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When I woke up the next morning, I had three unread text messages. Tapping the touch screen on my iPhone, I opened them. The first was from Carrie, saying: I need to talk to u later.
The next two text messages were from Tyler. I could feel my heart pounding through my chest as I opened them. I expected him to say something like: Sorry, I’m just not that into you. I think we should see other people. Even if he had told me that he’d fallen asleep and hadn’t woken up in time to meet up with me, I knew I would still be upset—I would feel like I just wasn’t important enough for him to give the time of day to.
What Tyler had sent instead completely shocked—and horrified—me.
I’m so sorry about last night. I was in the hospital because I had a seizure. It happened on my way to see you . . . I think the flashing lights of the Ferris wheel might have triggered it.
Five minutes later, he had also texted: Are we still on for tonight? Me cooking dinner at your Gram’s?
I let out a sigh of relief. I wasn’t happy that Tyler had a seizure the night before. In fact, the idea that he could have a seizure while he was with me still terrified me. But I was glad that he hadn’t just stood me up because he didn’t want to see me. It made me happy to know that it wasn’t just that he didn’t like me.
That’s fine. As long as you’re feeling up to it, I texted back.
My phone chimed again with Tyler’s reply right away. I definitely feel up to it, no worries. See u around 5?
Sounds good, I replied.
Next, I dialed Carrie’s phone number. She picked up on the first ring. “Felicia?” There was a worried tone in her voice.
“Hey,” I said into the phone. “What’s up?”
“Nothing, I’m just taking Cookie for a walk,” Carrie replied quietly. I could hear her German Shepard mix barking in the background. “I had to tell you about my date.”
“You’re going on a date?” I asked, surprised that she hadn’t just texted me to tell me about it.
“No, I went on a date already,” Carrie replied. “Do you remember that really hot guy from the beach?”
“Yeah, I do,” I replied. How could I forget? That guy wasn’t only gorgeous, but just thinking about him made my skin crawl. I couldn’t figure out why, but he had creeped me out.
“Well, his name’s Donnie. We went out last night,” Carrie said. “He went to the movie theater on the beach with me. It was really fun, and he was actually really sweet. He even saw the new Justin Timberlake movie with me. What guy would want to do that for a first date?”
“That’s sweet,” I replied, unsure of what else to say. “Are you seeing him again?”
“Yeah, we’re supposed to. Actually, he wants you and Tyler to come on a double date with us,” Carrie said. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Um, it’s fine,” I replied. “He doesn’t even know me, though.”
“Are you sure he doesn’t?” Carrie asked.
I hesitated. He hadn’t looked familiar, but maybe we had met before and that’s why he struck such a chord with me. “I don’t think so.”
“Huh, that’s weird. He was talking about you a lot . . . and Gram, too. I mean, he knew your name. He also asked all these weird questions about you . . . like where you live and stuff. I just assumed he knew you,” Carrie replied.
“Well, did you tell him where I lived?” I asked, a little unnerved.
“Yeah, I thought it was no big deal. I’m sorry. I thought you knew him.” Carrie paused. “Anyway, I was thinking we could go mini golfing or something fun like that.”
“Yeah, sure,” I replied quietly. I tried to listen to what Carrie had to say, but all I could think about was why the guy had wanted to know where I lived.
*
The doorbell rang at exactly five o’clock.
“Wow, he’s prompt,” Gram called from her bedroom as I swung the front door open.
Bruno stepped into the living room first, followed by Tyler, who was carrying a bag of groceries. He took them over to the counter and preheated the oven without saying a word.
“Hello to you, too,” I said, a bit more sarcastically than I intended to.
“Sorry,” Tyler said with a laugh. “I’ve just carried these groceries all the way from the grocery store. They were starting to get heavy. Unfortunately, now that I had another seizure, I won’t be able to get my license for a few more years.”
“That really sucks,” I replied sympathetically. “But the good news is, I’ll be able to get mine. I hope. So, I can be your personal chauffeur!”
Tyler smiled, his grey eyes sparkling in the bright kitchen light. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” I replied.
“Now, you two love birds, I have one rule,” Gram said, coming out of her bedroom. “No making out in front of me, okay? I’ve never been a huge fan of public displays of affection.”
