Chapter 14
14
“I am so sorry, Alix,” Tyler says for what has to be the tenth time since the accident.
“Please don’t apologize. It’s my own fault for stopping so suddenly—or maybe we should blame the meteor shower.”
He laughs. “Still,” he says. “Here, let me get the door.”
He pulls out his key card, and I wince thinking about how painful it would be if I were to try the same movement right now. When Tyler suggested going “somewhere warmer,” he most certainly did not mean the resort’s twenty-four-hour medical center, but the twenty minutes we spent there did the trick. Now we’re back at our building with a few more bruises than when we left.
The doctor wrapped my wrist in an ACE bandage and told me I’d been lucky to fall in a pile of relatively fresh snow—I’ve got a light sprain that could have been much worse if I’d fallen elsewhere. It hurts, but it should heal in less than a week as long as I rest and ice it.
Which means no ski lessons for a few days. And I probably shouldn’t type with it, but I have a deadline.
“This day,” I mutter as we wait on our elevator. “You were definitely the best part of it.”
“Given that I took you on a date that ended at the medical center, it must have been pretty bad before that.”
Between my laptop that smells hopelessly like honey nut latte and the throbbing pain in my wrist, today has not been my favorite.
Outside my penthouse door, I attempt to extract my key card from my wallet using only my good hand—which is, fortunately, my dominant hand—but the zipper is a struggle.
Tyler gestures to it. “I can—if you want?”
I hand it over, and of course he has immediate success.
“Do you want to come in?” I ask.
He follows me inside.
Puffin greets us at the door, rubbing his head on my legs as always. He trills out a tiny meow—his treat, please meow—and trots hopefully toward the kitchen.
“He acts sweet,” I tell Tyler, “but he turns into a total drama queen if he doesn’t get his midnight snack.”
Tyler laughs. “I mean, same, honestly.” He holds up the bag of leftover soft pretzels. “Want me to heat one up?”
“One for us to split, or one for each of us?”
“Yes,” he says. “Whatever you want.”
When we get to the kitchen, the smell of honey nut latte is strong. It’s more like burnt honey nut latte—and fried electrical parts.
“ Oh ,” Tyler says, eyeing my kitchen island.
Like some sort of monument, my laptop is positioned in an upside-down V, precisely as the internet advised. There’s a small puddle of brown liquid underneath it, and all I can think is: this is basically the electronics version of a horror film.
I’m fairly certain it’s deader than dead.
Electrocuted—then exsanguinated.
“Not ideal while trying to hit a deadline,” I say.
“Not ideal ever ,” Tyler counters. “Any chance it might still work?”
I sigh. “I think it’s fried. It sizzled .”
“Sizzling’s no good.”
Puffin meows again, more insistently this time. I manage to get the container of treats off the shelf, but the screw-top lid proves tricky with just one hand—that’s what I get for going the environmentally friendly route and packing his treats in an old jelly jar.
Without me even having to ask, Tyler’s by my side in a heartbeat. I hand over the jar, and he opens it easily before pouring five treats into Puffin’s food dish.
“You’re going to be his new favorite person,” I say. “I usually only give him one or two at a time.”
Puffin practically inhales them—predictably—then starts rubbing on Tyler’s leg.
“See, Tyler? He loves you already.”
“What can I say? I’m good with pets.”
“Says the guy whose pet is a goldfish,” I tease.
“Hey, Pete’s nearly eight years old! He hasn’t died from malnourishment yet, nor has he slammed himself up against the glass to put himself out of his own misery.”
“Give this man a trophy,” I announce to the kitchen appliances. “His goldfish is content to live another day!”
Tyler grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and nudges me playfully in the (uninjured) arm.
“I, on the other hand, might not live another day if we don’t have our midnight snack.” He pulls two giant soft pretzels out from our to-go bag.
