Love Like the Movies

by Victoria Van Tiem

  Last purchase was a tailored dress with a retro Peter Pan collar. It’s form-fitting with a high waist, and I’ve worn it only once. But I’m wearing it today. This says I’m confident, together, and ready for business. Bring that girl to work. I just hope it doesn’t say I’m trying too hard. It’s not something I’d normally wear to the office.

  Tonya’s flat-out betrayal about Shane infuriates me, but I have no intention of mentioning it. I was up all night thinking about this. It only gives her ammo to use against me. If I confront her, she has two plays, denial or downplay. Either way, she’d whine to Bradley how I overreacted, and he’d question why I care when it was almost seven years ago with my ex. The same ex who is now our client. This creates more tension between Bradley and Shane, which creates a bigger issue for Bradley and me. I’m actually proud of how rational I’m being.

  If your friends should be kept close and enemies closer, then a frenemy should be kept in the dark. As in blacklisted.

  With a fresh cup of coffee, I’m back at my desk just as Clive’s door opens. Bradley and Shane both emerge. With my back ramrod straight, I open a new document and tap away at the keys like I’m deep in a major idea storm and can’t keep up with the flow.

  They’re walking over here. Without looking up, I type the same sentence again, and then ad lib. Idea storm and can’t keep up with the flow. Tons of ideas. Lots of ideas—

  Shane’s standing right in front of my desk. “Good morning, Kensington.” His floppy dark hair is pushed back off his face and a hint of growth now covers his jaw. His lips are curved slightly and my gaze falls to them.

  A lost memory of them pressed to mine appears. I’m wrapped in his arms, late for class, and we’re laughing. Kissing. He wouldn’t let me go.

  But he did.

  “Hi, hon,” Bradley says, striding up beside him before I can respond. He looks polished and handsome in the light-blue shirt I bought for his last birthday.

  I peer over my laptop screen and smile brightly at him, ignoring Shane. “Morning, what’s on the agenda today?” I keep typing random sentences, because I’m much too busy to stop. I type, much too busy to stop.

  “I thought we could brainstorm during an outing. Maybe hash out the list,” Shane says to the side of my head because I’m still smiling at Bradley. My fiancé. Who’s still upset with me.

  I pause and do my best to look apologetic. “Oh, it’s Wednesday. Bradley and I have a standing lunch date.” There. I looked at him.

  Bradley rocks back on his heels. “Oh, yeah, sorry, can’t. Tonya and I are meeting with the Indianapolis Symphony about a new print initiative.” His eyes narrow. “Is that a new dress?”

  I can feel my face warm. “What? No, you’ve seen this before.” He actually has. I furrow my brows in a you-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about look.

  “Sorry ’bout lunch, but I may be able to score symphony tickets from today’s meeting.”

  “Great,” I say and smile even brighter at Bradley. It’s megawatt and directed only at him. I love the symphony. It’s an excuse to get dressed up and the theater’s absolutely beautiful. It also doesn’t hurt that he said that in front of Shane. See? We’re happy. In fact, I’m beaming.

  Bradley taps my desk and smiles. “I do like that dress. You look gorgeous.” He nods to Shane. No smile. “Bennett.” He turns and walks toward his office.

  Yay, Bradley. I’m so wearing something silky for him this weekend. I look back at my computer screen and keep ignoring Shane in case Bradley—yup, he just looked back. I smile. Having Shane here is bothering him. I just need to not aggravate the situation and stay focused on what’s at stake: job, bonus, wedding, and family . . . in other words, everything.

  Shane’s still standing here.

  “So, what time are you free?” He moves to my side of the desk and peers down at the screen.

  What is he doing? I try to bring up the Microsoft Office calendar again, but I already closed out. I can’t just close the laptop. It’ll appear like I’m hiding something.

  My chat window pops up. It’s Ellie. Can Shane see the screen? I can’t tell. The back of my neck warms as I glance at the message.

  ELLIE-BELL: Has your ex Mr. Britain seen you in that dress yet? Did his jaw drop?

  I turn quickly, to distract him. “How ’bout noon? I’m sure that’ll work.” My voice is shaky, trying to play it off.

