Delia’s key worked on the first try, largely because she remembered to push.
She stood in the private doorway for a moment, pleased with herself, then carried her overnight bag upstairs. Soren was in the cinema preparing for the evening. He had texted her that he might not hear the door, and she had told him she could manage a staircase.
The apartment was warm. A clean towel waited on the bed, and the ugly little frog she had left on the shelf sat on top of it. Delia took a photograph and sent it to him.
Your housekeeper has unusual standards.
His reply arrived while she was changing her shoes.
He’s very cheap.
She put the frog on the shelf beside the bed and went out for a walk. The afternoon held the busy ease of a summer Saturday: people moving toward the water, a child dragging a bucket, a dog refusing to leave an interesting patch of wall. Delia stopped at a shop to buy a bottle of water, then took the longer route back. She knew enough of Gullhaven now to recognize where she was without consulting her phone. She still took a wrong turn and ended up beside a row of garages, which improved her mood more than it ought to have.
At the Lantern, the foyer doors stood open. Soren was behind the counter with a roll of tickets and a pencil tucked above his ear. He looked up when she entered, and the pleasure on his face made her walk faster.
“You got in.”
“I did. I inspected the drawers.”
“And?”
“We’ll need another weekend.”
He laughed and came around the counter to kiss her. She put her hand at the back of his neck, feeling the small damp curls there. He had been working in the heat.
“Go and eat,” she said. “You look like you’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t. It’s upstairs.”
“Then go.”
“My assistant’s back in ten minutes.”
She stayed with him until the young man returned, then followed Soren upstairs. They ate a quick meal at the kitchen table. He was distracted, checking the time twice, and Delia asked whether something was wrong.
“No. Just last-night nerves.”
“You’ve done the others.”
“That doesn’t seem to help.”
He smiled at himself, a little embarrassed. She touched his wrist.
“What are you worried about?”
“That no one comes. That too many come. That I forget how to introduce a film I’ve seen six times.”
“All plausible.”
He gave her a look.
“I’m not going to tell you it’ll be perfect,” she said. “You’d know I was lying.”
“True.”
“I will tell you I’ve been looking forward to it.”
He turned his hand under hers and laced their fingers together. For a moment his attention settled entirely on her. She could feel the evening waiting below them, but he did not hurry to fill the silence.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.
“Me too.”
At seven thirty, Delia bought her ticket from the assistant. Soren protested from the far end of the foyer, but she had already put her card against the reader.
“Too late,” she said.
“I could refund it.”
“You could do many things.”
She took the ticket and went to choose a seat. The auditorium was still mostly empty. She picked the middle of a row, far enough back to see the whole screen without lifting her chin. A couple sat two rows ahead. A woman she recognized from the first discussion waved from the aisle, and Delia waved back.
By eight, twenty-one people had arrived. Soren did not announce the number. Delia counted because she could not help it, then stopped when she realized she was mentally comparing it with his first night. He had asked her to come to a film, not to produce attendance data.
His introduction was shorter this time. He named one detail to watch for in the opening scene, then said he would save everything else until afterward. The lights dimmed. Delia settled into her seat, aware of the empty one beside her and of his footsteps moving back up the aisle.
The film was a comedy about two people stranded in a town where neither wanted to be. Delia expected misunderstandings. She did not expect the heroine to be so bad-tempered, or so funny. Within fifteen minutes she was laughing with the room. The hero seemed charming until he tried to manage something that required asking a question. She groaned aloud, and the woman in front turned with a grin.
Near the middle, Soren slipped into the empty seat beside her. He had made sure everything was running properly; now he could watch. His shoulder touched hers in the dark. She turned her head just enough to see his profile in the light from the screen.
“You’re missing it,” he whispered.
“I’ve gathered the plot.”
“Have you?”
She returned her attention to the screen. A scene involving a suitcase and an unfortunate staircase proved her wrong almost immediately. She laughed so suddenly that Soren laughed at her, then took her hand between the seats.
