Cooper

In spite of everything that had happened last night and how it had ended, I couldn’t bring myself not to message Corinne. From the second she’d hurried out my door early that morning, my mind had focused on nothing else.

Of course, I thought of her with her roommate—her so-called platonic friend. But it was more than that. In fact, whatever jealousy I felt was practically infinitesimal compared to my own curiosity.

What was Corinne like when she was out, partying with friends? What had her night been like? And most of all, why had I been the person she called—not another coworker or a friend, but me?

She was running scared, for sure. But I’d been the person she’d wanted when her guard was down. That had to matter. And there was no question that I couldn’t give up so easily.

There was something about this girl that made me wonder about her in ways I’d never thought of anyone else. And so, when it finally became too much, I picked up the phone and tapped out a quick text.

What are you doing tonight?

The reply came back a few minutes later.

Not sure.

I considered the reply, and while it definitely wasn’t super encouraging, she could have just said she had plans.

The museum downtown is having a zombie exhibit. They’re doing a movie marathon there too. Want to go?

I stared at the phone waiting for her reply. After the way she’d stormed out of my place like her ass was on fire this morning, I was afraid some part of me already knew the answer and just didn’t want to accept it—that it was all over before it had even begun. But to my surprise, she messaged me back.

It’s not a date, right?

I smiled before typing out my reply.

Of course not. Do you really think I’d take a woman to a zombie display on a first date?

Her reply came almost instantly

Good point. Okay, meet you there.

I blinked and shoved the phone in my pocket, trying not to grin like an idiot, even though nobody was around to judge. Still, this felt like the start of something, the chance to make up for pushing too hard a couple of nights ago. To take it slower and chip away at the carefully constructed walls around the true Corinne.

The more I thought about her, the more I realized I only knew her in fragments—like shattered glass around a faded picture. There were sharp edges to her that would need to be navigated carefully, but if I could put it all together? I couldn’t even begin to describe how satisfying that would feel.

I frittered away the rest of the afternoon, but when the time to leave finally came, I left full of anticipation as I made my way to the gallery. And even though I arrived ten minutes early just in case, I found Corinne standing outside, looking at the black-and-white posters of zombie movies from the 1960s.

Her purple skirt fluttered around her knees as she turned to face me, her hair swept along with the strong pull of the breeze. For a second, I wondered if it would be awkward after this morning. But then she smiled, and it was all I could do not to close the space between us and kiss her hello.

Fisting my hands in my pockets instead, I said, “Hey there. You look beautiful.”

And she did. In her full skirt and short-sleeved white shirt and matching flats, she was adorably sweet and pure.

And don’t forget it, Coop.

“Thanks.” Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “You know, I was actually a little surprised you messaged me. Because of, well, the way I was this morning.”

“It’s in the past,” I said to reassure her. “Really.”

She nodded, though there was still a slight air of hesitation in her glance. “I’m really sorry for bugging you last night. I’m not usually a huge drinker like that, and it got out of hand. Thanks for picking me up.”

“Anytime. Really,” I said, my tone solemn, making sure she knew I meant it.

Her lips tipped into a relieved smile. “I appreciate it, Cooper. Let’s head in, okay?”

She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her skirt and I followed, opening the wide glass museum doors for her to step inside. As we walked in, I stopped at the ticket counter and purchased our tickets.

“Thank you, but it’s still not a date.” Corinne said.

“Definitely not a date.” I nodded in agreement. “Have you been here before?”

She smiled and nodded.

It wasn’t an exotic or strange place to go, but I was desperate to get her talking about something—anything that might tell me more about her.

“I came on a school trip once,” she said. “When I was young. One of my first placements.”

“Placements?” I asked, the back of my neck tensing. “Like what? A foster family?”

Her lips thinned, but she nodded again. “The family lived in this school district, and I came with my class.”

I wanted to wipe the pain in her expression away, hold her and tell her that I understood that kind of pain. Had lived through it. But instead, I focused on listening. I’d wanted her to talk to me. To open up. Now that she was, I wasn’t about to fuck it up.

“Did you like it there?”

“In the city or with the family?” she asked.

I considered this, leading her into the next room of displays. “Not sure. Both?”

“They were fine. I was with them for the better part of a year. Lots of kids there, though. More a halfway house than a home.”

“That sounds tough,” I said softly.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure this is all incredibly riveting for you.” She gave me a shy smile.

“I think you’re wrong about that. I want to know everything you want to tell me,” I admitted as we circled the room.

She looked a little surprised, and then chuckled. “Maybe another time. It’s not all that exciting.”

We stopped to survey a portrait of the cast of The Walking Dead, but as I scanned the photo, I got the impression Corinne was distracted, that something else was on her mind.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. It’s nothing.” She shrugged.

“It’s not nothing. You have a look on your face.”

“Then my face is lying,” she said teasingly, but it came out sounding hollow.

I didn’t say anything else, but I also didn’t look away.

Finally, she sighed. “Fine. Well, I was just thinking with all this talk about my childhood . . .” She shook her head. “It’s stupid.”

“Come on, spit it out. I promise I won’t laugh.”

“I’m not worried about you laughing,” she said. “I was just . . . well, I went out with Alyssa and Emma last night, and Emma mentioned that you had a rough childhood too. I was sort of curious.”

“She just mentioned that out of thin air, huh?” I raised my eyebrows, and Corinne glanced away.

