“It’s fine. I wasn’t saying it for sympathy. Just…I know what it’s like to feel like you’re on your own.”
“My story’s trivial in comparison.”
“A cut’s a cut. Some might be deeper, but they all hurt, don’t they?”
“Why do I have a feeling you know a lot about cuts?” Ty asked.
I turned away and started back down the sidewalk when I felt him grasp my hand. I turned back to him. His hold was soft, gentle, caring, mirroring the expression he offered.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to push. I appreciate you telling me as much as you did. I think that’s more than you’ve shared with me since I’ve known you.”
“I’ve shared more with you than I’ve shared with most, Ty. I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve.”
“If I had arms like yours, I would avoid sleeves altogether.”
I smiled at his playfulness, but just as quickly, his seriousness returned. “Sorry, I wasn’t meaning to joke. I just…thought it might cheer you up.”
“You do cheer me up, Ty. You really do.”
He couldn’t have realized just what a secret that was for me, but the way he stood at my side, still holding my hand, his care and consideration oozing out of his very being, meant more than he could have known.
Too much, even.
I steadied myself and took a breath.
“Wanna chat some more aboutBlack MirrorandThe X-Fileson the way to my place?” he asked, as though he knew me well enough to change the subject.
“Tell me about them,” I said, feeling that familiar tug at my lips that I was starting to so effortlessly associate with my Pretty Thing.