They stayed that way through the next half hour. Occasionally his thumb moved against hers. Once she felt him looking at her and refused to turn, enjoying the knowledge of it. The film continued to surprise her. The heroine did something selfish, was called selfish, and did not become less interesting. The hero apologized without the music swelling. Delia found herself leaning forward as the last scene began.
The ending left them together, though not where she had expected. She liked it. Soren, beside her, made a doubtful sound so quiet she would have missed it if she had not been holding his hand.
When the lights rose, she turned toward him. “What?”
“Later.”
“You didn’t like it?”
He stood, smiling. “I have to ask the room first.”
She watched him walk to the front, amused and irritated that he could leave her with a question when he knew she wanted to argue.
The discussion was livelier than the first. People had opinions ready. Soren asked about the heroine’s last choice, and three hands rose at once. He took them in order. One woman thought the choice made no sense; a man said it was the only sensible thing anyone had done. Delia waited until there was space, then said she liked that the heroine had not become agreeable simply because she was in love.
Soren looked at her with a smile he tried to keep professional. “Would it have worked if he’d made the same choice?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted something different. That’s the point.”
The woman from the first discussion nodded vigorously. Someone else disagreed. Delia listened, then answered without trying to recruit the whole room to her side. She liked being one of several people with an opinion. She liked watching Soren decide which question would open the conversation rather than close it.
When it ended, the applause was brief and friendly, a thank-you rather than a declaration. Soren looked embarrassed by it. He thanked them for coming through the series and said he would announce any future dates when he had them.
In the foyer, several people lingered. Delia moved to one side while he spoke to a man asking about an old western. A woman nearby asked Delia whether she worked there.
“No,” Delia said. “I’m visiting.”
Soren turned at the sound of her voice. “This is Delia, my partner. She’s the one with better arguments.”
“Only about the endings,” Delia said.
“Don’t encourage her,” he told the woman.
The woman laughed and asked where Delia lived. The conversation moved easily to Bellweather and the drive. Soren returned to the western question. Delia answered the woman’s questions, then asked about the film she had liked best in the series. It was the one Delia had disliked, which seemed appropriate.
By ten thirty, the foyer was empty except for the assistant gathering the last cups. Soren told him to leave them and go home. The young man did not require persuading. Delia leaned against the counter, waiting while Soren locked the front doors.
“Now,” she said.
He turned. “Now what?”
“The ending.”
“You liked it.”
“Yes. You made a noise.”
“I don’t think he would have stayed.”
Delia stared at him. “After all that?”
“Especially after all that. He spent the whole film trying to leave.”
“He spent the whole film saying he was trying to leave.”
Soren considered her. “That’s a fair distinction.”
“Thank you.”
“I still don’t believe it.”
She laughed, delighted by how much she wanted to persuade him. “Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“The bit that makes you think he wouldn’t.”
He looked toward the auditorium, then at the clock. “We could watch the last ten minutes.”
They went back in. Soren restarted the ending while Delia sat in the same row, this time leaving her bag on the floor. He returned to the seat beside her. Without the rest of the audience, the room felt larger and more private. She put her legs over his, and he rested a hand on her knee.
They watched closely, interrupting each other twice. The evidence remained inconclusive. At the final line, Delia looked at him in triumph. He shook his head.
“That’s hope,” he said. “Not proof.”
“It’s a comedy. Let them have the morning.”
He looked at her, and his argument softened into a smile. “All right. The morning.”
She kissed him before the screen faded completely. In the last light, his hand moved from her knee to her waist. When the room went dark, she was still kissing him.
They left the cups until he had turned off the equipment. Then he gathered them while Delia found her bag. Outside the private entrance, the air was cooler. Soren reached automatically toward his pocket, then saw her take out her keys and stepped back.
She pushed the door a little, turned the new key, and opened it.
“After you,” she said.
He caught her hand instead and drew her through with him. The door closed behind them, and his mouth found hers before either had reached the stairs.