Chapter Seven

SOLANA

Tyler’s grip on my thigh lingers, his fingers warm against my skin as he continues driving. The silence between us stretches, filled only by the low hum of the radio.

I glance out the window, watching the buildings blur past, my stomach twisting with unease.

Where are we going?

Tyler loves surprises, but I don’t—not anymore. Not when surprises mean I have to react correctly, that I have to smile, that I have to be grateful.

He pulls into a familiar parking lot, the sight of it making my chest tighten.

Le Petit Amour.

A small, intimate French restaurant—our restaurant.

This is where he took me on our first real date. Where he brought me after his first big game win in college. Where he once told me, under the glow of candlelight, that he wanted to marry me someday.

The memory feels like a ghost, lingering in the air between us as he parks the car and turns to me with a proud smile.

“Figured we should do something special for three years, don’t you think?”

I nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. This is… really thoughtful.”

His smile widens, pleased by my reaction. “Come on.”

I let him take my hand as we step out of the car, let him guide me inside where the soft flicker of candlelight and the scent of warm bread fill the air.

The hostess recognizes us immediately.

“Tyler, Solana” she greets, her smile bright. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, figured I’d bring my girl somewhere nice,” he says smoothly, his grip tightening around my hand just slightly.

She leads us to a table tucked near the window, private and romantic. Tyler pulls out my chair for me, a perfect gentleman, and I sit carefully, folding my hands in my lap.

The moment we’re settled, he reaches across the table, taking my hand in his.

His thumb strokes over my knuckles, slow and deliberate. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs.

I blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“That I knew you were the one.” His gaze is steady, intense. “From the start.”

My breath catches slightly.

Because when Tyler is like this—soft, nostalgic, the boy I fell in love with—I don’t know what to do.

It messes with my head.

It makes me feel like maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe things aren’t that bad. Maybe I’m just remembering the bad more than the good.

He lifts my hand, pressing a kiss to my fingers. “I know I can be difficult sometimes.”

The words are so unexpected, my stomach clenches.

Tyler never admits to being wrong.

But then he sighs, shaking his head. “But you… you’re my constant, Sol. The only thing that keeps me grounded.”

I stare at him, my chest tightening.

Is this real?

I should say something. I love you, too. I know. I’m here.

But before I can, the waiter arrives, breaking the moment.

Tyler doesn’t let go of my hand right away, his grip lingering before he finally pulls back to glance at the menu.

I stare at him for a second longer before dropping my gaze to my own menu, my heart pounding.

Because for the first time in a long time, I don’t know if I should believe him.

Tyler orders for me.

He always does.

I don’t argue when he tells the waiter I’ll have the salmon with roasted vegetables, even though I was eyeing the pasta. I don’t correct him when he orders sparkling water instead of wine, even though tonight should be special.

I just smile like a good girlfriend and let him be in control.

Because that’s what makes things easier.

When the waiter leaves, Tyler leans back in his chair, watching me with that soft, affectionate look that always confuses me.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says.

I force a small laugh. “I’m just… surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised?” He tilts his head, amused. “By what?”

I hesitate. “I don’t know. You remembering all of this. Doing all of this.”

His smirk fades slightly, replaced by something more serious. “Of course I remembered, Sol.” His voice is quieter now, lower. “It’s us.”

Something in my chest tightens.

It’s us.

Like we’re something unbreakable. Like no matter what happens, no matter the fights or the tension or the way he is now, we’ll always end up right here—across from each other, together.

“I just—” I swallow hard. “I feel guilty that I didn’t get you anything and that I forgot.”

His lips twitch, like the idea of me forgetting amuses him.

Then he reaches across the table again, catching my chin gently between his fingers. “You don’t have to get me anything, baby.”

“But I—”

“I already have you.”

I try to smile, but I don’t think it reaches my eyes. “Still… I should have remembered.”

His thumb strokes over my bottom lip before he leans back again, exhaling softly. “You’ve been stressed. I get it.”

I nod, relieved he isn’t upset.

The food arrives not long after, and Tyler immediately cuts into his steak, making a satisfied noise as he chews.

“This is exactly what I needed,” he says, taking a sip of his water. “A night with you. Just us.”

I twirl a piece of salmon onto my fork, forcing myself to eat even though my stomach is too knotted to enjoy it.

