“And you’re a slowpoke. I’ll meet you out there. Going to finish the caipirinhas.”

Minutes later, I enter the living area and pull up short as I watch Solange carry two cocktail glasses over to the coffee table. I take in her sweet expression, her vibrant presence, the way she settles on my couch in anticipation of watching a film that she’s already seen, probably dozens of times.

As soon as I settle in next to her, she drapes a throw blanket over our legs, presses play on the remote, and leans against my side.

I try to ignore the way the moment mirrors what I’ve always envisioned for a regular Saturday night. Belonging. Belonging to someone, more specifically. For years, it was an idea. But now I’m experiencing the reality, and it is so much better than anything I could have imagined. Because it’s Solange.

Okay, so it turns out I’m a liar. I don’t just want to watch a movie with her. I don’t just want us to have “things.” And I don’t just want to casually date her. I want her in my life. Only problem is, I don’t know how we can possibly make this work, especially since I’m not sure either of us is equipped to give the other what they need.

So I settle for watching the movie—because remaining in this happy place is easier than figuring my shit out.

*  *  *

“Billy Crystal’s voice is annoying as hell,” I say as I munch on the kettle chips Solange brought with her.

She hands me the bag. “Keep it. I’m full.”

“Meg Ryan’s cute, though.”

“Mmhm.”

“Harry’s hair is a mess. Is that how they wore it in the seventies?”

“Based on pictures I’ve seen, yes.”

“They’re going to drive eighteen hours together? That’s a recipe for disaster.” I set the bag next to me and rub my hands together. “Oh, is this the diner scene? This is going to be good.”

“No, that one comes later. After college. When they’re much older.”

“Oh, embarrassing herself in diners is a thing in this movie, I guess.”

Solange lunges for the remote, presses pause, and whacks me with a pillow, all within the space of seconds. “Are you incapable of being quiet during a movie? Because you haven’t stopped talking since the moment I hit play.”

I snatch the pillow away and give her a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I like it when you’re around, and I’m trying to get in all the words as if we have a time limit.”

Her eyes soften. “We don’t. I’m spending the night, remember? And I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“I meant, you won’t be in DC much longer.”