My eyes lock on the ribbon, and my heart does a weird little flip.
I just stare because no one brings me gifts. Not like this. Not with intent. Not with that careful, nervous energy that says this matters.
I take it slowly, as if it might explode.
“It’s… not much,” Wyatt adds quickly. “I just… I was at Larsen’s and I saw a few things and I thought?—”
“I… thank you,” I interrupt, because my voice is doing that wobbly thing it does when I’m overwhelmed.
Wyatt nods once. I set the bag on the table, fingertips brushing the ribbon, confirming it’s real.
Then I look back at him.
His eyes are on me. And there’s emotion in them that makes my skin prickle.
Not Jesse’s heat. Not Marshall’s weight.
This is different.
This is Wyatt’s steadiness tipping into bravery.
“I actually came for another reason,” he says.
My stomach drops.
“Oh,” I whisper.
Wyatt takes a breath. And then, like he’s ripping off a bandage, he says, “Would you like to go out with me?”
The words hit me so hard I swear the room tilts.
I stare at him. He stares back.
My brain makes a noise like a computer crashing.
Wyatt’s voice is still calm, but there’s a tightness under it now, like I’m holding something fragile and he’s hoping I don’t break it.
“A date,” he clarifies, because apparently my face has gone completely blank. “Not, like a huge thing. Just… dinner. Or coffee. Or, I don’t know, we could do something low-key. I just…” He exhales. “I’d like to take you out. Properly.”
Properly.
That single word is… too much.
My throat tightens.
Because the truth is, no one has ever asked me that.
Not like this.
Not with sincerity.
Not with the quiet courage of a man who has clearly thought about it enough to be nervous and still showed up anyway.
My pulse is racing.
My hands feel cold and hot at the same time.
Wyatt is watching me, trying to read my reaction the way he reads animals, looking for signs of fear, signs of bolting, signs of yes or no before I even speak.
