Chapter 30 Naomi
The last few days since that chaotic morning at my place when Adri chased Ty have been…well, wild would be an understatement.
The second I confessed to Sonia that the revenge plot was off the table, she straight-up called me out for being a fool and whisked me off to Palm Springs for a drink. Which—duh—led to drinking and talking shit about men.
We started with me and ended up with Sonia’s latest adventure. Apparently, she’s been casually seeing someone from Desert Palms, and the asshole disappeared.
Meanwhile, Ty's been blowing up my phone with texts, asking me out on dates like we’ve stepped into some kind of rom-com vortex.
He keeps sending these ridiculous cooking memes too.
It’s borderline obsessive but oddly charming—even if it feels a bit unhinged after seventeen years of total radio silence.
There's just something so addictive about this strange reconnection. Maybe it’s reckless—I mean, flinging myself heart-first into things is kind of my modus operandi—but that’s how I’ve always been—all in, no matter what it is. Whether it’s cooking or loving someone.
Deep down, I feel bad for enjoying this sudden romance in front of Sonia, who’s been going through the opposite. But she’s never been mean or jealous about it, which I appreciate a lot.
Those are my thoughts as I sip on my iced coffee outside the casino one weekend evening. It’s been a busy day and I’m taking a short break, leaning against the wall, catching my breath after a huge corporate dinner party we handled today.
Every time the doors slide open, I can hear slot machines rattle in the distance. The sound is quiet enough to let my thoughts wander, but loud enough to remind me I’m still at work.
The sun has dropped below the horizon, and I’m just about to be done with my break and head inside when I see Ty’s silhouette moving toward me, roses in hand.
I'm not sure if the prickling in my stomach is nerves or excitement.
He looks out of place here with his confident stride, the bright bouquet, and those blue eyes fixed on me.
As he draws closer, I realize he looks slightly less put together than usual, like he’s thought about this so much that he forgot how to actually do his hair.
It's messy in a way I’m not used to, not the typical stylish messy, but sloppy messy. I hate myself a little for loving it.
"Hey," he says, like this is normal. Most men don’t do flowers these days.
"Hey, yourself," I reply, setting my coffee down on top of the garden wall surrounding the flower bed next to me. "What's this?"
He thrusts the roses at me as if he’s not quite sure how to go about giving flowers to a girl.
It's charming. A little awkward too. And a little sweet, similar to our first kiss in high school. Our fingers touch as I reach for the bouquet, and it feels like a shock. Like being pulled back to him all over again. I hate how my body reacts to his proximity, how every part of me is alive and burning when he’s near, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
"They’re pretty," I say, noncommittal, taking the flowers and pretending my heart isn’t flipping. I brush the petals with my fingers. "What's the occasion?"
He shifts his weight and tucks his hands in his pockets, trying to act casual. "I’m just testing the waters," he says, watching me.
I raise an eyebrow. "Water's not my favorite."
"Well, yeah." He chuckles. "You’re better with a kitchen knife."
"You got that right."
"How’s your car?" he asks, changing the topic with the precision of a master chef changing recipes. "Hope the tires are running great. I thought I almost lost one after that encounter with your brother."
The memory makes me grin despite myself. "Tires were intact. I checked."
"Are you?" His eyes light up with that playful glint. "Intact, I mean."
Smile spreads on my face, even though I don't want him to see me this excited. "That’s debatable." I stand there, cradling the flowers like they might break. Or like I might.
Ty's expression changes. It's a look I haven't seen in a long time—open, vulnerable. On TV and online, he always looks like he has nothing but his guitar on his mind.
In this moment, there’s something else.
I stare at the bouquet for a second, willing it to reveal some answers. How can something as simple as roses unravel me like this? My stomach does a little flip, and I wonder if I'm losing my sanity.
I clear my throat and decide to push a little further. "So, really, Ty… What's the deal?"
He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up more. It makes him look even younger, more like the boy who gave me that cheap promise ring. "Can’t I bring my girlfriend flowers without a reason?"
I nearly choke. "Girlfriend?"
He smirks at my surprise. "Too soon?"
