We turn to see Jourdan standing above us. She’s wearing a pair of tight, black jean shorts and a cropped t-shirt with what I’m assuming is the name of the band she’s in town to see.

“Y-yeah. Yes,” Darren says.

She sighs and falls into the seat next to me. “Thank God. I just bet that dude down there in the gray fitted.” She points to a man a few rows in front of us and to the right. He sees us and nods at Jourdan. She nods back and then circles her left index finger at Darren and me. “I bet him that your boys’s team is gonna win by five points. So, when I win, please collect my money.”

“And if you lose?” Darren asks.

She turns to us and smiles. “Don’t hang around, okay?”

“What are you doing here?” I ask. Her face falls. “I-I mean, your concert. We decided…”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, her face brightening. “I’ve got an hour before I need to head to the stadium. So, I thought I would come and say hey, watch a little bit of the boys’s game, and then go meet my friend.”

“You…you didn’t have to do this,” I tell her.

She scoots closer. Our bare arms touch, the backs of our hands meet, and Darren’s hand moves across my back to brush hers.

“I wanted to be here,” she says simply.

And we wanted her here, I realize. But these are anything but simple feelings.

movie night

The boys are at another sleepover.

Two years ago, Darren and I were deep in the morass of the kids’ schedule; everything we did revolved around them and keeping them entertained. We used to go months without having moments together that weren’t first thing in the morning or just before we passed out at night. Somewhere along the way, that clearly changed. Well, maybe not changed, but shifted a little bit — just enough that it’s a Friday night, and Darren and I are at a midnight showing of some action movie neither of us cares even a lick about.

“Do you want some popcorn?” he asks, steering me toward the concession stand.

“Sir, did you forget why we’re here?”

He looks at me for a few seconds before smiling. “Red Vines?”

“I hate you,” I whisper. “Yes, please.”

He bends down and kisses me softly on the lips like he used to when we were still dating, and he was still shocked that I’d chosen him. “You want to wait in line with me or go…wow, can I finish asking the question?” he calls to me, but I’m already walking away.

“I’ll pick good seats, babe,” I say, waving over my head.

“Wow.”