14. Ty
TY
We’re walking. Just a couple of people making their way down a street on a Saturday afternoon, enjoying the sunshine.
At least that’s what it looks like from the outside.
Side by side, same pace, same rhythm as before. Like nothing’s changed. Like the last five minutes didn’t change something for both of us. I know I felt it and I’m pretty sure she did, too.
I keep my eyes forward. Because every time I look at her, it gets worse, and I don’t need worse right now. I’ve got a cone in one hand, melting faster than I’m eating it, and the very clear memory of her standing too close, looking at me like—
She bumps my elbow lightly as we step around a couple walking the opposite direction, and it’s nothing. Accidental. A sunny day with two people, hanging out, walking around like it’s our routine.
Except it’s not. Nothing about it is routine for me. Everything is magnified right now. Everything registers. The pressure, the angle, the exact point of any contact I have with her. It sticks longer than it should, like my brain doesn’t file it away fast enough.
I exhale slowly, dragging my focus back to the street. Brick buildings. People, lots of them, milling around us. A dog pulling at its leash like it’s got somewhere better to be.
Predictable. That’s what I like. Clear lines. Expected outcomes. Things that behave the way they’re supposed to.
Whatever is happening here does not fit into that category.
I glance over anyway. She’s looking straight ahead, focused, like she’s made a conscious decision not to look at me again. Her grip tightens slightly around her cone, her thumb moving back and forth across the paper, like she’s concentrating on not dropping it.
Or maybe she’s concentrating on something else entirely. I almost say something. But I don’t. Instead, I look ahead. Say nothing. That’s the move. Safe, Ty. Be quiet. Except—
“You always do that?” I hear myself ask.
So much for keeping my mouth shut.
She turns her head, just enough. “Do what?”
I shrug, keeping my tone even. Casual. Like I didn’t just replay that entire moment in high definition.
“Act like nothing happened.”
She stops, mid lick, her eyes flicking to mine.
“Nothing happened,” she says with a tiny grin on her lips.
I nod once. “Right.”
We walk another few steps. I should leave it there. But I don’t.
“Would’ve been awkward if it had.”
That gets a reaction. She glances at me again, sharper this time, like she’s trying to read what I mean by that. Which—well, it’s fair. Still, I don’t elaborate. If she’s going to act like this is nothing, then I can be patient.
I just take another bite of my ice cream like I’m in the middle of an ordinary conversation and not choosing my words way more carefully than I need to.
She huffs out a breath, something caught between a laugh and a protest. “Do you mean when I nudged your elbow?”
“No.” I shake my head slightly. “A few minutes ago. Before that.”
She slows just enough that I notice.
“Before…what?”
I hesitate. Because we’re at the part where I either let it go or say the thing exactly how I experienced it.
And those don’t always land the same way.
“I thought—” I stop, recalibrating, trying to line it up right. “When that guy walked up. I thought we were about to…” I glance at her, then back to the street. “Have a moment.”
There’s a beat as my words hit their mark.
“Oh.” She sounds surprised, so I risk another look at her. She’s smiling now, but it’s different. Not deflecting, at least not entirely. “You thought that?”
“Yes.” I say, without hesitation and her smile shifts, something warmer sneaking in. A little more aware.
“I mean,” she says, drawing it out slightly, “we were sitting kind of close.”
“We were,” I agree.
“And you were looking at me like—” She stops and I wait because I want to know what she is going to say.
She presses her lips together, like she’s deciding whether to finish the thought or not.
“Like you were thinking something,” she settles on.
I nod once. “I was.”
Her brows lift slightly. “Okay, well, that’s…very direct.”
“I don’t see the point in pretending otherwise.”
She lets out a small laugh at that, shaking her head. “No, I’m starting to pick up on that.”
We walk a few more steps, slower now. I can’t be the only one who is more aware of her presence beside me.
“So,” she says, glancing at me again as if daring, “what kind of moment did you think we were about to have?”
There’s something in her tone now. Light. Curious. Not dismissing what I said, but definitely testing it.
I consider that for a second, then decide not to overcomplicate it.
“The kind where you won’t say nothing happened.”
She exhales, a soft, surprised sound, and looks away for a second like she needs to regroup.
“That’s—” she starts, then stops, laughing quietly to herself. “Okay, that’s very exact.”
