I sat in the car trying to catch my breath. I’d almost canceled a dozen times, but like a masochistic test on myself, I was going through with it. It was Saturday, five minutes to noon, and Mrs Landon gave me a reassuring smile.

“You have our numbers. You can call at any time and we will come get you. You remember what we discussed?”

I nodded. If I felt unsafe or if I felt overwhelmed, I was to go to the coffee shop half a block down, call them, and wait for them to find me. It was a backup plan, Mrs Landon explained, so I knew I wasn’t alone. I was to think of them as my wingmen, Mr Landon had joked.

It was so utterly ridiculous that such a simple thing like going to the movies was such an ordeal for me. But it wasn’t just the movies, and it wasn’t a reflection on Peter. It was putting myself in a vulnerable position when every cell in my body screamed “no” at me.

And I wasn’t doing this because Patrice thought it was a good idea to broaden my social circles or because Mr and Mrs Landon agreed with her. I was doing this because I wanted to.

I needed to.

I had always been the life of the party. I needed social interaction, and I loved being surrounded by people. Well, I used to. Before him. And I wanted that part of me back again. I wanted to take back everything he had taken from me. And like Patrice had said, even the smallest steps forward were still steps forward.

I looked out the windshield and saw a familiar figure on the steps outside the cinema. “That’s him,” I breathed. “That’s Peter.”

He looked as handsome as I remembered, and even though the last time I saw him he was wearing a tuxedo, he still looked just as good in jeans and a light blue, button-down shirt.

Mrs Landon was surprised. I could tell even though she tried to hide it. She studied the man across the street. “He looks…”

I think she was going to say old or mature, so I prompted her otherwise. “Nice? Handsome? Friendly?”

She nodded quickly. “Yes, all of those things.”

I grinned at her. “Were you expecting someone younger?”

She gave me an eye-crinkling smile, and I knew I was right. “Oh, hush. Now hurry along. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”

So with a deep, fortifying breath, I opened the car door. “Wish me luck.”

She grinned. “Break a leg.”

And with that, I got out of the car and jogged across to the cinema steps. Peter smiled when he saw me, and he looked different in the sunlight. Younger, happier. Though I was reminded, the night I had met him, he just had his heart broken. He had just found out, with Spencer’s help, that his ex had really moved on. He’d had an air of sadness about him that night, the kind of melancholy that dulled the fire in his eyes. But the brightness in them now almost took me by surprise. “Yanni, nice to see you again.” He looked me up and down. “You look great!”

I had no idea what to say to that. I just looked down at my outfit, which was made up of Mr Landon’s hand-me-down navy pants and a shirt that was far too expensive and miles too big on me. I was pretty sure Peter knew I was wearing someone else’s clothes, and I ignored my own embarrassment. “Thank you for agreeing to see the movie with me.”

“Ah, my pleasure!” His blue eyes glittered with gold in the sunshine. “I love Charlie Chaplin. Though City Lights is not my favorite, it is one of his best.”

We headed inside. “Which is your favorite?”

Peter held the door for me and put his hand on my lower back as I walked past him. “I know it’s an unpopular opinion, but I liked Modern Times. I thought it was clever. His use of comedy to portray political references and social realism was forward thinking, especially in the 1930s.”

“It’s ironic that he was criticized for being outspoken in silent film.”

“It’s also ironic that the resistance is always led from the arts.”

I smiled at him, and any worries I’d had simply flittered away. We paid for our tickets and Peter insisted on buying soda and popcorn and we took our seats. It had been so long since I’d been to this theater. And as I sat back in my seat next to Peter and we settled in to watch the film, I knew I was taking a tiny piece of my old life back. It was just a sliver, a simple moment, a poor attempt at independence and normalcy, but it was mine.

And when the movie was done, Peter and I stayed in our seats. He talked of the subtleties, the nuances in Chaplin’s expressions, and his ability to portray emotions without saying a word. “It’s an art form that is lost in today’s cinema. Everything today is about CGI and special effects, surround sound, and it’s digitalized and remastered to within an inch of its life.”