“That’s fine with me,” Tyler said with a grin. He reached out and shook my grandma’s hand. “I’m Tyler Harris.”
“You can just call me Gram,” my grandmother told him. She glanced over at me and winked, which let me know that she liked him already. Not that it was that hard to please Gram. Even despite the fact that Carrie slept over with hangovers sometimes, my grandmother was able to see the good in my best friend. I guess I was fortunate enough to have a lenient (yet somewhat overprotective) guardian.
“So, what’s for dinner?” Gram asked Tyler.
“Spaghetti Bolognese, salad, and cheesy garlic bread,” Tyler replied.
“That sounds delicious,” my grandmother replied. “I’m just going to go back to my bedroom so that the two of you can have some alone time.” To me, she mouthed: “Help him.”
Once her bedroom door clicked closed, Tyler got to work on his homemade pasta sauce with ground meat and fresh herbs. I offered to help, but he gave me the easiest job in the kitchen—cutting up the vegetables for the salad.
“That smells really good,” I commented as the scent of the pasta sauce began to fill the house.
“So do you, actually,” Tyler said, leaning in to sniff my hair. “What type of shampoo do you use?”
“Pantene Pro-V,” I replied, picking up a strand of my hair and putting it to my nose. I didn’t smell a thing.
“Well, it’s definitely working for you,” Tyler replied. He turned to look at my face, as though he were examining it for the first time. “You also look very pretty tonight.”
“Thanks,” I said, unconvinced. I glanced down at my outfit. I had just pulled on a pair of jeans that did nothing to accentuate my figure and a short-sleeved hooded shirt because I hadn’t known what else to wear. If anything, I felt as though I looked like a tomboy.
“No, seriously, you look great. Every time I see you, I’m reminded of why I asked you to go out with me that day on the beach.”
“Oh, yeah? And why was that?” I asked, popping a cucumber slice into my mouth.
“Because you’re beautiful without even trying to be—inside and out,” Tyler said quietly.
Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of loud bubbling. Glancing at the stove, I noticed that the water was bubbling over the pot and pointed at it. Tyler turned the stove’s burner down and took care of the spaghetti noodles when the kitchen timer went off.
“I don’t really know how to cook,” I admitted, feeling sort of embarrassed. I knew that Carrie couldn’t cook anything besides macaroni and cheese or leftovers either, but I was pretty sure that most girls my age had acquired basic cooking skills by now. Then again, most girls lived with busy mothers, who weren’t around to cook dinner for them, instead of retired grandmothers, who found joy in cooking.
“I can teach you.” Tyler grinned. “I want to go to culinary school. I hope to become a chef eventually.”
“You don’t seem like the chef type.” As soon as the comment flew out of my mouth, it seemed like a stupid thing to say. There Tyler was, pulling the pan of cheesy garlic bread out of the oven, and I was saying that it didn’t seem like he belonged in the kitchen.
“What do you picture me as?” Tyler asked.
“A lighthouse keeper.” It was the first thing that came to my mind—and the first thing that came out of my mouth. Admittedly, it’s not like I knew much else about Tyler, besides the fact that he obviously loved the ocean enough to walk the beach every day, liked marine life enough to take me on a first date to swim with dolphins, and his father was a lighthouse keeper. Heck, the boy was born in a lighthouse. It only made sense.
As soon as the words came out, Tyler froze and turned to look at me. His face had turned a ghostly shade of white. Sternly, he replied, “No. I would never want to be a lighthouse keeper.”
Before I could ask any other questions, he carried the bread to the table and called to Gram, “Dinner is served!”
Gram came out of her bedroom and sat down at the kitchen table. As we began to eat, I tried to ignore the new nagging feeling at the back of my mind that Tyler was hiding something.
As I bit into a piece of spaghetti, I nearly gagged. It tasted absolutely disgusting. The spaghetti noodles were overly wet and almost slimy, and the meat sauce was clumpy and tasted sour—not sour like milk, but like sour tomatoes.
“It’s delicious,” I lied, forcing myself to take another bite. I noted that I was going to have to convince Tyler to do something other than go to culinary school. This was one of the worst things I’d ever tasted.