currently draped over a velvet settee in what barely qualified as a nightgown. Silk, sheer, and scandalously strategic. The kind of dress that whispered instead of spoke—if it counted as a dress at all.
Sarah's breath hitched.
She wasn't even sure where the neckline ended. Or if it started.
A second passed. Then two.
She grabbed the napkin from Eric's hand with a mortified scowl, face aflame, and shot him a look sharp enough to cut through velvet.
He only sipped from his drink, unbothered.
Sarah pressed the napkin to her cheek, as if it could soak up embarrassment as well as condensation.
Why, she wondered bitterly, did it always have to be him she ran into when her life veered off into chaos?
She didn't dare look at him again.
The heroine on screen let out a breathless sigh.
Sarah nearly groaned aloud.
Of course she did.
He extended the drink toward her, wrist resting easily on the armrest between them.
"You want water?"
Sarah turned her head just enough to glance at him, eyes narrowed.
"I'm fine," she said flatly, crossing her arms like a human 'Do Not Disturb' sign.
"You sure?" His tone was maddeningly calm. "You've made that exact face three times in the last five minutes. It's either dehydration... or moral panic."
"I said I'm fine."
He didn't argue. Just set the bottle on the shared armrest, letting it sit there like an offering. Unassuming. Unmoving. But clearly there.
A beat passed. Then two.
Sarah shifted, the heat in her face still high. The scene on screen wasn't helping. The characters were whispering sweet nothings and undressing at the emotional pace of a soft jazz saxophone.
She gave the water one more side-eye. Then, without a word, picked it up and took a long sip.
Eric didn't even look at her.
He just smirked faintly, eyes still on the screen, and said,
"Knew it."
She nearly choked.
Forty-five minutes more. That's how long Sarah had spent willing the movie to end, practicing advanced levels of stillness, and pretending she was invisible.
By the time the final scene faded to black — a shirtless confession under the rain, no less — she was certain she'd aged a year.
The credits rolled. The lights began their slow, merciless rise.
Sarah blinked hard, adjusting to the brightness like a vampire dragged into morning.
She'd survived.
Barely.
Next to her, Eric stretched, just a little, the kind of stretch that made it abundantly clear he'd spent the past two hours completely unbothered.
"So," he started, turning to her with a smirk, "educational experience?"
Sarah stood abruptly, brushing invisible lint from her dress like it might restore her dignity.
"I'm never watching anything with candlelight in the trailer again," she muttered, collecting her bag with mechanical dignity.
He grinned, unbothered. "You say that like you didn't enjoy it."
She froze halfway. "I endured it."
"Is that what we're calling it now?" he teased, stepping aside to let her pass first.
Sarah walked stiffly toward the aisle, cheeks still carrying the faintest burn from the third bathtub scene. Or maybe the fourth. She'd lost count.
Eric kept up beside her, calm as ever, and casually handed her a bottle of sparkling water.
"You looked like you needed a palate cleanser. For the soul."
She took it mutely, unable to summon anything witty.
He held the door for her, the night air crisp outside. She stepped out first, clutching the bottle like it might erase memories.
"I have to say," he began casually, hands in his pockets, "when I saw you at the store yesterday, I didn't expect our next encounter to involve... that much exposed skin."
Sarah nearly tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.
Before she could recover, her phone buzzed again.
Chloe:
Did you two kiss yet? No? Okay, but emotionally??
Sarah didn't answer.
She just sighed — loud enough for Eric to hear — and started walking toward the street.
He followed.
"Next time we accidentally go on a date, we're watching something PG."
She turned to him, finally finding her voice.
"There won't be a next time."
He nodded, solemn. "That's what people always say right before the sequel."
Sarah blinked. "This isn't a franchise."
Eric's smile deepened. "That's what makes it interesting."
He stopped at the edge of the plaza, just before they'd part ways.
"Goodnight, Sarah."
His voice lingered a moment longer than necessary. Not too much. Just enough to feel like he meant it.
Then, with one last glance, he turned and walked away, hands tucked into his pockets, posture casual, like a man with no idea he'd just lit someone's nervous system on fire.
Sarah exhaled hard.
And ran.
Or walked really fast—but emotionally, it was a sprint.
She rounded the corner—and smacked right into Chloe, who had clearly been waiting with a drink in one hand and a grin in the other.
Chloe caught her elbow, steadying her.
"Well, well, well," she said. "Look who lived to tell the tale."
Sarah gaped. "How long were you waiting here?"
"Since bathtub scene number two."
"What?!"
"I had a feeling you'd need backup. Or at least a witness to your walk of survival."
Sarah scowled, cheeks pink. "You're evil."
"I'm effective," Chloe said brightly, looping her arm through Sarah's and steering her toward the parking lot. "Now tell me everything."
Sarah groaned. "I'm changing my name and moving to a mountain."
"Sure, but after you tell me if he smelled good."
"CHLOE."
Sarah marched straight toward the silver compact car parked under the flickering streetlamp. Chloe after her.
In the car, Sarah slammed the door shut with a little more force than necessary.
Chloe barely blinked, adjusting the rearview mirror with one hand, the other still cradling her bubble tea like it held national secrets.
Sarah crossed her arms, jaw tight. "You said it was a romantic movie."
"It was romantic," Chloe said innocently. "Just with... elevated levels of physical expression."
Sarah's eyes widened. "They were naked, Chloe. Naked. For a full quarter of the film."
"Oh, please," Chloe waved her off. "It's 2025. We call that character development."
Sarah groaned and sank lower in her seat, muttering, "I'm going to have to spiritually cleanse my soul."
Chloe snorted. "I thought it was tasteful. And steamy. Which, frankly, you need."
Sarah turned sharply. "I thought it was a rom-com!"
Chloe wiped a tear of laughter from her cheek. "Well, it was... a rom... something."
Sarah covered her face with both hands.
"And I didn't even know it was that kind of movie," she said. "I just sat there, dying slowly, as he—commented."
Chloe wheezed with laughter. "Wait—what did he say?"
"I'm not repeating it."
"Oh my God, he made jokes during the scenes? I love him."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't," Chloe grinned, putting the car in drive. "Because deep down, you know I'm doing the work of the universe."
"The universe should mind its business."
"You're welcome, by the way. He offered you popcorn, didn't he?"
Sarah shot her a flat look. "I will never forgive you for this."
"Good," Chloe said, adjusting her sunglasses even though it was night. "Because the sequel has even more cardio."
"CHLOE—!"