Ten minutes later, we’re settled on the living room floor near the fireplace, a plate full of reheated pretzels between us on the woven rug. Tyler lit a fire for us—something I had no clue how to do—after pointing out that my clothes were still a bit damp from falling into the snow. In my bedroom, I peeled off everything that was even a little wet and changed into black yoga pants and a thick lavender hoodie.
And now, we feast.
“What are you going to do about your laptop?” Tyler asks, mid-bite.
“Other than begging someone at the Apple Store to make another one magically appear on my doorstep?” I sigh. “Probably wait a couple of days to see if it comes back from the dead, then order a new one if it doesn’t.”
I could spend some of my book deal money to buy a new one—but that’s just one more expense standing in the way of me eventually finding a bigger, better, warmer, quieter apartment.
“You’ll be losing work time, though, right?” Tyler asks.
“I’ll probably be able to make it up later as long as I pull some late nights,” I say. “But yeah, honestly, I can’t really afford to lose even a day or two. Maybe I can try to write by hand?”
Tyler’s quiet. He pops the last bite of his pretzel in his mouth, and a single fleck of salt clings to his lower lip for a half second before he licks it away.
“You should borrow mine,” he says, looking up at me with those gorgeous brown eyes. “My laptop.”
I blink. “You… won’t need it?”
He shrugs. “I’m a ski instructor. I use my laptop to catch up on world news and take care of scheduling, all of which I can do from my phone.”
“That would be amazing, if you’re sure it won’t be too much trouble?”
“Really, it’s no trouble at all.”
Chloe will be proud of me, accepting help like this—let’s just say I have a pattern of doing things the hard way just so I don’t inconvenience anyone.
I think what makes this feel different is that I can tell Tyler truly won’t mind being inconvenienced if it makes things easier for me.
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
He holds up a finger, like be right back , and I hear my front door click shut on his way out. As soon as he’s gone, it feels entirely too quiet in here: it’s just Puffin and me and the flickering fire.
I take a quick glance at my phone, notice I’ve missed numerous texts and a call from Lauren.
Call meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Alix
ALIX
Locked myself out and can’t remember who I should call for your spare key???
One of your neighbors just hit on me, ew
WHERE IS THE LOCKSMITH
WHERE ARE YOUUUU
Back inside. Sorry for freaking out but ughhhhhhh Had plans to go out this weekend but now I can’t bc it cost more than $200 to unlock the door
My stomach drops.
So, so sorry I missed all this , I type out frantically. Glad you’re back inside… Chloe has my spare key if you ever need it again, she’s only a few blocks away
I take a deep breath. Lauren can come off as self-centered at times without meaning to—I honestly think she relies on me so much because she’s not quite sure yet how to be an adult herself. I’m trying my best not to be irritated over the fact that she expected me to text back immediately even though it’s well after midnight.
I shut off my phone and set it on the floor—right beside my stack of True North research books, which I absentmindedly dropped off when I came inside from the balcony earlier.
They are right where Tyler was sitting. As in, if he’d turned his head to the right, he would’ve been up close and personal with three thick spines, all of them betraying the fact that I’m most definitely writing a book about a boy band—a specific boy band.
Did he see them? My heart’s in my throat just thinking about it.
I remind myself that he has no reason to blast my news all over the internet, no social media followers to blast my news to . And it’s not like he has that many people to tell in person, either. Just Julie, as far as I know, and maybe the best friend he keeps up with over the phone.
Still. I should’ve been more careful.
I should probably move them before he gets back, just to be safe.
When I try to lift the stack, a shock of pain shoots through my injured wrist—the books are too heavy, and I drop them immediately. They fall to the floor, each landing with a resounding thud.
I’m scrambling to straighten them when Tyler knocks on my front door, his muffled voice saying, “Forgot to prop it open!”
“Be there in a second!” I call out, stacking them one by one behind the big leather armchair, spines hidden from view. I flip the top book upside down to hide its cover—that’ll have to be good enough.
