Tyler’s mouth is warm and unhurried and he kisses me like he has nowhere else to be, one hand light at my jaw, and I let myself be here in it, in this porch light with this boy who brought me sunflowers and called ahead for a good table and asked what I was building like the answer mattered.
It felt nice to be seen.
When I pull back he’s smiling.
“Next weekend?” he says.
“Seven o’clock,” I say.
He waits until I’m inside before he drives away.
I close the door and stand in the hallway for a moment. The sunflowers are still in their glass on the table, bright and yellow in the dim light, and the evening is still warm in my chest and I am standing here in the quiet of a house that doesn’t know what to do with me yet, and for once I don’t mind.
Then the front door opens behind
