"Oh, God, I just realized we're living a 2015 meme," I say in dismay, starting up Netflix. I trace my toe lovingly against my fancy new hardwood, beyond grateful that the carpet is gone. The air seems so much fresher in here without the decades-old sponge of other people's stink beneath us.

"What?" Evan asks quizzically. After we dropped the van off, we stopped at a corner store. I paid him a hundred and twenty dollars, rounding up from the five and a half hours we worked on my flooring. He tried to insist I didn't need to pay him, but I threatened to go cancel our plans to hang out afterward and he relented. I suggested we pick up some refreshments and we laughed when both chose sodas instead of alcohol. We sip our sodas now, and a bag of popcorn crackles in the microwave behind us.

"Netflix and chill," I moan, making a face at him.

Evan bursts out laughing. "I mean, we can literally just chill," he reminds me.

"Yeah, but, like... ugh," I complain, tossing my head back against the couch cushion. "How cringey."

"Are you a hipster?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. He stands up to retrieve the popcorn as the microwave dings and dons a hilarious snooty hipster lisp. "People my age only do Netflix and chill for dates. I'd rather go wine tasting and mini golfing. I'm so unique and weird... no one understands me, I'm so quirky..."

"Ew, I don't want to go wine tasting, either," I say. Then I think for a moment. "But mini golfing might be fun."

He hands me the bag of popcorn. "Actually, mini golfing does sound like fun. Want to go sometime?"

"Definitely," I say with a grin. "Now who's the hipster?"

"I am a homeless bisexual musician living in Portland. I couldn't be more hipster if I tried. I practically piss microbrews," he replies, sinking back down on the couch.

I make a show of looking contemplative. "I guess that's why I've never been much of a fan of beer."

Evan laughs. His laughter is as beautiful as his singing voice. It's loud but not obnoxious, and higher than his speaking voice. It reminds me of our youth while simultaneously being one of the sexiest sounds I've ever heard.

"How do you feel about scary movies?" I ask Evan.

"Not great," he replies immediately.

I cock my head at him. "Like..."

"Like I'm a complete wimp. Even awful movies that get completely panned by critics make me afraid of the dark for a few days," he admits.

"Oh, you're one of those," I chuckle. I peruse the list of horror movies on Netflix. "I'm kind of a horror movie snob. I get too caught up in the tropes and stupid effects to be scared by the movie."

"Perfect. I'll scream at the jumpscares, you can laugh at me," Evan says.

"Well, I don't want to play a movie that's going to scare you," I say, unable to keep the smile off of my face.

"No, let's do it. Will you hold me if I get scared?" he asks softly. There's a tentative glint in his eye that makes my heart sing.

I shift back against the armrest and hold up my arms. "Come here."

It takes a few minutes of moving, adjusting and complaining about misplaced elbows, but we end up in a perfect position. I lay back against the armrest, my legs on the couch, and he lays between my legs with his head on my tummy, his knees bent so his tall frame fits on my sofa.

There's something magical about cuddling. This is an inarguably provocative pose we are in, but it's so... relaxing. So innocent and free. It feels nice to have him against me like this. It reminds me that intimacy and sex often overlap, but not always.

I pick a generic horror movie I don't think I've seen before. Evan jolts in fright at the jumpscares that I see coming from a mile away. I laugh and hug him closer, loving his company.

But the long day tired me out. I find my eyes closing, and I'm fine with this. I let myself be lulled to sleep by the dialogue of the movie and the rhythm of Evan's breathing. I glide up and down through the layers of sleep, relaxed and blissful.

"Audrey? Audrey, wake up."

I open my eyes to see Evan looking up at me from my tummy. "It's eight forty-five. I have to go back."

I sigh, reaching to run my fingers through his hair. This makes him shiver against me and I smile. "I'll walk you back."

Evan gingerly detangles himself from me and offers me a hand to help me up from the couch. I stand and land directly in his arms.

"Wanna do this again tomorrow?" I ask him, looking up at those pretty blue eyes.

In answer, he presses the softest, sweetest of kisses to my lips. "I'd love to."

We hold hands like kids in love as I walk him back to the Mission.

"Was the movie good?" I ask him, feeling light as a feather as we traipse down the sidewalk.

"It was scary. I wouldn't have made it without big, strong Audrey to keep me safe," he croons teasingly. "Even if you slept through the whole thing."

I roll my eyes. "You slept, too."

He grins. "Yeah. But no nightmares!"

We separate our hands as we come within view of the Mission. "Thank you again, Evan. For everything. For the floor and the company and being a gentleman. It means the world to me."

"Thank you for the job, the company, and a good nap session," he replies. He looks back to make sure we're out of sight of the smokers clustered at the front stairs and kisses me. I kiss him back, my hands on his cheeks, wondering why I've denied myself the comfort of romance for so long.

"See you tomorrow?" Evan asks.

I nod. "See you tomorrow."

And with that, my six-foot-tall Cinderella heads into the Mission for the night.

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