We watch for a beat or two, the sight of the princess issuing her not-so-subtle ultimatum bringing a genuine smile to my face. “I used to have a thing for Mary Crosby. Hell, I still have a thing for Mary Crosby.” “Didn’t she play on Dallas?” “She basically made the show.” “Wow. That’s quite a claim.” I knock her hand aside when she makes a grab for more popcorn, and one of my brows raise. The woman who shot J.R. made television history. “And by ‘claim,’ I mean ‘an accurate and astute observation.’” The corner of her mouth lifts in an almost-smile when I release my buttery hostage. “Tell me more about your obsession with Ms. Crosby.” “Mrs. Brodka,” I correct absently. “And it’s not an obsession. I just appreciate the classics.” “Are we talking about the movie or the actress?” My face heats when she lets loose a bark of laugher. “I was talking about the movie. It’s a good movie. Sue me.” “You’re preaching to the choir, sweetheart. They don’t make space operas like they used to.” I hesitate before sticking my big toe down the rabbit hole. “Have you ever seen Firefly?” “I’m sorry? I’m alive and breathing, aren’t I? When I think about cinematic tragedies, canceling Firefly is right up there with the remake of Total Recall and the existence of Jurassic sharks.” “Sharknado haunts my dreams.” “I saw the movie and it left me feeling personally disrespected. You know there’s a movie called Aliens vs. Avatars?” Settling deeper into the couch, Taya leans her head against my shoulder. The remnants of a grin linger around her mouth, and I want to lean in and kiss the vestiges away. My throat tightens. The weekend has not been kind, but for now, everything in my world is good and right. Is it wrong to want the feeling to last? Dumbass. Taya spends the next few minutes explaining which sci-fi movies she believes should be classified as acts of terrorism. I don’t always agree, but listening to the animated way she shreds plotlines and decimates directors and actors alike makes me wary of disagreeing. Her face lights up and she actively involves her hands the more passionate she becomes, and I can’t bring myself to look away. It’s as if I’ve been placed under some sort of spell and the world is moving in molasses around me while my heart races along. Listening to the sound of Taya’s voice is more satisfying than any ocean wave I can imagine. Righter than any curve I could master on my bike. The credits scroll across the screen, darkening the room. Taya angles her body to face me, one knee propped on the couch and her head canted sideways on the cushions. I mimicked her position at some point, and the intimacy of being face to face, separated by only a handful of inches further stirs up emotions that have been building, but that I don’t want to examine too closely because they are new and terrifying. They feel like soap bubbles. Swimming in iridescent color and too fragile to live, and that the slightest prod will make them burst. “Katniss has nothing on my emee, though.” Taya rolls her eyes, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Huh?” “With the bow and arrow.” Taya searches my face, concern etched in her features. “You okay?” My fingers tug at the extra material around the leg of my Wranglers. Shit. She probably thinks I zoned out from my TBI. “Yeah, fine. So, your grandmother was a professional archer?” “In a way. Archery and horsemanship are part of Mongolian culture. Did you know many of the warriors in Genghis Khan’s army were women? Though, according to my grandfather, I inherited more of my father’s side than my mother’s. Of course, the comment was made after I accidentally shot him in the foot with an arrow.” I laugh so hard, my head whips backward. “Let me guess, your father’s side can’t cook, either.” Taya gently kicks me in the thigh, the corners of her lips curling up. I grab hold of her, so she can’t pull away, and rest her foot in my lap. When her smile fades around the edges and she clears her throat, I worry I might have screwed things up somehow without even trying.

 Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Newsletter