  “Actually, I have a late lunch over at the mall. Can you meet me there around four? Front entrance?”

  “Sure. Oh, um, would you mind if we met in front of Fossie’s? I have to grab a baby gift off the registry for my sister-in-law, so I could meet you after . . . ?”

  “It’s Fossie’s at four then.” Shane turns to leave but then looks back, his gaze skimming the length of my dress. “For the record, I, ah, prefer your overalls. But I can see why Bradley likes that dress.” A sly smile twists on his lips.

  Without another word he turns on his heels, leaving me to slowly bleed out from embarrassment. I drop my head in my hands. Ugh . . . this dress. So much for confident, together, and ready for business.

  My Facebook status should be a simple lol. Only it wouldn’t stand for “laugh out loud”—lol looks like a little guy drowning, which sums up how I feel; and just like him, I don’t think it’s funny.

  APPROACHING THE REGISTRY KIOSK, I type in Ren’s name and wait for the printout. I haven’t even thought of registering yet. With my luck, when it’s time for a wedding shower, Mom will want to have Ren’s big baby shower. My stomach wrenches and sours.

  I’m watching the machine slowly spit out Ren’s list: mahogany crib and dresser set, glider chair for the nursery, all-terrain jogging stroller . . . there’s nothing under four hundred dollars. What is she thinking?

  When I look up, I spot Shane in the main aisle walking in my direction. Wait, he’s early. I dodge a woman who’s pushing a stroller with one hand and holding on to a toddler with the other. The little girl has adorable blond curls and rounded cheeks. She waves at me with a chubby hand and I can’t help smiling.

  My expression drops as I near Shane. “Hi, you’re early. You said four, right?” I point back toward the direction I came. “I, um, haven’t even started yet.”

  Shane looks at his watch. “Oh, so I am. Not a problem.” He motions toward the department and begins walking. “When’s your sister-in-law due?”

  “Oh, um, not until spring.” I match his stride. So he’s coming with me? “I guess my engagement dinner is now an engagement slash early baby shower with the family, so we’re giving our gifts now.” My words spill out with an unintentionally wounded tone.

  Shane looks puzzled. “Wait, I thought you said your mom had everything planned? Why would they change it all of a sudden?”

  My cheeks warm. I forgot I told him. “Um, I must’ve gotten it wrong. The phone disconnected, and I guess, well . . .” I look away and say under my breath, “Ya know, I assumed.”

  “Some things never change.” Shane huffs and shakes his head, then looks around. “I’ll, ah, be right back.”

  There’s a warm glow in my chest from his words. Shane’s spent time with my family and gets how it is for me. He always took my side.

  At this point, I think my family should just forget about the engagement dinner. We can make the get-together about Ren. The whole thing feels like an obligation, anyway. Like I’m an inconvenience imposing on Ren’s special day. Not quite good enough to merit my own.

  My attention falls on a display table with little baby booties. They’re knitted to imitate miniature fashion boots. As I run my fingers over the texture, a goofy grin fixes on my face. They’re so stinkin’ cute. When I glance up, I find Shane watching me from across the display.

  “They’re just so tiny.” My nose wrinkles. “Can you imagine the little feet, and the itty-bitty toes that would fit in these?”

  “I can imagine a lot of things.”

  My whole body stiffens. An unexpected tsunami of displaced emotion detona
tes without warning, washing over me in an instant. I look away. Anywhere. The booties. My hands. His.

  Wait. “Why do you have scanner guns?”

  There’s an amused sparkle to his eyes. “Well, we officially have an agreement. And this is number four on our list, so I thought—”

  “What is number four?” I ask, recoiling. Before I can get to my phone to check the e-mail, he hands me the scanner.

  “Oh, and you’re Ren, if that lady over there asks.” He cocks his head to his right where a Fossie’s employee is eyeing us curiously. A slow grin spreads across his face.

  “I’m Ren? I can’t register for Ren, she’d kill me. And how’d you know her name?”

  “She married your brother, same last name . . .” His scanner beeps.

  I eyeball what he’s swiped. It’s a huge stuffed pig-hippo-monster in gaudy neon pink and green. Um, no.

