Chapter 40: The Oldest Trick in the Book

Alex bought two tickets for an afternoon showing of a romantic comedy. Draconia had never heard of the film, but the poster showed a handsome young man and a smiling woman standing beneath an umbrella, which seemed promising enough.

“Is it a good film?” she asked.

“I hope so,” Alex admitted. “Haven’t seen it.”

“Then why did you choose it?”

He looked slightly embarrassed. “Well, I thought you might like something romantic.” Draconia smiled. “How thoughtful.” Alex grinned, looking relieved, and offered her his hand. She took it without hesitation, and they joined the queue for refreshments.

The cinema itself fascinated Draconia almost as much as the prospect of spending two hours beside Alex. She’d visited one during her previous shopping expedition, but there had been so much to absorb that she’d barely begun to understand the experience. This time, she could pay attention to the little details: the enormous illuminated posters, the smell of popcorn, the rows of people waiting to enter, and the cheerful attendant who tore their tickets in half before directing them towards the correct screen.

Alex bought a large carton of popcorn and two drinks. Draconia watched him balance everything with considerable amusement.

“Are you quite certain you don’t require assistance?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Your confidence is admirable.”

“Thank you.”

A moment later, he nearly dropped one of the drinks. Draconia caught it. Alex stared at her. She smiled sweetly. “Your confidence may have been slightly misplaced.” He burst out laughing. They found their seats near the middle of the cinema. Draconia settled comfortably beside Alex, placed her handbag at her feet, and accepted the popcorn he offered her. The lights dimmed. The enormous screen came to life. And Draconia found herself thoroughly enjoying the experience.

The film was amusing, the dialogue clever, and the leading characters seemed determined to misunderstand each other at every possible opportunity. She laughed at the jokes, occasionally leaned towards Alex to whisper a question, and discovered that sharing popcorn was more entertaining than she’d expected.

Alex, meanwhile, was discovering that watching a film with Draconia was almost as enjoyable as watching Draconia herself.

She had a delightful laugh, one that began as a quiet giggle and sometimes escaped into something less restrained. When she found something particularly funny, she would glance at him as though inviting him to share the joke. And whenever their hands met in the popcorn carton, she would smile in a way that made him forget what was happening on the screen.

About twenty minutes into the film, Alex began considering a problem. He wanted to put his arm around her. He had wanted to do so almost from the moment they’d sat down, but he wasn’t entirely certain whether she’d welcome it. She had held his hand during lunch, which was encouraging, and she’d certainly seemed happy to be with him. Still, there was a difference between holding hands and putting an arm around someone’s shoulders. He glanced at her.

Draconia was watching the film, smiling at something the leading man had just said. Alex took a breath. Then he yawned. It was a theatrical yawn. He stretched both arms, raised his right arm over his head, and slowly lowered it along the back of Draconia’s seat. From there, it was only a small movement to settle his arm around her shoulders. He managed the manoeuvre with what he considered remarkable smoothness. Draconia went very still. Oh, Merlin. She remembered Hermione’s explanation perfectly.