Summary/Note: An expansion of the movie watching scene briefly mentioned in Across the Miles. Set between Something New and Across the Miles.
Two nights before Allie flies back to New York, Owen invites her to his apartment to watch movies.
“This is possibly the laziest date of all time,” he apologizes on the phone, “but it was a long day at work.”
“I’m good with staying in,” she assures him.
And she is. It’s the company she looks forward to with him, more than where they go and what they’re doing. She picks up a bottle of wine on the way over to his apartment. She’s curious to see his place, even though he keeps insisting it’s nothing spectacular. He greets her at the front door when she buzzes up, smiling and tugging her in to kiss her.
“Hi,” she murmurs, smiling when he presses another quick kiss to her lips.
“Hi.”
He’s dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, his hair damp from the shower, and he smells faintly of his body wash. When they get up to his apartment, Owen shuts the door behind her and pours them both a glass of wine.
“Ready for the grand tour?” he jokes.
He takes her hand and shows her around his apartment, laughing when he has to nearly drag her out of his kitchen.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” she accuses him, taking in the cupboards stocked full of pans and baking sheets and the full utensil crock on his counter.
Owen shrugs. “I told you I like to cook.”
“So does that mean you’ll cook for me sometime?” Allie asks.
Owen smiles, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close, his dark eyes warm when he kisses her lightly.
“I will. If you want.”
“Will you let me help?”
“I will. But that kind of defeats the purpose of me cooking for you,” he points out.
Allie kisses him again, slowly, not missing the way his pupils dilate. “That’s okay.”
Owen grins, his eyes crinkling. “You just want to check my kitchen out.”
“…maybe,” she admits, laughing.
She likes his apartment, especially the large patio door that lets the sunlight filter in, and how comfortable it is. It’s about the size of her apartment in New York, decorated simply, but somehow very fitting for him.
“Are you normally this neat?” Allie asks curiously, noting the blanket folded over the back of the couch and the organized stack of mail next to it.
“…not really,” he finally admits with a laugh. “My desk at work, however, is meticulous. And my kitchen, of course.”
“Huh,” Allie says, then nudges him and says, “Are you trying to impress someone?”
Owen smiles, his cheeks turning faintly pink. “Maybe a little.”
Allie takes in the pictures he has around the living room and laughs at the one of him and his family at what must be his college graduation, a goofy expression on his face.
“It’s a nice night,” Owen says when he shows her his balcony. “Want to sit outside?”
“I’d love to.”
He refills their wine, hands linking together automatically when they settle on the chairs he has outside. He squeezes her hand every so often while they watch the sun sink low in the sky, and he smiles when she traces her fingers over his. She finds herself opening up more about Cordonia as they talk, about everything that happened there, and everything that didn’t.
She’s not sure what makes her talk about it more tonight. It could be the wine, or the warm way Owen looks at her. He knows the gist of her experiences there, but it feels like a weight is lifted off of her when she finally tells him the rest. Owen listens quietly, scooting his chair closer as she talks.
“You know,” she muses, when she tells him more about why exactly she’d decided to get on the plane to L.A., “I’d actually been thinking about coming here to visit Mel, before I decided on a whim to go to Cordonia.”
“Huh,” Owen says. “I knew Mel then. So we probably would have met.”
“Probably,” she replies.
It makes her wonder how things would have gone between them, if they still would have ended up where they are now, or if they would have just been two people meeting briefly and then going their separate ways.
“I was dating someone,” Owen says, glancing over at her. “So…”
He pauses, looking a little sheepish, and then continues, “Wow, I’m going to sound really selfish, knowing what all happened, but…I’m glad I met you when I did, and not back then.”
Allie smiles a little, shrugging. “It’s not selfish. I really wouldn’t change anything. And we’re here now.”
“We’re here now,” he agrees, and gently clinks his wine glass against hers, then slides his arm around her shoulders.
The air cools when the sun finally drops below the horizon, and Allie shivers. Owen swallows the last of his wine, then stands, helping her up and asking if she wants to watch a movie. There’s something definitely appealing about cuddling with him, even as she wonders how much it will test her will power.
Allie settles on his couch while he puts a movie in and shuts the lights off, plunging them into darkness momentarily until the movie starts. His arm comes around her waist when she leans into him, and he tugs a blanket over them.
“I have to warn you I might fall asleep,” Owen says with a yawn.
“That’s okay. I can’t be the only one falling asleep when we’re together,” Allie says, and he laughs.
They shift as the movie plays until he’s laying behind her, his breath warm against her neck and their fingers tangled together. She’s struck by how comfortable it is, how there’s no awkwardness or uncertainty. They just are, fitting together easily, like they’ve been together like this for far longer than they actually have.
Allie feels the rise and fall of Owen’s chest slow as he falls asleep. His arm tightens around her as he drifts off, his face burrowed against the side of her neck. She’s actually not that tired for once, probably because she slept in and sipped on coffee most of the day. The movie plays on in the background. She likes it, but she’s more focused on Owen holding her, his soft breaths against her skin.
It’s relaxing, being here with him like this, but it also reminds her how much she wants him. Her every nerve ending feels hypersensitive when he shifts against her or holds her a little tighter. She sucks in quiet breaths when his fingers brush over her stomach, or he exhales softly against her skin.
He’s still sleeping soundly when the ending credits roll, and she almost doesn’t want to wake him. But it’s getting late, and if she doesn’t get up soon, she’ll end up falling asleep too. Allie turns carefully, facing him, and she sighs when he runs his fingers over her lower back and he kisses her sleepily.
“Mmm,” he mumbles. “Sorry I fell asleep.”
“That’s okay.”
Her reply is quiet, low, not wanting to disturb the near silence in the room, and not ready quite yet for the night to be over. He keeps kissing her, soft, gentle kisses, his hand running lazily up and down her back.
“It’s late,” Allie finally says against his lips, reluctant and wishing they could just stay in this moment. “I should get back to my hotel.”
Owen’s eyes open slowly. He looks like he wants to say something, his brow furrowing a little, but then he just gives her a half-smile and says, “I’ll give you a ride.”
“You don’t have to. It’s late. I can take a cab,” Allie says.
He’s already getting up, though, stretching and running his hand over his hair.
“It’s okay. I’m not gonna make you take a cab at-“ He glances at the faint glow of the clock on the microwave, “-almost midnight.”
Owen walks her up to her room when they get back to her hotel, waiting until she has her key out. She fidgets with it, then steps closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his. His hands come up to rest on her hips, strong and sure.
“Thank you,” Allie murmurs.
“For what?”
“Driving me back. Tonight. This whole trip,” she says softly.
“I’m glad you came,” he says, just as quietly.
His eyes flicker up to hers. “I like you, Allie,” he confesses. “A lot.”
She swallows hard, feels butterflies in her stomach and her heart beat faster.
“I like you too,” she says in a near-whisper.
Owen tilts his head down, resting his forehead briefly against hers and then kissing her again, a gentle pressure against her lips.
“I’ll call you in the morning, okay?” he says, squeezing her hips lightly.
“Okay. Good night, Owen.”
“Good night, Al.”
She dreams about him again that night, about being wrapped in his arms and his lips hungry against hers. It’s so real that when she wakes, she’s a little breathless and half expects to find herself still on the couch with Owen wrapped around her. She’s not and he’s not, of course, but there is a text from him on her phone telling her good morning and that he can’t wait to see her, and that’s good too.