Chapter 18
Luca
I didn’t realize how much had shifted until now.
When Tilly opened up to me two days ago, I thought I understood.
But it changed something.
I keep thinking about it.
I keep thinking about how she said she isn’t herself.
How she hides the ugly parts.
How she cried, right there in my arms, and how all I wanted to do was keep her safe from whatever made her feel like that.
Now, it’s all I can think about.
And even though it scares me, I want to ask her if she still feels nothing.
Because it doesn’t feel like anything anymore.
“Knock, knock,” her voice comes from my doorway, dragging me out of my mind.
“Yeah?” I mumble, not moving from where I’m sprawled across my bed.
“I need help with something. Can I come in?”
“Yep.”
The door creaks open, and there she is — messy bun, her favorite ‘book boyfriend’ hoodie, and socks that don’t match.
Her face scrunches up immediately.
“Ew. You seriously need to open the windows in here. It smells like I don’t even know what’s worth offending like this.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly, still not moving.
She marches over, yanking the window open, and looks back at me like she’s done a public service.
“Fresh air, you’re welcome.”
I sit up, rubbing my face. “Did you come here to roast me, or do you actually need something?”
She grins.
Why does that smile always make something twist in my chest?
“I want to bake something for Yana. She hit five hundred thousand on Instagram, and she deserves it. But you know my baking skills are… limited.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Limited is generous.”
“Shut up,” she laughs. “So will you help me? I want to make a strawberry shortcake, but, like, a cherry version. Red velvet vibe. She loves cherries.”
I eye her suspiciously. “Do you even have the ingredients?”
“Yep!” she says proudly. Then she pauses. “I think.”
I groan but can’t hide the smile tugging at my mouth.
“Fine. I’ll help.”
Her entire face lights up as I’ve just offered her a free puppy. “Thank you!”
Before I can say anything, she throws her arms around my neck.
“You girls squeal too much,” I groan, standing up with her still in my arms.
“You love it.”
Maybe I do.
I sigh when I notice the mess she has already made. “Tilly,” I say, staring into the bowl like it personally offends me, “How did you make the dough worse than the last time you baked?”
“It’s not that bad!”
“It’s liquid. It’s literally a smoothie.” I take the spoon and show how the dough falls off to prove my point.
“That’s why I asked for help!” she argues, sticking her tongue out at me.
I sigh, grabbing the flour. “Okay, do you at least know how to whip cream?”
She gasps. “Do I look like I don’t?”
I look her dead in the eyes. “You want me to answer that honestly?”
Her jaw drops. “Wow. Of course, I know how to whip cream.”
“Good. Then whip it while I fix this… soup.”
She starts working, muttering something under her breath about ungrateful men.
I can’t help but smile as she focuses, her hair falling into her face, her lips pressed together in concentration.
By the time the cake is in the oven, we both look like we’ve survived a small food explosion.
Partly because the flour bag did explode, and partly because she blew all of it around, explaining it’s for the illusion of snow.
“There,” I say proudly, dusting flour off my hands.
Tilly turns to me with that mischievous look that never means anything good. “Hey, Luca?”
“What—”
She smeared whipped cream across my nose.
“Tilly!” I try to sound mad but end up laughing. “What was that for?”
“For thinking I can’t whip cream,” she says between giggles, already taking out her phone.
“Don’t you dare take a picture—”
Too late.
“Now I have evidence,” she says smugly.
I dip my finger in the bowl and get her back, dabbing cream on her nose. “Now we’re even.”
She bursts out laughing, leaning against the counter to keep from falling. “You look like a bunny!”
“I look like a what?”
“A bunny,” she repeats, flicking my nose. “A cute one.”
My heart stops for a bat, but I play it off. “What every guy wants to hear from a girl.”
She laughs, and I try to calm myself down.
The smell of warm cake fills the room, thick and sweet and homey.
Tilly perches on the counter, swinging her legs, picking at the dried flour on her sleeve.
“Okay, that was actually fun,” she says, smiling to herself.
“ Actually fun?” I repeat. “As opposed to what? My presence is always fun.”
“Debatable,” she teases, grinning.
I throw a dish towel at her, which she dodges badly and somehow sends herself half-sliding off the counter. I catch her waist before she falls.
“Graceful,” I say softly.
“Shut up,” she mumbles, laughing breathlessly.
Something lingers in the air.
We let the cake cool and crash on the couch, both covered in flour and whipped cream.
She brings a blanket from her room, the same stupid one with stars on it, and throws it over both of us.
“So,” I say, turning on the TV. “What disaster are we watching today?”
“We Were Liars,” she says without hesitation.
“No way,” I immediately say.
“Last time you cried so hard I thought I’d have to call for emotional backup.”
She gasps. “You were crying too!”
“I was not!”
“Uh, yeah, you were,” she says, poking me in the shoulder. “You sniffled.”
“I had allergies.”
“Sure. allergies to sad movies.” She smiles, smug as always. “Okay, fine. Then let’s watch Up.”
“Another cry-fest.”
“I need a cry-fest.” She grabs the blanket, pulling it over both of us.
“Tilly.”
She looks at me and rolls her eyes. “Relax, every girl likes to cry to fictional events once in a while. Ask Yana if you need proof.”
“Totally normal behavior,” I mutter, ignoring the painful pounding of my heart.
“Shut up.”
We watch quietly for a while.
Every time she laughs softly or sighs at the screen, I feel the energy between us.
Static.
Halfway through the movie, she leans her head on my shoulder. My brain completely short-circuits.
I try to focus on the movie, but all I can think about is her.
The smell of her shampoo, the warmth of her hair against my hoodie, the way her fingers curl against the blanket.
“Tills?” I ask finally, my voice too soft.
“Mm?”
I hesitate. My chest feels too tight. “Can I ask you something?”
She lifts her head, blinking sleepily. “Sure.”
I hesitate. “Do you still… feel nothing?”
She blinks, lifting her head to look at me.
The movie flickers light across her face softly, painting her face gold.
And she smiles, gentle, almost apologetic. “Yeah.”
A simple word that somehow breaks my ribs.
I nod slowly. “Right.”
“You’re weirdly quiet,” she says, watching me.
“I’m fine,” I say too quickly.
She frowns like she doesn’t buy it, but doesn’t push either. She just lays her head back down, whispering, “You don’t have to be.”
Her voice is soft enough that I almost think I’m imagining it.
She falls asleep before the credits roll.
Her breathing evened out, taking a calm pattern.
There is a streak of cream still on her cheek, and her hand has drifted against my sleeve.
I watch her for a while.
The way her lashes brush her cheeks, how peaceful she looks when she isn’t pretending everything is fine.
I want to tell her how much space she takes up in my head.
But what’s the point?
She feels nothing, and I feel everything.
I brush a bit of flour off her hair, careful not to wake her.
The room is quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the sound of the waves outside.
Don’t tell anyone she said two nights ago.
Not Yana, not Zara, not Matt.
And I won’t.
I promised I wouldn’t.
I’ll keep her secrets.
All of them.
Even the ones that break me a little every day.