  “What are you doing?” My upper lip pulls up in distaste as I regard it. “She won’t want that.” Ren’s nursery will definitely not be in neon monsters. I walk over and unscan the tag.

  He rescans.

  I unscan.

  “Shane, stop it. There’s no way she would ever put that in her nursery.” I unscan it again, and toss it out of reach. Or did I just scan it?

  He’s randomly swiping things. I’m frantically unscanning.

  “Wait.” I step between his gun and a hideous crib comforter in matching monster. “I’m not going to screw up my sister-in-law’s registry. I’m pretty sure that’s not on the movie list.”

  Although, it was in the movie . . . My eyes pop. “27 Dresses? That’s number four, isn’t it? They registered things her sister would hate. I’m not doing that to Ren.” I couldn’t. Could I? My own little monster is rearing its ugly head. I hear Ren’s voice . . . You don’t want the presentation marred by unkempt cuticles. Guess what will be here next spring as well?

  No, I can’t ruin her moment, regardless of how she ruined mine.

  “It’s either this or we hit the bar, pound back some shots, and give a rousing version of ‘Bennie and the Jets.’” Shane lifts the gun and crooks an eyebrow.

  “No. That’s an absolute no.” The characters end up together in the car after that little scene . . . we are not going there.

  He swipes. The scanner beeps.

  “Okay, wait. Stop.” I look over Ren’s registry with an idea. “How about we add a few?” My voice softens. “A few nice things in a reasonable price range?” I hold up the list to refer to it.

  He runs a hand over his jaw in mock consideration. Narrowed eyes lock on mine. “All right. We can do that. It’ll count.”

  I smile, relieved. “Good, ’cause I’m a really good caulker,” I say holding up my scanner gun, remembering the movie line and forgetting myself for the moment.

  “Girl likes caulk,” Shane says through a laugh.

  I try not to snort. “You’re quoting 27 Dresses? You’ve really watched it?” I’m actually glad he knows what I’m talking about. Otherwise, this would be awkward.

  Well, it’s still awkward.

  “Maybe I developed more of a taste for romantic movies than I’d realized. See what you did? You’ve ruined me.” His eyes keep flashing to mine as we walk around the product displays.

  I turn away, not wanting another trip down memory lane. I’m getting married and Shane’s . . . I don’t know what he’s doing.

  “Aw, look.” Shane holds out a tacky lamb bank.

  “That’s the bank that Ren will put all of the baby’s money in,” I say in the way James Marsden did in 27 Dresses, without thinking.

  He scans it.

  “No, Shane, that was a movie line, she won’t want that.”

  He scans one after another with a series of beeps: trains, giraffes, even a silver-plated turtle bank.

  Walking behind him, I eye the table, but he’s scanned so many things so quickly that I have no idea where to start.

  “What’s this?” Shane’s holding up a yellow pillow in the shape of the letter C.

  I smirk. It’s used to support the baby during breastfeeding, among other things. I pretend with a shrug not to know. “Maybe it’s a baby travel pillow?”

  “Yes, because even Junior needs to travel in comfort when flying.” He slips it around his neck and it hangs low over his shoulders. “How big are American babies?”

  I roll my eyes and continue browsing.

  “So how many?” Shane asks thumbing through baby crib sheets and blankets.

  I stop with the scanner in midair and mentally debate the number of sheet sets.

  “Babies. How many babies? I’m sure you and Bradley have discussed this. Let me guess, he wants the statistical two-point-five, right?” He reaches into a crib and scans the comforter set.

  My stomach drops. “I want . . . well . . .” It feels wrong talking with him about this. I focus on a photo frame then turn away.

  “Right. I see. So, when is the wedding? Have you and Mr. Right set a date?”

  I glare at him, feeling suddenly defensive. “We just got engaged, and . . . well, yeah, spring maybe, but—”

  “At least the ring is real enough,” he says under his breath as his scanner beeps.

  “Wait. What does that mean?” I eye the silver-plated bear rattle in his hands and scowl. “And unscan that.”

  Shane stops and turns to me. He leans the scanner against his temple, as if he’s considering his words. “I think you want a wedding. Not a marriage.”

  “What?” I snap. Who does he think he is?

