me too. which one?
Maisie:
Crazy, Stupid, Love.
I sit up, resting against my headboard. I search it quickly, hit play, then FaceTime her. She answers with a small surprised smile. She’s curled up in her bed in soft pink pajamas with hearts all over them, clutching the penguin to her chest—called it by the way.
God, she looks so fucking adorable. I kinda want to head over there right now.
“Hey,” she says, voice soft and sleepy as she blinks at me.
“Hey. I’m syncing up with you. What part are you at?”
“Right after the scene where Ryan Gosling tells Steve Carell he’s lost his manhood.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw and find the scene. “Okay, synced. Ready.”
Maisie shifts, getting comfy again, and props her phone up against something. The screen wobbles and steadies. She’s close now, her face filling most of the frame.
Have I mentioned her face?
That warm, freckled skin. Those tired, pretty eyes. The way her nose wrinkles when she smirks. Every damn time I see her, it gets worse.
“Have you watched this one before?” she asks, chin tucked into her penguin.
I let out a scoff. “Of course. This is a classic.”
Maisie raises her brows, a smile tugging at her mouth.
“You seem shocked,” I say, tilting my head at the screen.
She shifts on the bed, hugging that penguin tighter. “No, just… a little surprising the hotshot hockey guy would be watching a rom com with his tutor this late at night.”
The grin on my face widens. “You think I’m hot?”
She rolls her eyes. “I said hotshot. Get over yourself.”
“Too late,” I reply with a shameless grin.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “What’s your favorite rom-com?” she asks, settling back against her pillows.
I blow out a breath. “God, that’s hard. How the hell do you expect me to just choose one?”
She lets out a quiet laugh—makes my heart race.
“I think it has to be 10 Things I Hate About You,” I say. “That poem scene? Paintball date? Iconic.”
She grins, her cheek resting on her penguin’s head. “Mine’s You’ve Got Mail.”
I blink. “Oh yeah?”
She nods. “I like the idea of falling in love with someone through words—without ever seeing them.”
I glance at her, her words resonating with me more than she knows.
“I’ve always thought of opening a bookstore one day. Like she did in the movie,” she continues. “With a little café in the back. Tables by the windows, fresh flowers everywhere. Maybe a community board where people can leave poems or Polaroids or stuff they want someone else to find.”
I watch her eyes drift away like she’s imagining it all.
