Page 34 of Trick or Treat Nurse at My Feet
"And you're just... out now? Just like that?"
"I'm not big on labels, but I'm not hiding either." Tyler reaches across the table, briefly touching my hand. "I told you I'm not ashamed of this."
Something in my chest unravels at his words, like a tension I've been hauling around for so long I'd stopped noticing its presence. After Ryan's constant paranoia about being seen together, Tyler's easy confidence feels like stepping out of a dark room into sunlight, disorienting but warm.
I've spent so much time making myself smaller, less visible, and adjusting to other people's comfort levels that I've almost forgotten what it feels like not to apologize for existing, for wanting, for being wanted.
"You okay?" Tyler asks, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Yeah," I manage, swallowing past the unexpected lump in my throat. "Just wondering if I'm still passed out in thehaunted house and this is all some elaborate concussion dream."
Tyler laughs. "If it is, we're having the same one. Besides, my brothers already saw me carry you off like some caveman with his prize. I think the cat's out of the bag."
His casual certainty, the way he doesn't flinch at the comparison to Ryan or try to distance himself from what happened at the party, feels revolutionary. It feels like possibility.
We fall back into conversation, discovering to mutual delight that we both had an obsession with competitive baking shows.
"Wait, you watch Great British Bake Off too?" Tyler looks genuinely delighted, his brown eyes lighting up with unexpected enthusiasm.
"It's soothing! All that precision and creativity under pressure..." I trace the rim of my coffee cup with my finger, smiling at the shared interest. "Something about watching people make intricate pastries while maintaining British politeness is so calming."
"And the disasters. Don't forget the epic disasters," Tyler adds, leaning forward eagerly. "Remember when that guy's baked Alaska melted and he just tossed the whole thing in the bin?"
"That's the best part," I agree, laughing. "That and when something unexpectedly sexual is said, and everyone in the room is trying not to laugh. The innuendos are half the reason I watch."
"Exactly!" Tyler snaps his fingers. "Like when they talk about?—"
"The Beaver!" we both say simultaneously, then start laughing so loudly that people at other tables are glancing at us from nearby tables.
Tyler's laugh is deep and unreserved, nothing like the careful, measured persona I'd expected from Mr. Perfect VP of Delta Psi Omega. There's something disarming about how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he's genuinely amused.
"God, the faces they make trying to keep it professional," I say, wiping at my eyes. "Paul Hollywood looks stern while Mary Berry tries not to giggle."
"And then there's always that one contestant who has no idea why everyone's laughing," Tyler adds, his shoulder brushing against mine as he reaches for his napkin.
Two hours and another round of coffees later, I realize we've been talking nonstop, about everything from baking shows to our favourite campus shortcuts to the worst professors we've had. The easy conversation flows between us, punctuated by shared smiles and occasional brushes of our hands across the table. It's only when Tyler checks his watch reluctantly that I realize how much time has passed.
"I have class in twenty minutes," he says. "But I want to see you again."
"I pause, torn between playing it safe and how much I want to be with him. "Tyler, I?—"
"Look, I get it," his voice softens. "You just got out of something rough, and now here's a guy who was supposedly straight until last week asking you out. That's a lot to process."
"Plus the whole frat thing," I add, trying to keep my tone light.
"There is that," he acknowledges with a smile. "But I like spending time with you, Ethan. And I'd like to do more of it."
"More coffee?" My heart speeds up despite my attempt tosound casual.
"More everything," his eyes hold onto mine. "Coffee, talking, kissing..."
Heat rushes to my face, flooding my cheeks with warmth that I'm certain makes me look like a human tomato. I can feel the blush spreading down my neck as I whisper urgently, "We're in public!"
Tyler's smile is confident but gentle. "And I'm still saying it. That's kind of the point, Ethan."
As we gather our things to leave, Tyler rechecks his phone. "I have to run to make my seminar, but are you free tomorrow evening? Maybe dinner instead of coffee?"
The way he looks at me, hopeful, earnest, and completely unguarded, makes my carefully constructed walls feel suddenly flimsy.
