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EVIE WAS RESTLESS TO REACH THE MOVIE theatre. If anything, she was a bird in flight, flapping her wings—by biting her nails in Cora's silver car, hoping not to ask to turn this car around—and back out of the movies. Back out at the movies. Back out of seeing a particular redhead boy who had until recently started composing her thoughts since the day she first met him.
"Cora," Evie starts.
Cora made a left. The sound of the wheels scratching against the dirt track of the road. They had made it to the town, a nearly a hours drive, and the town was quiet, humble, and snack-bang in the middle of it was the movie theatre. Outside, there were a few cues of people buying tickets at the ticket office, out front was the movie of the day—Heart to Heart. Evie recalls the time Cora had shown her the trailer for Heart to Heart. Some romantic film written and directed by a famous doctor in Hollywood deemed in the next Titanic. But for Evie, nothing will ever come close to taking the Titanic to the top spot. It was her favourite movie. One where the vallent Rose falls in love with the wanderlust Jack—and the story was Timeless. Timeless in Evie's eyes.
And up ahead, Cora reversed into a parking space at the front of the Movie theatre, singing. "We gotta get some popcorn—what would you like, Evie? Butter? Sweet sault?"
"Anything, right now to calm my nerves. I think I'm going to throw up."
Cora giggles. It's a soft sound that makes Evie unblocked her seatbelt and climbs out of the vehicle.
In the open air, the knot of nervousness in her stomach increases and she almost begs Copra to take her home—where she can be with Lew, where she can paint in peace, where she can cry, alone, in the safety of her bedroom when her parents are not present at this very moment. Because living right now in the present was not fun for Evie. It was like she was walking through a storm without a umbrella, and didn't know how long she will outlast the rain before she reaches the ending scene—where she falls into a fever from feeling so cold and lonely, and—
"Hello, Evie," A voice breaks her away from her anxiety. Making his way from the ticket booth, she hears his voice—like lavender flowers in summer—before she catches a glimpse of him. And when she finally works up the nerve to look at him, he takes her breath from her lungs.
Tall, pale, and freckles. He's wearing a red baseball cap that covers the strands of her flaming hair, and soft pale blue jeans. For a second Evie waits if she can smell the hay or the horses on him—clinging to him like a second skin—however is surprised when he reaches her he smells different. Fresh, alluring, with men's cologne that had a scent of tranaringe and musk. And when he moves closer to her, she can't help but notice it. The more the boy moved, the more she found the scent of him drawing her senses awake, and the more awake she was here in the present, the less likely she was to find herself wanting to be home alone with her grief or thoughts.
Evie suddenly remembers the conversation they had. Of the time when Jacob said she could call him anything she wants to, and she does. "Hello," she says, folding out the plans of her lavender summer dress. "Cupcake,"
