Most of Cape Lark has taken shelter in cafés, nursing tea or bowls of chowder. The six of us are still outside, getting nowhere fast beneath a sky that keeps opening over us. We hurry from one shop to the next, ducking past candy-store windows and home boutiques full of towels that make jokes about wine. Our arms are clasped over our heads. It is not helping.
A crack of thunder rattles the street. Lightning flashes close enough to whiten the shopfronts.
“Can we call it and go home?” Bianca asks.
Livia turns on her, appalled. “We just got here.”
Jules studies the clouds. “This looks like it might get worse, not better.”
“Then we’ll do the Roxy double feature,” Livia says, as if the weather has presented her with a gift.
Bianca glances toward the marquee. “Do you even know what’s on?”
The Roxy has two screens. During the summer matinees, the theater runs paired movies set on the Washington coast. Most are horror, often adapted from books Livia loves. Bianca is not nearly as enthusiastic.
“It doesn’t matter,” Livia says. “We used to do this whenever rain ruined our plans. It’s a tradition.”
She heads down the block, and the rest of us follow toward the ticket window, where a teenager looks as if he’s been counting raindrops for an hour.
Bianca reads the marquee and winces. “The Hollow House and The Hollow House Returns. Aren’t those television movies?”
“The first one was a two-night miniseries,” Livia says. “The sequel was made for theaters. Together, they’re perfect.”
“Four hours of haunted-house movie is a lot to ask.”
Jules nudges Bianca in the side. “What if the ghosts sparkle?”
“Come on,” Livia says. “Don’t be a wet blanket.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
Livia raises both palms. “I’m saying we might not get another chance to do this together.”
The two of them are heading toward a standoff. I look from one to the other. “What if Bianca comes for the first one, then waits at the Warm Cup? We can meet her afterward.”
“First miniseries,” Bianca corrects.
Jules touches her elbow. “I can head back with you, if you’d rather.”
Bianca lifts her chin. “No, I’m fine. I want to come. At least for the first one.”
Livia gives a delighted squeal and spins toward the booth. “Tickets are on me!”
The teenager now has a top hat on. Livia pauses, looking him over as if she has forgotten why she approached. “Six for the double feature?”
“Yes, milady,” he says solemnly.
On the way inside, Rhys falls into step beside me.
“You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Keep inventing compromises whenever they disagree. They can sort it out without you.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
One eyebrow rises. “Not even a little?”
“Not at all.”
“They’re having a good trip,” he says. “You can let them enjoy it.”
My stomach gives a small turn. So much has changed between us, but he still notices when I’m worrying before I’ve admitted it to myself. “I’m fine.”
The theater is tiny and nearly empty. We claim the whole front row and spread our wet coats over the seats behind us. I try to wedge myself between Livia and Bianca, but somehow end up at the far end with Rhys. He keeps checking his phone, angling the screen away from me, until the lights fade.
At the first cheap scare, I stop myself from leaning into his shoulder. The room is freezing. Each time I settle my arm on the shared rest, my skin brushes his. His is warm enough to make the theater feel colder by comparison.
From the opposite end of the row, Livia turns and flashes us a thumbs-up. Rhys’s hand closes around mine against my thigh. My heart jumps hard.
Our hands are the only place we touch, but I feel every small shift of his fingers. His pulse answers mine through our palms. I can’t follow what’s happening on the screen. I keep wondering if he’s thinking about last night, when I sat across his lap with my arms around his neck and moved against him until neither of us could pretend the space between us was harmless.
The darkness gives us just enough cover to feel alone and not enough to forget we’re sitting together.
Then someone on-screen is thrown onto a rack of antlers. I jerk and press my face to Rhys’s chest.
“Really, Mara?” he whispers. “I thought you were used to grisly murders. I’ve seen the books you bring home.”
“That’s not the same. Those are cozy mysteries.” I pull back enough to see his face.
“Meaning the person who finds the body wears a sweater vest and has a dull day job?”
“Your hand suggests you might be a little rattled too.”
“I am.” His voice is quiet, without the teasing edge. “Just not by the movie.”
He sounds less like he’s flirting than admitting something he wishes weren’t true. We keep looking at each other. The air between us seems to tighten.
I remember the breakup: four minutes, clipped and clinical. Afterward, I scrubbed the apartment from top to bottom. I worked a toothbrush into the grout until sweat ran into my eyes, but I never felt clean. I never got free of the shock or the grief.
I could list all the ways he disappointed me. I could start with how badly he loads a dishwasher. But that isn’t where my thoughts go. I need distance. I need room to breathe. I need a hypnotist to make my body forget him.
“I have to use the bathroom,” I say, and slip out into the aisle.