“Agreed. That’s what I love about theater. There is an openness, an honesty in live production. You can’t just call cut; you can’t do a dozen takes to achieve perfection. It has to be right the first time. The audience is right there; they see every look, every expression. There is no hiding.”

“I love live theater. It’s been too long since I’ve seen anything. I love musical theatre, too, but haven’t been in years.”

“We should totally go,” I said without thinking. I was caught up in the excitement, the comfortableness. “I mean, we don’t have to―”

“Ah, excuse me, guys.” A theatre usher with the dustpan and brush waved from the doorway. “We need to clean up now.”

I’d been so caught up in our conversation, I hadn’t even realized they’d turned the lights on. “Oh, of course,” Peter said, quickly standing up. “We should get going.”

Peter led the way and held the door for me, again putting his hand on my lower back. It was strange, but I liked the way he did that. It didn’t feel sleazy or like a show of ownership. Perhaps this was simply Peter’s way of being a gentleman.

We made our way outside, and the sun was a little lower than I had expected. I took out my phone to check the time and realized we must’ve sat talking for forty-five minutes after the film ended.

“Everything okay?” Peter asked.

“Oh, sure. I just didn’t realize the time.”

“Do you have to be somewhere?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I just need to text someone when I need to be picked up. They’re probably worried.”

“Did you want to grab a cup of coffee?” Peter looked down the busy street toward the coffee shop. “I’ve just really enjoyed chatting with you, and I’m not quite ready to go home just yet.”

I smiled at his nervousness. I’m sure it matched my own. “I’d like that.”

The coffee shop was busy, but we ordered and found a table for two. I was suddenly very nervous, and not in a good way. Seeing a movie was one thing; the conversation was limited. But going out for coffee was where the personal questions started. Questions I wasn’t ready to answer just yet. Remembering Patrice’s words, I took out my phone and recaptured some control of my situation. “I need to be picked up by three thirty,” I told Peter. “Is that okay?”

He glanced at his watch. It was forty minutes away. “Perfect.”

I’m sure he could see the relief on my face, in my smile. By setting time restraints and having Peter know someone was expecting me was a safety net for me. And instead of waiting for Peter’s questions to fire at me, I aimed first.

“So, tell me about you.” Then I realized, if he’d have asked me that, I would have died. So I lightened it with, “As a friend, that is, what do friends know about Peter?”

He smiled at my lame cover-up. “My name is Peter Hannikov, and I’m forty-three years old. I’m a third-generation Russian-American. My great-grandparents came here from St. Petersburg just before the Great Depression. Not exactly the land of opportunities they were seeking, but they survived. I’m a project manager in corporate finance, which is probably boring to some, yet strangely fulfilling for me.” He smiled to himself. “I like my job, and I’m paid well to do it. I like 80s music, good food, and good wine, and silent films, as you know.”

God, he was so put together. So confident, like nothing could faze him. And I was in a complete shambles. I sipped my coffee and had to consciously make myself swallow it. It felt like my throat had closed over because I knew it was now my turn.

Peter gave me a patient smile. “So what about you?”

And there it was.

“Well, my name is Yanni Tomaras. My parents are from Greece, but I was born here. I’m twenty-one years old and I love acting. I know that’s so cliché, especially in this town. Every second person you meet is going to be the next big thing.” I shrugged. “I don’t care for fame and fortune, though I’m sure those things are nice. I just want to be on stage, even in a small production, but something I can put my heart into…”

No, I hadn’t given him much personal information, but what I’d given him was deeply personal. His smile was slow-spreading and heartfelt.

I sipped my coffee again, almost spilling it because my hands were shaking. I put the cup back down carefully and sat on my hands. “I’m starting classes soon, at LASPA. I started at the Actor’s Academy, but that didn’t…” Didn’t what? End well? Because my parents kicked me out and stopped my tuition, then my asshole ex was paying for it because he controlled everything in my life and he took it all away from me. “Anyway, I’m starting over and starting class next month hopefully.”