"Most definitely." The word is a flimsy barrier between my heart and his hope. "Especially with Adri on your tail."
"Not even he can stop me this time," Ty replies, and the seriousness in his voice does something to me.
"What do you mean this time?"
Immediately, he starts fidgeting with his hands, reaching out for me and pulling me closer to him, the roses between us and all. "Nothing. Just… You make me stupid."
The fear of being photographed with him and the pictures surfacing in some tabloid is real. I gaze around the back lot, not wanting to give a show to whoever might be here, but the only two casino workers on a smoke break aren’t paying any attention to us. "What are you doing, Ty?"
"Can’t help it." He smiles that crooked smile of his, then kisses my temple, and it’s so distracting that I forget what I was going to ask him. Something about Adri. Or high school. Or maybe nothing.
I twist the flowers in my hand, pretending to study them. The colors blur together like my feelings.
The silence grows, but it isn't heavy. It sits between us like a sleeping cat—warm and lazy. I steal a glance at him, realizing that my walls are crumbling faster than I'd like.
He gives me another smile. A small one. Just a lift at the corner of his mouth. That tiny dimple winks at me, and it’s enough to break something inside me.
"What are you wearing to the reunion?" he asks.
"I don't know. Why?"
"So I can match it. I’m your plus-one."
"Since when?" I meet his blue gaze and stare like he just spouted the most absurd thing.
"Since freshman year of high school," he says, his voice low, only for me.
I hesitate, not sure the pace we’re moving at is okay with me. His eyes are on mine, steady and bright. There’s a promise in them, the kind that he made once before, the kind I thought was lost.
"You're actually following through on that bet?"
Ty’s expression changes, turns serious again. Serious and true. It makes my heart do a stupid dance. "This time," he says, "I intend to keep my word."
The moment stretches, serene and loaded. It would be so easy to let myself fall, to let go of everything and trust that he'll be there to catch me.
"I should go," I say, not meaning it. "I have to get back to work."
"How about that date?"
"Okay," I say, knowing he won’t stop. "But it’s not like we’ve never been on dates before."
He smirks. "We’ve never been on dates as adults with money."
"How is that any different?"
"You’ll see." He winks and takes a step back, finally giving me a little space. "How about next Friday?"
I’m tempted to refuse, to find a better evening when Oasis isn’t that busy, when the kitchen doesn’t need my help, but I’ve been putting my work first for the past seventeen years.
Truth is, the restaurant can survive a dinner rush without me.
Sonia’s amazing. For once—even if it could be a lie—I want to do something for me.
That’s why I say yes.
"Great. I’ll call you."
He’s about to turn to leave when I stop him. "Ty?"
"Yes?" He freezes.
"You’ll come to Dad’s memorial, right?"
"Of course." He nods. "Just tell me when and where."
Right before he takes off, he reaches out and brushes a stray hair from my cheek. It's the lightest touch, but it sears. I feel it long after he pulls his hand away, long after he’s gone.
Dad is everywhere.
In the boxes and albums, in the pictures we took but can’t remember, and the ones we remember but never took.
The past spreads around me like a map, waiting for directions.
I sit cross-legged on the floor, dipping my hand into our history, pulling out pieces of him.
Each photo is a weight, a memory, a strange fragment of forever.
A letter never sent, the taste of Sunday breakfast, a soft childhood afternoon.
Mom is next to me, her eyes warm, her tea cold. Her smile is sad, the kind that makes the years rewind.
She hands me another photo of Dad, and I see the joy in his face, the same joy that followed him through every second of every day. His birthday during my last year in high school, his hands covered in flour. The light wraps around him, soft and familiar, binding us to these moments.
I set the photo aside to the Yes pile and reach for another.
"Did I ever tell you about this one?" I ask, holding up a picture of him on our last camping trip.
Her smile crinkles. "Only about a thousand times."
I laugh, my fingers tracing his outline. "He tried to cook beans over the fire and burned them all. Can you imagine? Dad burning something?"
"Worst meal you ever had, mija."
"I still liked it better than anything from the school cafeteria."
She chuckles and passes me more photos, more pieces of our family.
I look through them, sifting through the years.
