“A lot of people think a home is composed of walls and a roof where you live. A structure that you fill with belongings and memories. But it’s more than that. It’s who’s inside those walls. It’s a place where you’re seen without needing to explain yourself. A place where you can breathe and your flaws don’t need to be hidden. It’s where you don’t have to pretend. You can just…be.”
The final words land like a sharp sucker punch to the gut.
I didn’t realize until hearing it from him that I want that. Someday, I want a home that feels exactly like what he just described. A place that’s mine. Where I don’t have to perform or impress or earn my right to take up space. Somewhere I finally get to just…be.
“Sorry.” He laughs, breaking the tension. “That was way too deep—even for me. But in conclusion”—he clears his throat, and the funny guy I know from just moments ago is back— “home isn’t just about the structure. It’s less about where you live, and more about where you feel whole.”
“That’s…wow. That’s a good answer.”
“Feel free to use it to nail your interview.” He winks. “I need a reason to start watching TV again.”
For the next half hour, we each order another drink, leaving behind the unintentional deep conversation we just had, to eat our meal. Tucker splits both burgers in half and we share them to get a taste of the two different kinds. It feels like we’ve slipped into our own bubble at the bar, the kind where the noise around us fades away and it’s just the two of us. My cheeks hurt fromlaughing so hard as he holds up the burger like he’s presenting a case in court about why this burger is the best he’s ever had.
I can’t decide if I’m more full from the meal, or from the way he makes me laugh.
“My jaw officially hurts from laughing this much,” he says, relaxing, but then his eyes widen and he turns to face me on the barstool. “Do you think we’ve exceeded the legal limit for laughing at a bar?”
My smile falls, and I offer him a serious look. “Do you think the bartender will write us a citation?”
“Fuck,” he says, equally serious—matching my sarcasm. “I hope not. I’m not good with fines. You think we should make a run for it?”
I lean in, keeping my voice low. “Are you suggesting we flee the scene?”
He nods. “It’s averyserious crime.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
He smiles playfully, placing cash on top of the receipt to pay for both of our meals. I should protest. I usually do. I’m careful about owing anyone anything or about letting moments get misread into something more than they’re meant to be.
But there’s something about him.
The way he’s so casually gotten under my skin, like it didn’t require effort or strategy or a perfectly timed smile.
“I never thought I’d say this but…” I glance at Tucker, my voice softer than I expect it to be. “I don’t want this night to end.”
His eyes lock with mine, and goose bumps pebble across my skin from the intensity of his stare. “Same.”
One word, barely above a whisper.
A stark contrast to our playful laughter moments ago.
“Do you…maybe…want to come back to my hotel room?”
Oh god. I can’t believe I actually said that out loud. Since when do I do this? Since when do I risk rejection instead of hiding behind silence? Instantly, I wish I could rewind to tenseconds ago and swallow the question, but the braver part of me is already blushing, waiting to see what he says.
“Yes.”
One word to make me completely unravel. Heat rushes to my neck and my pulse sky rockets like it doesn’t know what to do now. He stands from his barstool, extending his hand to me. I take it and feel the heat of his palm in mine all the way to my core.
I remind myself that this is just one night.
One night to let myself go and forget about tomorrow.
One night without rehearsing who I need to be or thinking about how I’ll need to prove that I deserve this show.
One night with a stranger that I won’t ever see again.
“Lead the way, Scottie.”
