He gestures at my overnight bag. “No. Like… those scary things you had in last night.”
I blink. “You remembered my Nora Battys?”
He shrugs, smirking. “They looked like weapons. Hard to forget.”
Lily sniffles. “What’s a Nora Batty?”
I sigh. “Iconic British TV character. Hair always in rollers. Cardigan, wrinkled stockings, perpetual look of judgement. Basically, what I aspire to be on Sundays.”
Tyler bites back a laugh.
I march to my bag, yanking out the rollers like I’m about to perform a ritual sacrifice.
He smooths each section of hair with surprising care, while I roll and pin with furious purpose.
Our hands brush.
Sparks.
His eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I feel it again, that shift, that pull, that terrifying weight of being seen.
Not as comic relief. Not as backup.
As someone who matters.
Time slips by in a bubble of quiet concentration. The chaos beyond the door, footsteps, shrieks, the whole wedding machine, fades to nothing.
Tyler slips out for a moment and returns with a glass of whisky, crouching to press it into Lily’s hands.
“For nerves,” he says, like it’s just between them. “Or courage.”
Her fingers tremble as she takes it, and something in my chest does the same.
By the time the rollers have set, we’ve built a small miracle out of panic and bobby pins. I lean in, gently coaxing a final curl into place.
“Less corkscrew, more bridal glow-up,” I murmur, tucking in a rebellious strand.
“You’re good at this,” Tyler says quietly, almost like he’s reluctant to break the spell.
I smirk, not looking up. “You’re lucky I was born with emergency hair-disaster skills.”
Lily giggles through her tears, the sound steadier now, hopeful. We finish the last pin, and I hand her the mirror like I’m presenting the crown jewels.
She gasps. “You fixed it!”
“Of course she did,” Tyler says, straightening and brushing off his trousers.
Lily launches herself at us, arms flung wide, a human bouquet of panic and gratitude, and squeezes us both at once.
“I love you,” she says breathlessly. “Now I have to go so they can contour the tears off my face!”
She bolts for the door, then doubles back, radiant. “Seriously. You’re an angel!”
And then she’s gone.
The room falls quiet.
Just me. Tyler. And a floor full of bobby pins and tension thick enough to braid.