There he is at my graduation, his eyes filled with pride and the dreams he had for me.
There he is again, guiding my hands as I learn to cook.
His spirit lingers in every corner, every shadow of these snapshots.
I feel the loss like a breath I can't release.
This was meant to be a solemn task of selecting a photo for his memorial service, yet here we are, spiraling down the endless corridors of our memories. Each image drags us deeper into an overwhelming torrent of nostalgia, with no end to this journey in sight.
"Here," Mom says, lifting another picture from the pile. She holds it gently, her fingers careful with its edges. "I think you’ll like this one."
It's me and Ty at prom, his arm draped around my shoulder, our smiles young and unaware. I’m wearing that silver dress and blue shoes with the matching corsage he gave me. He’s in a tux, looking handsome despite his lanky frame. The colors have faded, but the emotions are still vivid.
Mom gives me a knowing look. "I always thought you’d marry that boy."
I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "I thought so too," I admit. "Before he left."
We share a beat of silence, the air thick with the weight of what might have been. Her tea beside her is forgotten.
She shifts closer. "He is a good kid," she says.
"But he's the same kid who abandoned me, Mom." The words come out uncertain, like I’m trying to convince myself of the opposite.
"Is he?" Her eyes are full of questions, the kind that dig into your heart. "He’s been in town for a long time now. I think that tells you something."
"I don’t know." I shrug, frustration edging my voice. "He showed up when I least expected him to, and who knows what happens next…" I trail off, my thoughts a jumble of hopes and fears.
"Sometimes, we don't make the best decisions when we're this young, mija."
"Don't find excuses for him."
"You believe he’ll leave again?"
"I hope not. And I hope not like last time."
Mom touches my arm, a gentle nudge. "You think I don’t know he’s been coming around your work or that he stayed at your place? Your brother was just here venting the other day."
My cheeks heat up. Of course. Small town. News travels. No matter how hard Ty and I have been trying to keep our romance a secret, people talk. And Adri… He’s the most disloyal sibling ever.
"Why do I even have a brother?" I sigh, exasperatedly. "All he does is act like a pain in the butt."
Mom smiles. "Reminds me of someone else I know."
I glance at her, puzzled.
"Your father," she says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"That’s different."
"No, it’s not."
"I don’t know why I’m even talking to you," I mutter. "You think everyone is nice."
"Because deep down, they are. They’ve simply lost their way. Just like Tyler did."
"For seventeen years?"
She nods.
"Why are you bringing him up again?"
"Because you haven’t been yourself ever since he came back."
"But you understand the reason, right?"
"I do, but you still have time to fix it."
"What if it’s just his nature? What if he can never fully commit?"
"Well, you won’t know until you try."
"What if I get hurt again?"
"Then you may miss out on something wonderful if you choose the safer option. It’s best not to have any regrets."
"That’s easy for you to say. You and Dad were soulmates."
"But it didn’t start out that way, mija.
" She tells me about the beginning, how she couldn't stand him, how he chased after her with a persistence that left her breathless and unsure.
"He showed up at my workplace every day for two weeks with a different flower each time.
" Her fingers graze a wedding photo, and her smile is soft, wistful.
"Sometimes, the ones worth keeping are the ones who don't give up, the ones who try even if they’re not certain it’ll work. "
I watch her, absorbing the story. I see my parents in a new light, their past merging with my own present, creating something that might be a way forward. I see them at the start, tangled in the same uncertainties I feel.
I want to believe her, to trust in the wisdom she’s offering, but doubt lingers. I wrap my arms around my knees, staring at the photo of Ty and me. Kids playing dress-up with adult dreams.
"Think about it," Mom says, sifting through the pictures, organizing them with care and intention.
"Maybe."
Mom gathers the photos and gives me a sideways glance. "Maybe you don't know him as well as you think."
"Or maybe I know him too well."
"Either way, you’ll figure it out."
I continue to study the prom photo. Ty's smile is wide, my eyes hopeful. It feels like another life, another chance. It feels like something I might have again if I’m brave enough.
Later that day, I pull up his contact on my phone and change it from Biggest Disappointment Ever to Ty.