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Paris sent shivers up
my spine. It was as if his voice was caressing my back. “Have you
been?” I asked, because it had been my dream to go to Paris. To
wander in and out of boutiques and shops and see all the necklaces
and bracelets and jewelry. To be inspired by the
designs.
    To fall in love, by the river, under
the lamplight.
    “Only once. But the company I’m
starting to work for has offices there, so I’m hoping go back,” he
said. As I opened the door, I thought: take me with you, take me
with you, take me with you.
    We worked the morning shift together
that first day, and we clicked with the customers. He’d chat up a
pair of vacationing sisters about a coffee table picture book, then
hand off to me, and then I’d do the same with a couple considering
a serving plate. We had a sort of instant rhythm and sense of how
to make a store like this work.
    “We’re like a tag team,” he said
after I rang up another sale, and I smiled in agreement.
    Nate arrived in the early afternoon
to take over. As I grabbed my purse from behind the counter, Bryan
placed a hand on my arm. “Matinee and popcorn?”
    My stomach flipped. I nodded a yes,
mumbled a goodbye to my brother, and left the store with his best
friend. We walked the few blocks to the six-screen cinema, picked a
Will Ferrell comedy, and opted to share a medium popcorn. We went
the next day to see a thriller, then the next for a sci-fi picture,
and after that we saw a silly film with talking animals in it,
laughing the whole time. When the movie ended, I told him it
reminded me of a film I’d seen a few years back with my mom, then
proceeded to rattle off how it compared to every other talking
animal flick, as if I were a too-serious film critic opining
needlessly. “But the pig in Babe did set the standard for
linguistically-capable animals on screen.”
    “You’ve pretty much seen every
movie, haven’t you?” he asked.
    “I wouldn’t say every
movie.”
    “But most?”
    I shrugged. “I see a lot of
movies.”
    “Why? I mean, besides the obvious.
That movies are fun.”
    “Isn’t that a good enough reason?
Just for entertainment?”
    “Totally. So that’s the
reason?”
    “Sure,” I said, but I was smiling
the kind of smile that said there was more to it.
    “All right, Kat Harper. What’s the
story?” He motioned with his hand for me to spill the beans. “Tell
me where your love of movies comes from.”
    “I think it’s because of what movies
have always meant to my family. All these big events in my life
were marked by movies. When Nate was in eighth grade and won the
election for class president, we all went to see the re-release of
Raiders of the Lost Ark, because it was this great action
adventure, and I gripped the armrest when Harrison Ford raced
against the boulder. The time I was picked to design the cover of
the junior high yearbook we went to see Ocean’s Eleven. That’s just
how we celebrated things. I even remember when my grandmother died.
We went to the memorial service. I was twelve and I read a poem at
the service, and then we decided that we should see Elf. Which
probably sounds like a weird thing to do after a
funeral.”
    Bryan listened intently. “No, it
doesn’t. Not at all.”
    “It was really the perfect movie to
see, because I think we all just needed to not be sad every second,
you know?”
    “It actually makes perfect sense,”
he said. I looked at him and the honesty in his face and his eyes.
He understood. He got it. He got me. I kept going.
    “But I guess it all started with my
mom. She’s a huge romantic comedy fan, so she started showing me
all the great ones. Sleepless in Seattle. Love, Actually. Notting
Hill. You’ve Got Mail.”
    “And do you still love romantic
comedies?”
    “I make jewelry. I drink caramel
machiattos. I wear Hello Kitty to bed. Of course I love romantic
comedies,” I said with a smile as we neared my house. But I didn’t
just love them. I wanted to live within them. I