Peter studied me for a moment. I knew he saw what I was.

Damaged goods.

Yet he never missed a beat. His smile was kind, as were his eyes. “Tell me, what’s your favorite class?”

“Well, theory and technical elements are not my favorite. And voice, or singing, isn’t exactly my favorite either, but I still enjoy them. I do enjoy the history element.”

“Such as silent films.”

“Exactly. But stage acting, that’s what I love.”

“I think I can tell.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your smile just now. When you mentioned stage acting, it was written all over your face.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t even embarrassed. “I guess I need to work on my acting skills. You know, not to give away all my secrets.”

Peter laughed as he sipped his coffee. “To the contrary. Never hide your passion. It’s a rare and beautiful thing.”

His words embarrassed me. Not in a humiliating way, but in a humbling way. He didn’t stop though. “There’s a self-sufficiency and empowerment in acting that I’m envious of.”

“You? Envious?”

He chuckled. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You’re successful, you’re intelligent, you’re focused, you’ve done well for yourself, clearly. Why would you be envious of anything?”

“Because you can put yourself in front of an audience and, like you said, put your heart into a performance. That takes guts.” He blew a breath out of puffed cheeks. “I get to do performance criteria meetings in front of twenty people and loathe every minute.”

“Because that’s you. That’s Peter Hannikov. When I’m on stage, it’s not Yanni up there under scrutiny. It’s a character. And I don’t know about empowerment. Self-sufficiency, yes, but empowerment…”

His eyes sparked with humor. “Definitely empowerment. Would you not call the likes of Laurence Olivier, Judi Dench, or Paul Scofield empowering?”

“Yes, of course.” I could see now that I’d walked right into his point. “But not really what I do. Not yet, anyway.”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m no expert. But I’d say anyone who studies and is driven to act, whether they walk out on Broadway or at a local community stage, is empowering. They push their voices to the back wall. With their hearts on their sleeves, they hold the audience captive with every word, every movement.”

I found myself smiling at him. “Fair point.”

Peter met my gaze and didn’t look away. Eventually he smiled. “See? Envious.”

My phone buzzed with the message. It was Mrs Landon. Out front and ready when you are. It was then I realized the time. “Shoot! I have to go.”

Peter stood with me, and together we made our way back up the street to the front steps of the cinema. “I’ve really enjoyed this afternoon,” Peter said. “I’m glad you asked me.”

“Me too.” I highly doubted he understood the significance, that this was such a huge step for me. Before, I was hesitant to meet him, and now I wished I’d told Mrs Landon a later time so we could talk some more. But her car was parked in the no-parking zone, waiting for me. “I was worried we would run out of things to talk about. But I somehow don’t think that would be a problem between us.”

“Me either.” Peter’s smile seemed brighter in the sunshine. “You know, they’re running Charlie Chaplin films every Saturday for fifteen weeks,” Peter said. “I think we’ve missed the first three, but if you aren’t doing anything next Saturday…”

I stopped walking, almost to the car now, and it was then I saw a flash of vulnerability in Peter’s eyes. And I realized, despite how confident I thought he was, he was putting himself out there too. “I’d really like that.”

His smile was immediate. “Same time?”

“Sounds good.” I turned and walked to Mrs Landon’s car but stopped before I opened the door. “You know, you can text me, if you’re bored or whatever.”

He nodded and appeared like he was trying not to smile too widely. “Okay.”

“See you next week, and thank you.”

“Anytime.”

I opened the car door and slid into the seat. I tried to hide my smile, but half a block later when Mrs Landon asked, “So, how was it?” my happiness and relief won out, and I laughed.

“It was really good. Better than good. The film was great, as I’m sure you know, but even better on the big screen. Then we had coffee, and I remembered what you said about setting my own boundaries, so I told him I was on a time limit. You know, in case it got awkward or if I needed to get out of there, and it was probably just as well too because I think if you hadn’t texted me, we would’ve stayed chatting for hours.”

