His brow furrowed, and he looked down, his thumb tracing the base of his wine glass with a rhythmic, nervous energy. “I haven’t done this in a long time, Orla.”
“Dinner?” I teased, trying to puncture the ache blooming in my chest.
He shook his head, his expression dead serious. “Not like this. Not when I’ve actually given a shit if it meant something. It’s no secret—I know the headlines. I used to chase the noise. The validation. I didn’t even realize that’s what I was doing until I met you.”
“Tyler…”
“You see through the dumb shit I used to hide behind,” he went on, rubbing the back of his neck as if the honesty was physically uncomfortable. “And you’ve never made me feel like I had to be anyone else to deserve you. That... that fucked me up for a while.”
My chest tightened until it was hard to draw a full breath. “I’m not trying to fix you, Tyler. I never wanted that.”
“I know.” His eyes locked back onto mine, steady and unwavering. “That’s what makes it worse. You weren't even trying, and I still ended up wanting to be better.”
The weight of it was staggering. “What’s changed for you?” I whispered.
“You,” he said simply. “You make me want things I never thought I could want. Things that didn't fit the brand.”
I forced a tiny, shaky smirk. “Seriously, Reed? Like what?”
He hesitated, a small shrug of his shoulders suggesting it cost him a great deal of pride to admit it. “Someone to come home to. Stability. Someone who actually listens. Maybe... a family.”
The word hung in the air between us, shimmering like the city lights outside. “You... want kids?” I replied, lifting my brows.
“I’ve never pictured it with anyone else. Never wanted to,” he said, giving a small, almost disbelieving laugh. “Just because my own family fucked me up doesn't mean I can’t build something better with someone else. I know it’s kind of a deal-breaker for you, but...”
My chest caved in a little.
Part of me wanted to believe him, to soak up every word. The other part remembered sitting across from Josh while he told me the exact opposite, that kids weren’t in his future, that I deserved someone who wanted that. That wound had scarred over, but it still ached when pressed. And now here was reckless, swaggering Tyler, saying the words I’d once begged to hear. I didn’t know whether to cry, laugh, or bolt from the table.
I didn’t trust my voice, so I smiled instead. A small, unstable one that gave me away completely.
He saw it. I knew he did, because something softened in his eyes like he knew exactly what he’d just done to me.
Then he leant forward, voice dropping to that low rasp I was addicted to. “You’re dangerous in that dress, O. And not just because I want to fuck you senseless.”
“Oh?” I managed, the word a tiny, breathless challenge.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “It’s because you make me think about things I’ve never let myself want before. Permanent things. Future-type shit, Orla.”
My heart did a clumsy, violent tumble in my chest. I forced myself to sit back, gripping the edge of the velvet chair to stop from melting right into the floorboards. I could feel the heatprickling my eyes, a sudden, glassy vulnerability that I fought to swallow down. I wasn't ready to cry into the Pinot. Not yet.
“So,” I said, my voice sounding a little too light, a little too desperate to change the subject before I completely combusted under the weight of his stare. “What’s for dessert, Reed? Since you’re being so... forward.”
He grinned, the candlelight dancing in the golden-brown depths of his gaze. “You... obviously. But I’ll buy you a crème brûlée first, just to keep things classy.
I laughed, but my heart was pounding so hard it hurt. There was no use pretending anymore; this man had worked his way under my skin and I didn’t ever want him gone.
The rest of dinner passed in a haze, the heat and electricity thick between us until the waiter set down the cheque and shattered the tension like glass.
The second we stepped into the night, Tyler’s hand slid to the small of my back. The careful and testing kind of touch I’d felt before had been replaced by something more determined and possessive. Like he was claiming me and every nerve in my body lit up in answer.
Heads turned. I wasn’t imagining it. A few glances lingered too long. One guy walking past did a double take, and half-lifted his phone—just checking directions, maybe.
Or maybe not.
“Shit,” I murmured, pulse quickening. Tyler glanced at me.
“What?”
