"Can you stop kicking the seat?" Nathan whispered, leaning slightly toward the woman in front of him. She turned her head just enough to glare at him, her dark curls brushing against her cheek. "Sorry," she muttered, though her tone suggested she wasn’t. She shifted in her seat, the faint scent of her perfume—something floral and warm—drifting back toward him.

Nathan had noticed her the moment she sat down, her fitted sweater hugging her curves as she adjusted her scarf. She was with a friend, laughing softly before the previews started, her lips curving into a smile that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. Now, though, she seemed restless, her foot tapping lightly against the floor. The movie, some romantic comedy, clearly wasn’t holding her attention.

"Are you even watching this?" Nathan asked, his voice low. She glanced back again, her lips quirking into a smirk. "Not really," she admitted. "You?" He shook his head, and for a moment, their eyes locked in the dim light of the theater. She hesitated, then leaned closer to her friend, whispering something that made them both laugh. Nathan couldn’t help but wonder what she’d said—and if it was about him.