theater was packed.
Children wore superhero costumes.
Teenagers crowded the concession stand.
The lobby smelled like butter, candy, and that strange carpet scent every movie theater seems to have.
Owen breathed deeply.
“I missed this smell.”
“It smells terrible.”
“It smells like freedom.”
We bought popcorn and sodas.
Owen carried the bucket like a trophy.
When we reached our seats, he leaned back in the recliner and sighed.
“This is perfect.”
I rested my head against his shoulder.
He wrapped an arm around me.
Then he whispered,
“Thank you.”
“You
