I grab the remote and turn on the TV. “Oh, okay. Steel Magnolias is on.”

“What is that, a reality show?”

I almost drop the remote. “Nicholas. It is a film. It is the film. It’s about the South and female friendship and big hair and Dolly Parton looking amazing at all times.”

He grabs a piece of pizza and inspects it. “I thought you only watched stuff about murder. Is this one of Annie’s rom-coms?”

“It’s sweet that you refer to all romantic comedies as belonging to Annie, but no. I mean, there’s some romance in it, but the entire film is about the bonds between women, and how all their husbands, boyfriends, and sons are completely useless until they’re not. And it’s cheesy, but in, like, a pleasant way. You’re going to make fun of it, but also you’re going to be emotionally affected and Sally Field’s sobs will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Nick nods slowly. “Sounds like a blast.”

I reach over and pat him on the knee, then instantly regret it. “You’ll love it.”

We start almost halfway through, but I’m able to catch Nick up pretty quickly on account of I have this movie memorized. He leans over a few times to whisper-ask me who someone is or what they’re doing, which is hilarious, because we’re in a hotel room alone and not in a movie theater. And by the end, as usual, I have tears rolling down my face.

“Are you crying?” Nick asks as the credits roll and minimize to make room for a commercial where bears use toilet paper.

I look at the pizza box, empty except for a greasy pizza outline on the cardboard. “We ate that entire pizza. You liked it.”

“It was . . . passable.”

I lean toward him. “Admit it. That Hot-N-Ready pizza ruled.”

It hits me that Nick and I are on a bed and I’m leaning toward him while making what can only be described as bedroom eyes (well, hotel room eyes). The sensation of being so close to him on a bed isn’t unpleasant; in fact, I’m afraid to say, the pizza isn’t the only thing that’s feeling hot and ready.

I lean back. Get a hold of yourself, Chloe.

“Don’t change the subject,” Nick says. “You’re crying.”

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hands, probably smudging my winged eyeliner. “Shut up. No. Yes. Okay, so I’m crying.”

I look over at him and bark out a short laugh. “You’re crying, too.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what is this?” I ask, gesturing toward his eyes.

“It was an emotional movie, okay? My eyes are wet.”

“Wet with . . . tears?” I say through a smile. I sniffle a little bit. “I’m not making fun of you. Really. I never should have let us watch this. This is what I put on when I need a Five-Minute Cry.”

Nick blinks a few times. “I’m afraid to even ask.”