Tyler keeps talking, reminiscing about high school, about how crazy it is that we’ve already been together for three years.

But my mind drifts.

To the way things used to be.

The way I used to feel.

The warmth. The excitement. The certainty that we were meant for each other.

But now, all I feel is tired.

And as I glance at Tyler—handsome, charming, completely sure of us—I wonder if he even notices the difference.

The ride home is quiet, a comfortable silence settling between us as the city lights blur past. Tyler’s fingers trace small circles on my thigh absentmindedly, his other hand steady on the wheel.

The dinner was perfect—on the surface. Sweet words, soft smiles, a reminder of who we used to be.

And for once, I don’t want to overthink it.

Tonight, I just want to exist in this version of us, the one where Tyler is gentle and I am his without hesitation or fear.

When we step inside the apartment, the scent of flowers still lingers, filling the space with warmth. I slip off my heels, sighing in relief as my bare feet touch the cool hardwood.

Tyler turns to me, his green eyes glinting with something unreadable. “One more surprise.”

I raise a brow. “Another one?”

He smirks, stepping toward the record player in the corner of the room. With a flick of his wrist, soft music fills the air—a slow, romantic melody that wraps around us like a whisper.

Recognition tugs at me. This song.

It’s the one we danced to at prom. The one he played in his car after our first real fight, when he pulled me into his arms and told me he could never stay mad at me.

I blink, my heart stuttering as Tyler extends a hand. “Dance with me.”

A part of me hesitates.

But then I see the softness in his expression, the rare vulnerability.

And I want this.

I want to hold onto the illusion, just for tonight.

So I step forward, slipping my hand into his.

Tyler pulls me close, one arm wrapping around my waist, the other holding my hand against his chest.

We sway slowly, our movements effortless, like muscle memory.

Like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

His lips brush against my temple. “You feel good in my arms.”

I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the moment, into the warmth of him.

For once, there’s no tension. No sharp words, no uneasy silences.

Just us.

The way we used to be.

My head rests against his shoulder, and I let go—of the doubts, the fear, the past.

Just for tonight.

Just for this one dance.

Tyler’s arms tighten around me as we move, his fingers tracing gentle patterns against my back. The warmth of his body seeps into mine, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself breathe.

The music swells around us, soft and familiar.

I don’t know when my eyes close, but I sink into the moment, into the illusion that we are still good, that this is still love.

Tyler presses a kiss to my hair. “You remember prom night?”

A small smile tugs at my lips. “Of course.”

“You looked like a dream that night.” His voice is lower now, almost wistful. “I knew then I’d never love anyone the way I love you.”

The words should make my heart soar.

Instead, they make my chest ache.

Because love isn’t supposed to hurt.

But tonight, I don’t want to think about that.

So I whisper back, “I remember how you wouldn’t let me go all night.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my skin. “Damn right. You were the most beautiful girl in the room.”

I pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes are soft, warm, looking at me like I’m his entire world.

And for a moment, I let myself believe it.

He leans in, his lips brushing against mine—light, teasing. His breath mixes with mine, his hands sliding down to rest at my waist, pulling me impossibly closer.

“I love you so much, Sol,” he murmurs against my lips.

I whisper the words back, despite my throat being tight..

“I love you too.”

Tyler kisses me softly, his lips lingering like he’s savoring the moment. His arms stay wrapped around me even after the song fades into silence, leaving only the sound of our breathing in the dimly lit living room.

For a few seconds, I let myself exist in the quiet. In the warmth of his body, in the illusion of us.

Then, he pulls back just enough to look at me, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. “I don’t tell you enough, but you’re everything to me, Sol.”

His voice is soft, almost reverent. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I swallow hard, forcing myself to nod. “Me too.”

He studies me for a moment before smiling, like my answer is exactly what he wanted. “Come on,” he says, taking my hand. “Let’s get some rest.”

I let him lead me to our bedroom, my heartbeat uneven as he pulls me onto the bed beside him after we change into our pj's.

His arms immediately wrap around me, holding me tight against his chest like he’s afraid I’ll slip away in the night.

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

I close my eyes, whispering back, “Happy anniversary.”

And as Tyler drifts off to sleep, his breathing deep and steady, I stay awake, staring at the ceiling.

Because no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, I know the truth.

This moment, this version of Tyler is temporary.

By morning, reality will creep back in.

And I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending.

◇◇◆◇◇