Fifteen minutes, maybe.
But it feels faster than that.
Maybe because I’m bouncing my knee the whole way there, nerves buzzing under my skin.
We’re almost thirty minutes late.
Tyler doesn’t seem worried, but I can’t shake the tight feeling in my chest.
I hate being late.
Especially to something that feels… bigger than usual.
We pull into his driveway, the house looking warm and golden in the evening light, porch lights already flicked on.
Tyler hops out first, jogging around to open my door like a dorky gentleman.
I laugh and let him.
Inside, the house smells like garlic and fresh bread and something roasting.
The second we step in, his mom swoops in for a hug.
Mrs. Hayes is all soft curves and bright eyes, her blonde hair twisted up into a messy bun, apron tied around her waist like she’s about to launch into a cooking show.
“We missed you, sweet girl,” she says into my hair, squeezing me tightly.
When she pulls back, Mr. Hayes is there too, wrapping me into a one-armed hug that smells like aftershave and warm sweaters.
“Long time no see, kiddo,” he says, ruffling my bun with a grin.
“Hey, it’s still intact!” I protest, laughing.
“I’ll do better next time,” he teases.
The warmth of their welcome melts some of the anxiety out of me.
This.
This is what I missed.
This is what I’ve been needing.
Home, even if it’s not technically mine.
I open my mouth to thank them when-
Someone clears their throat behind me.
I stiffen instinctively, pivoting slowly.
And that’s when I see him.
The doorway of the living room is crowded with warm light and the low murmur of voices.
And there he is.
At first, my brain tries to file him under guy.
Just another guy hanging around, probably one of Tyler’s friends, or a neighbor, or-
No.
Not a guy.
A man.
Leaning against the doorframe like he owns the space and resents it at the same time, arms crossed tight over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing against the sleeves of a black Henley pulled snug over his frame.
He’s massive.
Not just tall-tall.
Tall enough that I have to crane my neck slightly to meet his eyes.
If Tyler’s six feet, this guy has to be six-three, maybe taller, and built like every linebacker coach’s fantasy. Wide shoulders, thick arms, a chest so solid it looks like the shirt might just give up and split at the seams if he breathes too hard.
And his hair-dark. Almost black. Wavy, messy in a way that looks unintentional but somehow still perfect, brushing just past his jawline.
He’s staring at me.
Not smiling.
Not curious.
Not welcoming.
Studying me with a harsh, cool expression that makes my stomach twist a little without permission.
No friendliness in his eyes.
No warmth.
Just… calculation.
Tyler’s voice cracks the air between us.
“Wait-what?! Bro!”
He surges forward and throws an arm around the man’s shoulders in a loose hug.
The man barely reacts. Just shifts slightly under the weight, tolerating it more than returning it.
I blink at them.
Bro?
“Bro?” I echo, my voice a little higher than I mean it to be.
Tyler grins, clueless and happy as ever. “Yeah! That’s my older brother.”
I stare at him, then at the man still standing there, solid and unsmiling.
This is Tyler’s brother?
I knew he had a brother in the Navy. He mentioned it once or twice, always vaguely, the way you talk about someone who might as well live on a different planet.
But I never pictured this.
Where Tyler is all sun and easy smiles, this man is shadow.
Tyler’s lean and athletic-wiry muscle and speed.
This guy is heavier, harder, carved from something rougher.
Tyler’s brown hair is always messy, boyish.
This man’s hair is darker than midnight and falls in soft waves that brush just past his chin, framing a face that’s all sharp lines and sharp eyes.
And Tyler-Tyler’s warm.
This man looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
I shake off the weird tension, snap myself back to reality, and step forward, summoning a polite smile.
“Nice to meet y-“
“You’re late,” he says flatly, cutting me off.
I stop mid-sentence.
Tyler’s parents laugh awkwardly behind me, the sound brittle.
I blink at him, thrown completely off balance. “Uh-“
“I mean,” he says, voice low and clipped, “is that how you thank people for inviting you over?”
I stare at him.
Is he serious?
Tyler’s mom swoops in, laughing a little too brightly. “What my son Asher is trying to say is-we missed you, Penny. We’re so happy you’re here!”
She grabs my hand lightly and tugs me toward the kitchen.
I let her, my cheeks burning.
Tyler catches my other hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze, tugging me gently forward.
I try to follow-but I have to step awkwardly around Asher’s massive frame because he doesn’t move out of the way.
Not even an inch.
I slide past him, my shoulder brushing just slightly against his arm, and it’s like passing a statue-hard, unmoving, cold.
I don’t dare look up at him again.
The kitchen is warm and golden, and the table is practically groaning under the weight of food.
A huge roast chicken, crispy and golden. A giant bowl of buttery mashed potatoes flecked with herbs. Roasted green beans with almonds. Freshly baked rolls steaming in a basket. A colorful salad bursting with cranberries and crumbled feta. Bowls of gravy and rich-smelling sauces.
It looks like Thanksgiving exploded across the table.
I turn to Mrs. Hayes, still trying to recover my balance. “This looks amazing. Thank you so much for having me.”
She beams at me. “You’re always welcome here, sweet girl.”
We all shuffle to our seats, Tyler pulling me into the chair next to him.
Asher takes the seat at the far end of the table, the furthest possible point from me.
Good.
Maybe if we have enough food between us, I’ll forget the way his eyes felt like a weight on my skin.
Tyler is practically vibrating with energy, still smiling like a little kid at Christmas.
“I seriously had no idea you were coming home, man!” Tyler says, grabbing a roll.
“It wasn’t planned,” his brother-Asher-says in a voice so clipped it could slice glass.
Tyler doesn’t seem to notice the edge. Or maybe he just ignores it, used to it.
Mr. Hayes chuckles as he carves the chicken. “He just got in this morning. Three years straight without a real break, and they finally cut him loose for a little while.”
Three years.
Three years of combat boots and blood and whatever horrors Navy SEALs deal with that they don’t talk about.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.