When I open the door, I do a double take.
Not only has Tyler changed clothes—thick sweatpants in dark charcoal gray, light-green cotton V-neck, wavy hair loose and no longer confined under a hat—but he’s also added a pair of black-framed glasses that somehow make him look even hotter. Maybe it’s the intimacy of it: knowing this isn’t his usual look, that it’s rare for someone else to see him like this.
I have the sudden urge to take it all off—his glasses, his V-neck, his everything else—to get as close as I possibly can, to tangle my fingers in his hair.
Heaven help me.
“You said you were going to get your laptop,” I say as casually as possible, “not that you’d be transforming into a totally different person.”
Tyler laughs. “I did get my laptop.”
He holds up a worn leather satchel that looks entirely at odds with his loungewear. It’s even monogrammed: TJB .
“We’re not going to talk about your pajamas?”
“We’re not going to talk about yours ?” he counters.
Never mind the fact that neither of us is actually wearing anything particularly risqué—we could both go jogging in public and no one would bat an eyelash.
“I live here, and it’s nearly one in the morning,” I reply, committed to giving him a hard time. “Pajamas are standard.”
“It’s nearly one in the morning and my place is so close to yours we could practically be roommates,” he says, grinning.
“Except for two crucial details: those extremely lockable front doors we both have, and the fact that I would never in a million years move in with someone I’ve known for less than a week.”
That’s a bit of a white lie, as I actually did have a college roommate I moved in with on a whim—great location, even better rent thanks to her family’s connection to the landlord—but four months of living with her is why I would never move in with a stranger again.
“I can go change back into my date clothes? Or maybe a Halloween costume?”
“Hey, I never said I was complaining about your pajamas—but I’m intrigued by the costume.”
“Let’s just say you’d never look at velociraptors the same way again.”
“Which is how, exactly?”
He laughs. “Oh, you know. You’d be more likely to run straight into their tiny arms than to run away screaming in terror.”
“Because I see so many velociraptors on a regular basis,” I say, and now I’m laughing, too. “And aren’t T. rexes the ones with tiny arms?”
“You and your details,” he says, waving it off. “Where should I put this?”
His biceps flex as he holds up his laptop satchel, and it’s all I can do to keep from staring.
“How about here?”
Tyler follows me over to the armchair where my stack of boy band books sits gloriously incognito. I’ve been working all around the penthouse over the past few days—maybe I’ll just stay in this room tomorrow. It would certainly be easier than relocating all the books.
“Thank you again,” I say.
“Use it for as long as you need to.”
His smile is soft, sincere. This close, something feels a little different about him—it’s probably just that I’m not used to seeing him in glasses.
“I might need it for a while if mine really is dead, just warning you.”
“It’s more necessary for your work right now than mine,” he says. “Promise.”
He puts one hand on the small of my back, and I inch closer, closer, until there’s no space between my body and his.
“Text me if there’s anything you need, even if it’s six in the morning,” he says. “Puffin seems like an early riser. And I can bring you breakfast, or coffee, or… anything.”
That’s just the beginning of the list of things that might be painful and/or difficult to do one-handed.
“You’re the best,” I say, tilting my head up to his. “And you’re right, Puffin is an early riser.”
My smile is contagious, and I’m not prepared for how radiant his looks up close. I’m still smiling when he leans in and presses one perfect, warm kiss onto my lips.
“I’d better get to bed, then,” he says. “Sounds like I’m going to need my energy tomorrow.”
I give him one more kiss to match the first, tempted to tell him not to go home at all, that he can stay right here—we are, after all, practically roommates.
But he tells me good night, and then he’s gone.
As soon as he leaves, I want him to come back.
I’m in bed, almost asleep, when I suddenly realize what seemed different about him. It wasn’t just his glasses—I was so distracted by the fact that he was wearing them at all that I didn’t fully register what had changed beneath them.
Behind his lenses, his irises were a deep, striking blue.