I don’t say anything, I just let it sit. It’s kind of endearing that I’m watching her process it in real time.
She glances back at me, a little more open now.
“For the record,” she says, voice lighter again, “I didn’t exactly hate that moment.”
I could stop us right here. Make a joke. Change the subject. Keep this exactly where it’s been until the ice cream—easy, low-stakes, nothing to think about later. Just a guy hanging out with a cool chick who happened to have kissed him out of the blue.
Instead, I open my mouth because, apparently, I have admissions to make.
“I like hanging out with you.”
The words land between us, quiet but clear.
She stops and looks at me like I’ve revealed something completely out of left field, which I have. Note made to discuss this with my therapist at our next session Monday.
“Hold up, Ty McCade. Are you messing with me because of the kiss?”
I stare at her. “No.”
It must have been the way I said it. Too quick? Too honest. Who knows, but her brows lift slightly, like she’s trying to figure out where this version of me came from.
I glance past her for half a second, catching sight of a narrow alley tucked between two brick buildings. It’s shadowed and boasting one of those old wrought-iron side gates Old Town seems to hide everywhere, allowing it to sit half open like an invitation.
Exactly what I need.
A place to step out of the noise. Fewer variables. Less movement. Somewhere I can take a second and let everything settle back into something I recognize.
My brain latches onto it immediately. Maps it out. Distance, angle, how long it would take to get there.
Two steps off the curb. Six more to the door. Done. Simple. I shift my weight slightly, already half-planning the exit before I remember I’m not alone.
I look back at her and Vivian’s still watching me, that same almost-smile on her lips, like she’s waiting to see what I’ll do next. Like she knows there’s something happening here, even if she’s not naming it.
I glance over at the alley once more, the open gate still there, still offering exactly what I needed five seconds ago.
Only now, it’s not a place to go alone.
It’s a place to take her.
Decision made.
I step back toward her, closing the small space between us, reaching for her cone before she can react.
“Hey—”
“I’ve got it,” I say, taking it from her hand.
She blinks at me, clearly not following.
“Ty—what are you doing?”
I take mine in my other hand, then turn, crossing the few steps to the trash near the alley entrance and dropping both cones in without a second thought.
“That was perfectly good ice cream,” she calls after me.
“Was melting,” I say.
“That’s the point of ice cream!”
I’m already walking back toward her.
She’s still standing there, half confused, half amused, and entirely unaware of what’s about to happen.
“Come here,” I say, quieter now.
She doesn’t move. Not right away, but she doesn’t leave either. Which is enough.
“Trust me?” I whisper as I reach for her hand lightly, not pulling, just enough to guide her while I step back toward the alley.
She eyes me, hesitating at first. I can’t blame her—I did just throw away her rocky road—but if I can get her into that alleyway….
She follows. One step. Then another.
The noise from the street fades just enough, the light shifting as we move out of the direct sun. It’s cooler in here. Quieter. Contained.
I stop, shutting the gate behind her. That’s when I notice she’s close again. Close like before. But this time—no interruption.
Her gaze lifts to mine, cautious now. A little unsteady. “Ty—”
I don’t let her finish. Instead, I lift my hand without over-thinking, fingers brushing lightly against her hair as I push a loose strand away from her face.
She stills. Completely. Like she feels it, too. Her eyes stay on mine, searching now. Not pulling away.
Her lips part slightly, and I come undone. As if she’s giving me quiet permission. Everything else falls into place after that.
I lean in, slow enough that she could stop me if she wanted to. She doesn’t. Close enough now that I can feel her breath against my cheek—warm, uneven. It catches, just enough to make something in me tighten.
My hand slides to her waist, firmer, pulling her in until there’s no space left to pretend this isn’t happening. She fits against me like she’s meant to be there, and that thought alone nearly undoes me.
Our noses brush, the movement gentle and slow. I drag mine lightly across hers, once, then again, slower, savoring the way she reacts, the soft hitch of air that leaves her.
I don’t rush it, even though everything in me wants to. I let it build, let the tension stretch until it’s almost unbearable, until the only thing I can focus on is her mouth, waiting.
Then I close the distance.
My lips find hers, slanting across them with more purpose this time, a quiet kind of hunger threading through it. And when they meet—she exhales the softest, sweetest sigh.