“I may have asked about you, so I guess that’s the other reason I’m telling you about it. I feel a little bad for asking her, so I wanted to fess up.”

“I see.” I rocked back on my heels and then took another step toward her, strangely relieved that I wasn’t the only one in this weird relationship who wanted to know more about the other. The real, grimy, gritty stuff that mattered.

“And what is it you want to know about my childhood?” I asked carefully.

“I’m not sure. What do you want to tell me?”

“How about we trade? A detail for a detail,” I offered, feeling less restrained now that she’d been the one to broach the subject.

Corinne surveyed me warily, then finally nodded her head. “But no questions. Just fact for fact. Deal?”

The fear in her eyes was real and deep enough that it made my muscles tense with the caveman desire to find a time machine, go back twenty years, and tear somebody’s head off for putting that haunted look on her face. But I stuffed that feeling down and focused on present Corinne, the one standing in front of me, wanting to get to know me. The real me.

“Deal,” I said. “Rock, paper, scissors to determine who goes first?”

Her full lips twitched into a grin, and then we counted to three and drew our weapons. Rock for me, scissors for her.

Excellent.

“Best two out of three?”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “I won fair and square.”

She groaned. “Okay, fine. Um . . .” She rubbed absently at her chin as we strolled slowly around the museum. “When I was about ten, I lived with a family of all girls, and on Friday nights, we watched movies but they were always starring Shirley Temple. We were all too old for them, but the foster parents insisted on showing them, regardless of the fact that we wanted to watch Mary Kate and Ashley movies.”

“Sounds like a drag.”

She shrugged. “Actually, I have a weird appreciation for them now.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“The Little Princess,” she said softly.

It would be. A story of an orphaned girl who finds out that not only was she wealthy all along, but that her father was still alive. A fairy tale, if there ever was one.

“I’ve seen it. Good choice,” I said.

She seemed to shake off the bittersweet memory and smiled up at me expectantly. “Okay, fair is fair. Now, it’s your turn.”

“Fine.” I thought hard, wanting to offer something that felt personal, like a shared piece of myself, but also a little lighthearted like hers to ease us both into it. One false move, and I knew our little Q&A was over. I had to tread lightly. “My mother was rather eccentric, and when I was young, too young to really speak up, she used to dress me up and dance around our apartment with me. My brothers were both too big to go along with it, and they still tease me about it.”

Corinne’s eyes went wide. “Please tell me there are pictures.”

Fact was, there weren’t pictures of much from our childhood, thank God. There hadn’t been money to waste on a camera, but I kept that to myself.

“None that have survived to see the light of day,” I said. “Now, let’s try a little more serious one this time.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, studying me again with those soulful eyes of hers. “Something serious? Well, once, when I was probably in middle school, I got expelled.”

“What? Why?” Looking at her now, I couldn’t think of anyone less likely to get herself into trouble.

“I was going to school here, right outside of Boston, and I skipped out on a field trip.”

“What do you mean?”

She twirled an errant strand of hair, glancing toward the yellow brick road that led into the next room. “I got sick of the museums, and I wanted to be on my own. Most of my foster homes always had so many kids. I was always surrounded by people. I was tired of it, so I thought I would just live in Boston and see where it took me. They found me about three days later when the police picked me up for stealing from a food cart.”

“Jesus.” I scrubbed a hand through my hair as I imagined a younger, more naive Corinne on the streets alone. It made my blood run cold. “That was brave.”

She shrugged. “Or stupid. Whichever. Now, what about you?”

“I’ll tell you, but you have to promise it’s not going to change anything between us. All this stuff is in our past, right?” I said.

She nodded warily.

She’d dug deep and had told me something very personal, and it was time to return the favor.

I blew out a sigh and bit the bullet. “The reason I was always surrounded by women was because my mom worked as a prostitute when I was young. My brothers and I protected her and, you know . . .” I shrugged and tried to keep my expression blank. “That was just how our lives were for a while.”

Corinne considered me, but her expression didn’t crumple with pity or disbelief. Instead, she simply said, “I’m sorry. That’s a hard road.”

“It was. But I’m the man I am today for it. Just like your past made you who you are.”

“Right.” She nodded, then strolled into the next room. She hadn’t freaked out but she had definitely gotten quiet, and I knew our game of twenty questions had suffered an early demise.

Things felt . . . good between us, though. Easy. Right.

For a little while, we looked at each of the exhibits, and soon, the conversation began to flow again as we discussed movie magic before we made it to the movie viewing area. Tonight was Night of the Living Dead, and Corinne admitted she’d never seen it.

As the classic film played, I watched her get sucked into the story, her eyes wide. When a zombie lurched at a young woman in a cemetery, Corinne clutched my bicep, which I didn’t hate at all.

“You liked it?” I asked when the film was over.

She nodded. “Very much.”

“Still not as good as Shirley Temple, though?” I teased.

She grinned. “Never.”

The lights in the little room came up, and as people shuffled out around us, we stayed in place, watching them go. I could feel the tension rolling off her, and wondered if hers stemmed from anticipation, like mine, or if she was trying to figure out how to run again.

Only one way to find out.

“The museum is about to close. Come back to my place so we can continue our not-a-date?”

I thought I knew her answer before she said it. There was a wariness in her eyes, a caution. But just as before, she surprised me by looking me straight in the eye.

“Sure. Let’s go.”