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The teenager shrugged and turned to round up the stuff.

“A big popcorn! Extra-large, and make that two Cokes,” I called after him, then I second guessed myself. Turning back to Aubrey, I said, “Unless you want your own?”

“Rye,” she whispered, peeking around the lobby discreetly to make sure no one could hear her, “your hands have been inside my body. I think we can share a bucket of popcorn.”

That put a smile on my face a mile wide. “Good.”

Yes, my hands had been inside her, and yes, I still remembered every second of our red-hot encounter in the backof my truck on a dark night at the edge of wild Wyoming, and how soft she was and how responsive to my touch.

Hadn’t had a “good” orgasm in ten years? Woman, you just didn’t have the right motivation.

We watched as the kid pumped a river of butter onto our popcorn. Aubrey didn’t seem concerned about the cholesterol. Myself, I wasn’t usually one to eat junk. The physical work I did every day demanded protein and complex carbs, not sugar and butter. But for her, I’d make every exception in the book.

“Ooo,” she said, pointing to a white box in the candy display. She smiled up at me, a girlish grin lifting her lips. “And maybe some Junior Mints?”

I leaned down to kiss those lips, like I did it every day, and she blushed crimson.

The kid tossed her box of minty chocolates on the counter and swiped the card from my hand. He tapped it on his card reader, handed it back, and rolled his eyes, which was our signal to move on with our goodies.

“I haven’t been to a movie in so long,” Aubrey said.

Juggling the bucket of butter in the crook of one arm with the Cokes tucked precariously next to it, I handed our tickets to the attendant, while Aubrey held onto her box of Junior Mints with two hands, like it was her only present on Christmas, and her face was as bright and excited as lights on a tree.

“Me either,” I said, opening and holding the theatre door for her. “I always tell myself I need to take more time to relax, but then a cow gets pneumonia, or the barn door gets busted by a bull, and then I forget all about the fun things in life.”

“Self-care is important,” she said as she pointed to the dimly lit top row. The very empty top row, I’d noticed, which suited me just fine ’cause I planned to steal a few more kisses. “At least, that’s what my friends tell me.”

“Yeah, but they aren’t business owners, are they?”

“No. Well, Juneau is a writer, so I suppose she does own her own business, but it’s a very different kind than mine. Billie probably does, too, but I’m not sure exactly what kind of business hackers run. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. Everybody’s jobs keep them busy, but no, I guess you’re right. Running a store is definitely a full-time job, especially doin’ it all on my own. The sign might say 9–5, but they aren’t the only hours I work.”

“What’s your favorite part?” I asked, and we sat right in the middle of the row, below the patched-up hole in the wall from where the movies used to be projected.

“The books. It’s always been about the books. I went to school for business because I knew someday I wanted to have my own shop. But the downside is, by the time I actually opened my store, all the business 101 I learned back then had changed several times through the years. I feel like I’m constantly startin’ over.”

“Yeah, Spitfire,” I said, handing her our gargantuan bucket of popcorn, “but you’re smart. You can do it.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the popcorn and digging her hand in. When she had a handful, she passed the bucket back to me and ate one piece at a time.

“Was there one book?”

“Huh?”

“What was the book you read when you were a kid that got you hooked?”

She smiled. “The Secret Garden. Have you read it?” The love in her eyes for that book lit up her whole face, and she looked as happy as only a little girl could.

“No.”

“Oh, when I was a girl, I thought it was about adventure and I used to imagine I was the main character, Mary Lennox, and I’d go outside and climb trees and crawl under bushes, lookingfor my own secrets. But as I got older, it became more than that. It’s really about lettin’ yourself heal from heartache and loss and growin’ from that.”

The story seemed to fit her perfectly, and I wondered if I could find a first edition copy of the book for her.

“What about you?” she asked. “You said you have all these ideas about how to run your family’s ranch, but have you ever thought about startin’ your own? I have a feelin’ you’d be good at it.”

Grabbing a couple kernels, I popped them in and chewed. “It’s funny you say that. Just today I had the same thought.”

“Really?”