“Good to know you’ve thought it through.”
“I’ve thought about a lot of things,” he says, opening the door for me.
I pause as I pass him, glancing up. “Should I be concerned about that?”
“Probably,” he says easily. “But not about the ice cream.”
I step out into the sunlight, warmth hitting my face, and I don’t miss the way he falls into step beside me like it was always the plan.
Like this—us, walking out together—makes perfect sense.
And the thing is…It kind of does.
The streetsof Old Town are doing that thing they do on a perfect day—sunlight bouncing off brick, people lingering in the sunshine a little longer than they need to, and laughter moving through the air like no one’s in a rush to hold on to it.
We walk side by side, slowly without meaning to be, each of us holding an ice cream. Rocky road for me. Mint chocolate chip and cookie dough for him, which feels careless to me, but somehow very on-brand Ty.
I glance over at his cone. “That feels like a personality test I don’t fully understand.”
He looks down at it. “What, my ice cream?”
“Yes. Your ice creams. Plural.”
He shrugs. “Why commit to one thing when you can have two?”
“That sounds like a red flag.”
He bumps his shoulder lightly into mine. “It’s a strength.”
There’s a beat where we both smile into our ice cream, and I don’t miss the way the air between us feels light, less contained.
I take another bite, then glance over at him. “So…is there a reason you wanted to ask me out for ice cream today, Ty?”
He stops walking. Like, full-on brakes. Actually stops. Ty turns to me with his eyes a little too wide, like I just asked him to solve something complicated.
“Do I need a reason?” he asks.
I blink. “No. I just thought, maybe—” I gesture vaguely. “Something’s up with the girls? Or the bonding sessions? Or?—”
“No,” he says, quick and certain. “It’s not that.” Then, a little more measured, “Do I have to have a reason to ask you out?”
Something in his tone makes me pause. I study him for a second, trying to track where he is versus where I thought we were.
“No,” I say slowly. “You don’t.”
We only make it a few more strides before I halt us again. “Wait. So youareasking me out?”
He pauses, clearly recalibrating mid-conversation. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “Well…how about,” he says, pointing his spoon at me like this is now a structured proposal, “this is the prelude to a date.”
Something deep inside my chest does a somersault. “The prelude.”
“Yeah. Like a teaser.” He nods, warming to it. “We’re both…sampling. Making sure we’d want to go on an actual date where we intentionally spend time together.”
I stare at him. “I honestly don’t know where you’re going with this.”
He lets out a short laugh. “I don’t either.”
That, more than anything, makes me laugh.
