That earns me a grin.
We fall into a quieter rhythm after that. Tools click into place and boxes slide shut. There’s a low rumble of the arena somewhere beyond the room reverberating inside.
I reach for a stack of cloths at the same time he does, our hands brushing.
It’s nothing. Only, it’s alsonotnothing. I pull back first, clearing my throat as I grab a different one. “I’ve got it.”
“Right,” he says, but he doesn’t move away right away. Just stands there for a second, like he’s deciding something.
I focus on wiping down the table, even though it’s already clean and Ty shifts his weight back a step, like he’s about to leave. However, he doesn’t.
Instead, he turns back, one hand dragging over the back of his neck like he’s rewriting the script in real time.
“You know,” he says, a little too casually, “I don’t know if you know this, Vivian, but it’s a beautiful day outside.”
I tilt my head to the side, taking him in. “I’m aware.”
“No, but like—” He gestures vaguely toward…everything. “It’sbeautiful.”
I lean a hip against the table, folding my arms. “I was outside this morning. In my garden. With actual sunlight and fresh air and everything.”
He rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?”
He points at me like I’ve just walked into his trap. “I’m doing a build-up.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, deadpan. “Please continue your dramatic speech.”
He exhales a laugh, shaking his head like I’m the problem here, which is fair. I can be a bit of a pain in the rear end sometimes.
“Okay,” he says, resetting. “We’ve been stuck in this arena all morning. It’s a nice day. And I was thinking…”
He trails off just long enough to make it deliberate.
I arch a brow. This man loves to keep you on the edge of your seat when he’s talking sometimes. “You were thinking…?”
“I’m getting there,” he mutters. Then, pushing through, “I was thinking maybe you’d want to come with me. Right now. For after-practice ice cream.”
I stare at him.
“For after-practice ice cream?” I repeat. “Is that a thing?”
He immediately second-guesses himself. I can see it happen in real time.
“Yeah,” he says, a little defensive now. “Ice cream. Is that weird?”
“No,” I say, and I can’t help it—my mouth curves. “It sounds really nice, actually.”
Something in his shoulders loosens. “Okay,” he says, nodding once like he just won something. “Good. Then let me take you for some ice cream.”
I laugh, grabbing my bag off the chair. “That’s very wholesome.”
“It is,” he agrees. “Feels like a wholesome kind of day.”
“Mm,” I say, slinging the strap over my shoulder. “You’re right. It doesn’t feel like the middle of the day is the right time to go drink champagne and dance on tables.”
“Exactly.” He points at me like I finally said something smart. “That’s more of a nighttime poor-decision situation.”
