Tyler falls into step beside me as we weave through the crowded hallway.
It’s funny—he’s got one of those walks that somehow makes people move out of his way without him even trying. I used to think it was because of how tall he is, or maybe because he’s always got that calm, easy energy, like nothing ever rattles him. Now I’m starting to wonder if it’s just that when you believe the world will part for you, it usually does.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just nudges me lightly with his elbow.
“Hey,” he says. “About earlier. I’m sorry.”
I glance over at him.
He looks… earnest. That slightly furrowed brow he gets when he knows he’s messed up but isn’t sure exactly how to fix it.
I shrug one shoulder. “It’s fine.”
He exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “It’s not fine, though. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I wasn’t on your side.”
I shrug again, slower this time. “I know you’re just trying to be nice.”
Tyler slows his pace a little, matching mine exactly, even when the hallway flow gets tighter.
“I am on your side, Penny,” he says, and this time he stops walking completely. I turn toward him, a little confused.
Before I can say anything, he lifts his hands and cups my face gently between them, his palms warm against my cheeks.
“I’m always on your side,” he says. “I just… don’t like conflict. You know that.”
He says it so easily, so naturally, like that should be enough.
And maybe it is.
I smile, small and a little stiff, but real. “I get it.”
And I do. I really do.
Tyler’s always been the guy who makes peace. Who cracks a joke when things get too serious. Who diffuses tension instead of adding to it.
It’s one of the things I loved about him first.
It’s just… sometimes it feels like being on my side would mean not diffusing it.
Sometimes it feels like it would mean letting the tension burn, just a little, just enough to prove that he’s really, truly standing next to me.
But maybe that’s not fair.
Maybe I’m just tired. Sensitive.
Overthinking it because the morning went sideways and I’m still carrying it around like an idiot.
I shake the thought off and force a little more lightness into my voice. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
Instantly, Tyler brightens, like I flipped some hidden switch back on. His hands drop to his sides, and he rocks back on his heels, the way he always does when he’s excited but trying not to look like it.
“My parents called this morning,” he says. “They’re doing a big dinner thing tonight. They want us to come. You too.”
I blink at him. “Me?”
He laughs under his breath. “Yeah, you. Who else would I be talking about?”
I bite back a smile. “They usually don’t… you know. Ask.”
“They love you,” he says easily. “You know that.”
I do.
Or at least, I used to think I did.
It’s not like I’m not welcome. Tyler’s parents have always been kind to me—especially compared to my own parents, who mostly keep a polite distance from my life unless there’s a trophy involved.
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