  He’s smirking with one raised eyebrow.

  Wait . . .

  Why is he standing there like that?

  “I said . . . I don’t think you want a marriage. And you say . . .” His head tilts and he waves a hand for me to complete the sentence. “I have the lines on index cards if you don’t remember.” He starts reaching into his pocket.

  He’s serious? Yup, he has cards. I shake my head, bewildered.

  He holds them out for me to take. “Or I could feed you your lines. Let’s see, I said—”

  “I got it. Just . . .” I run the scene from 27 Dresses with the main characters in my head. “Okay, you said, I think you want a wedding, blah blah blah, and I say . . . what’s your problem?” I smile as I recall the dialogue. “Did you have your own fancy wedding planned, and she left you at the altar or something?” I’m speaking halfheartedly, just playing along. If trading movie lines keeps our account, then this is simple enough and shouldn’t be a problem.

  “Bingo,” Shane says with a point of his finger. That’s all he says. That was the line.

  Silence.

  I blank the next part because of the strange expression on his face.

  I can’t read it.

  His lip twitches.

  I think over my lines again. Did she leave you at the altar or something . . . ?

  Oh. In the movie the character Kevin Doyle was left at the altar. Does Shane mean he was—“Shane, I’m . . . I thought we were just saying movie lines. I didn’t mean to . . .”

  The corners of his mouth turn up.

  My eyes narrow. “You’re messing with me?”

  His smile widens, and I reach back and grab the supersized travel baby pillow thing that isn’t a travel pillow and smack him with it.

  “Ow, hey, that’s not that soft,” he says with a laugh, taking an elongated step to stay out of my reach in case I whack him again.

  I do.

  Right over his head. Then I tuck it under my arm, regain my composure, and again work my way around the table of knickknacks. He’s lucky those were just movie lines, because saying I wanted a wedding over a marriage for real would be crossing the line. I want the marriage, I do. But there’s nothing wrong with wanting that big wedding moment, too. What I don’t want is this hippo night-light.

  I set it down, then lift a pregnancy journal. It’s cream with a fabric cover and has a pretty green ribbon to close it.

  “That should be your gift to y
our sister-in-law,” Shane says and motions to the journal.

  “Mm, I don’t know.” I start to set it back. “She’ll probably hate it, it’s not really her.”

  “No, it’s you. That’s why she should love it.” He nods and moves to the next display. More beeps follow.

  I glance over at the array of stuff he’s adding and sigh. I’ll just stop in tomorrow with Ellie and redo it all. And I’ll need to call Ren and let her know I added a few more reasonably priced things. After I fix it, of course. I look down at the journal again. I do like it.

  The giant C pillow rips from under my arm. “Hey!” I turn just as it snaps across my back. “Ow!” It really isn’t that soft. From the corner of my eye I see a Fossie’s employee. She’s looking over.

  Shane swings it again, I step and duck. “Shane,” I whisper sternly. Great, here she comes.

  “Excuse me, you can’t be doing that in here,” the Fossie’s lady calls out, picking up her pace. “Sir? Sir!”

  “We’re very sorry,” Shane says but gets one more smack in. This one doesn’t miss.

  Oh my God, he’s twelve.

  “Sir, you can’t—”

  “Sorry,” Shane says and grins. “Last time. We’re done. We just need to pay for . . .” He lifts the pillow and motions to my journal, then hands her the scanner guns.

  Walking toward the cashier station, I ask, “You’re getting the pillow?”

  “What? You don’t think I should?”

  I hope he’s kidding. Shane stops at another display, distracted by a silver-plated snow globe with a race car in it. He holds it so the white plastic snow swirls around the little track.

  He can’t buy a breastfeeding support pillow. I reach to take it.

  He flinches.

  The globe slips from his hands. Oh, shit! We both reach for it. It’s a game of hot potato, bouncing first to his hands, now to mine. Shane wraps an arm around it like a football, but I have it in my fingertips. He tucks both the globe and my hands tight against his midsection.

  For a moment, we’re frozen, half-bent and tangled up together.

  I can feel the heat off his body. His scent is in my nose. I’m looking into eyes with liquid-gold flecks. And just like the snow globe, my little world is all shook up.