12. Date Night

Chapter twelve

Date Night

T he morning’s events with Oliver have left me feeling a mixture of accomplished and introspective. Shaking off the remnants of melancholy about my guitar, I make the decision to face the day head-on, heading to my next lecture.

Outside the lecture hall, engrossed in my thoughts, I’m caught off guard by an unexpected greeting. “Hey there.”

I turn to face the source of the voice and find myself looking at a tall guy with an athletic build. His hair is tousled in a way that suggests a carefree attitude, and his eyes, bright and alert, hold a friendly glint. There’s something almost wolf-like in his demeanor—confident and watchful, yet approachable. “Hi,” I manage to respond, somewhat taken aback by his sudden appearance.

“I’m Tyson, but everyone just calls me TJ,” he introduces himself with an easy smile, extending a hand that looks strong and capable.

I take his hand, finding his grip reassuringly firm yet considerate, a stark contrast to the cautious touch I had experienced with Oliver. “Nice to meet you, Tyson. I’m Amelia,” I say, welcoming the sense of normalcy that this interaction brings.

His laughter rings out, pleasant and infectious, breaking any lingering tension. “I’m one of those guys who needs a lot of tutors to keep up with classes. What about you?” he asks, leaning casually against the wall next to me.

“Perhaps naturally gifted,” I reply, a hint of playfulness in my tone. He leans against the wall next to me, his relaxed posture inviting further conversation.

“I’m not great at trigonometry, but I try. What are you planning to do in the future?”

“Probably something where trigonometry wouldn’t be required whatsoever,” I quip. His smile broadens, and he fishes a pen from his back pocket. He jots something down on a notepad, then tears off the corner and hands it to me.

“If you’re free tonight, text me. I know a great place where the second scoop of ice cream is free.” He offers the piece of paper with a confident yet hopeful look in his eyes.

I accept it, slipping it into my pocket. This unexpected exchange feels like a scene from a different life—one where I’m just a regular college student, not entangled in a world of supernatural beings and emotional turmoil.

As our teacher arrives and ushers us into the lecture hall, I can’t help but feel a flicker of excitement. I’ve got a date.

As I return to the house, buzzing with the excitement of my upcoming date, I can’t resist sharing the news with the triplets. Their response, a mix of playful banter and brotherly teasing, brings a smile to my face.

In a surprisingly thoughtful gesture, they help me by taking a mirror from one of the spare bathrooms and setting it up in my room. I’m touched by their effort, even as I thank them, but the triplets aren’t quite done with their antics. Instead of leaving me to my preparations, they transform into three mischievous kittens, turning my room into their playful arena. They dart around, jumping and tumbling over my beds, adding a lively, if chaotic, atmosphere to my getting-ready ritual.

Just as I’m trying to focus on my makeup, Kane and Nolan appear at my door, leaning casually against the frame. Their expressions are a blend of amusement and mild concern. Hendrik, seizing a moment of comedic opportunity, springs up in human form, startling both of them slightly.

“She’s got a date tonight. We’re helping her get ready,” Hendrik announces with a hint of pride.

Nolan remarks, “Looks more like you’re causing chaos.”

“Hey, she enjoys our company,” Hendrik defends, his tone light-hearted.

Seeking to diffuse any brewing mischief, I jump in. “Don’t worry, they’ve actually been a big help,” I assure them, glancing at the mirror they brought in. “They said this one was from a bathroom that’s out of order?”

Kane, with a touch of self-deprecating humor, adds, “Yeah, we should probably get that fixed. Not many are keen on sharing a bathroom with me.” There’s a hint of melancholy in his voice, and I can sense the underlying challenges he faces due to his nature.

Nolan, ever the peacemaker, smiles warmly. “We’ll let you finish getting ready.” He gestures for Kane to follow him out, leaving the room a little less chaotic.

In the midst of this, Hendrik, ever the playful one, picks up a lipstick from my desk. “Hey, Amelia,” he starts with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “ever wonder what it would look like to put lipstick on a cat?” His question, though absurd, is delivered with such earnest curiosity that I can’t help but laugh, appreciating the lighthearted moment amidst the complexities of living in a house full of supernatural beings.

The evening air is crisp as I step out, my nerves a flutter of excitement and apprehension. Dressed in a flowy blue sundress and comfortable flats, I feel both elegant and ready for an adventure. My hair falls softly around my shoulders, and a touch of color graces my lips.

Tyson is waiting at the corner, his presence unmistakable under the streetlamp. He’s the epitome of casual elegance in his button-down shirt and dark jeans, his hair perfectly tousled. As I approach, his face breaks into a warm, inviting smile.

“Amelia, you look amazing,” he greets, his eyes twinkling with genuine admiration.

“Thank you, Tyson. You’re looking quite dapper yourself,” I reply, feeling a blush tint my cheeks.

“We’re headed to Carnaval San Francisco tonight,” he announces, offering his arm. “I hope you’re ready for some fun.”

The festival is a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, bursting with life and energy. We meander through the crowds, Tyson’s hand finding mine, providing a comforting anchor in the sea of people.

“Ever tried your luck at carnival games?” Tyson asks, a playful challenge in his voice.

“Only to embarrass myself,” I admit with a laugh.

At a booth, we both attempt to knock down a pyramid of cans. Our attempts are more humorous than successful, but Tyson’s good-natured laughter makes the failure part of the fun. Eventually, he wins a small stuffed bear, which he presents to me with a mock bow.

“For you, milady, a trophy for our gallant efforts,” he jokes, and I can’t help but giggle at his theatrics.

We indulge in the festival’s culinary delights, from spicy tacos to sweet churros, sharing stories between bites. Tyson’s tales of childhood visits to the carnival are vivid and heartfelt, painting a picture of a cherished tradition.

As a band takes the stage, their lively music wraps around us. Tyson leads me into an impromptu dance, our movements synchronized in a joyful rhythm. His hands are gentle yet firm on my waist, and in that moment, under the starlit sky, everything just feels right.

The cool evening air hugs me as Tyson and I arrive at the house, a veil of darkness shrouding its true nature. He insists on escorting me home, a chivalrous gesture that warms my heart yet stirs a flicker of apprehension. I hope the frat house’s true identity remains a secret, considering its residents’ preference for seclusion.

We pause at the footpath, the house looming quietly behind us. “This is you?” Tyson asks, his voice tinged with a hint of curiosity.

“Yes, this is me. Thank you for taking me home,” I respond, the words ‘home’ resonating more deeply than I had anticipated. This house, despite its unconventional inhabitants, has become a sanctuary of sorts, a place of unexpected comfort.

Tyson nods, his eyes softening with understanding. “Hey, it’s not a problem at all,” he assures me, stepping a little closer. His proximity sends a ripple of nervous excitement through me. His presence, warm and inviting, suggests an impending kiss. A part of me longs to lean into that possibility, yet as I close my eyes, my mind conjures an unexpected image, one that isn’t Tyson.

Realizing my hesitation, I gently step back just as his lips near mine. “I’m sorry,” I stammer, my heart racing. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just... I don’t know you too well just yet.”

Tyson’s expression softens, his smile reassuring. “No, that’s perfectly fine,” he says, his tone sincere. “You can get to know me a bit more tomorrow at the party.”

I nod, a smile breaking through my uncertainty. “Good night, Tyson.”

“Good night, Amelia,” he replies before turning to leave.

As I step inside and close the door, my back presses against its cool surface. A whirlwind of emotions swirls within me. The house, once just a shelter, now feels more like a home. And Tyson, a beacon of normalcy in my complex life, leaves me questioning my own readiness for what’s next. Why didn’t I let him kiss me?