Mrs Landon looked like she might very well burst. “What did you talk about?”

“Acting, mostly. He spoke of the complexities or the dual persona of an actor and how he found it empowering.” I shook my head, knowing I sounded too excited, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. “He’s very smart. He’s some corporate project manager who deals with numbers and figures all day long, but he’s, I don’t know… worldly.”

“And you’re seeing him again?”

“Yes, next Saturday. Same time, same place. They’re screening Charlie Chaplin feature films every Saturday.”

“That’s so wonderful, Yanni. I’m proud of you.”

Oh. Her words resounded in my chest. I didn’t think I’d made anyone proud before. It took me a moment, and I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“You’re stronger than you know.” She gave me a soft smile and leaned over and squeezed my hand. “Now, I can’t decide between Korean barbecue or Italian pasta for dinner. Which do you feel like?”

“Korean barbecue. I’ve never had it before, and given today is a day of firsts…”

Mrs Landon did a little happy dance in her seat. “Perfect. Korean, it is.”

* * *

The days that followed were peaceful. I helped Mrs Landon rearrange her bookshelves, and I helped Mr Landon in the yard. We ate good food, watched a documentary on the new generation of filmmaking, and talked and laughed a lot.

I tried every day to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of my mind that things were going too well. But I couldn’t help but wonder when this dream life would come to an end.

I continued cleaning the school in the mornings, and on Wednesday afternoon I met with Patrice. I told her of my non-date with Peter, about how nervous I was beforehand, and how relieved I was it had gone well. I told her I was meeting him again this Saturday and how I hoped it would be a weekly thing. I explained how my janitorial role at the school was going well and how at ease I felt with the Landons.

I bit my lip and studied a cuticle on my thumb. “Can I ask something?”

“Of course you can.” Patrice tilted her head in a patient but expectant way.

“I know it’s early, and I know I have a long way to go. And things right now are wonderful. If anything, it’s too good. I keep waiting for the ax to fall. Like my own brain won’t let me be happy.”

Patrice nodded as though she fully expected me to say that. “I think it’s reasonable to be wary, Yanni. A false sense of security can be just as harmful in the long run. Walking around as though the ground might give way underneath you at any moment is frightening.”

I nodded. “It does feel a bit like that.”

“Staying with the Landons isn’t permanent. Is that what’s bothering you?”

As hard as it was to admit my fears out loud, I nodded. “Yes. They’ve been like a life preserver, keeping me afloat, and I’m not sure if and when I don’t have them anymore that I won’t keep from drowning.” I frowned. “They’re such nice people, and Mrs Landon told me she was proud of me. No one’s said that to me before. God knows my parents never did. I’ve come to think of the Landons as my parents, even though I know they’re not. I want to be independent, but I just don’t want to lose that sense of family. Again.”

“Why can’t you have both?”

“Well, when I move out, I won’t have any reason to see them again. And what if the new place doesn’t work out? Where do I go then?”

“It’s okay to be nervous about moving into a new house, cautious even. There will be new people who’ve been through what you’ve been through. It will be a safe place. You’ll make new friends, find new work, and start classes. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yes.” That all sounded great, exciting even. I did want that, I really did. “But I want to stay with the Landons too.”

“I don’t think the Landons would ever make you do something you don’t want to do,” Patrice said. “Before you met with Peter, it was scary and it was unknown. You said you wanted to call and cancel because the fear of the unknown was almost too much. But you went, and it was wonderful. And moving into your own place and being independent will be just like that. Scary, yes. But wonderful. You will be safe there, and you can call the Landons at any time. You can still meet with them, have dinner and watch movies any night of the week.”

“I guess.”

“You won’t lose them, Yanni. And if it doesn’t work out, then we move on to Plan B. You’ll always have options.” Patrice studied her pen for a moment. “Now can I ask you something?”

I nodded warily.

“What was the last thing your father said to you before he threw you out?”