We drift into lighter conversation after that, letting the seriousness fade.
“So, weirdest injury you’ve ever had?” Gray asks.
I grin. “That’s easy. Middle school, gym class. I tried to jump rope with three people at once, tripped, and sprained my wrist. The nurse gave me a bag of ice and told me I was talented.”
He laughs, low and warm. “Talented at what? Falling?”
“Apparently.”
“Okay, my turn,” he says. “I once broke a toe playing air guitar.”
I choke on a laugh. “Air guitar? You mean imaginary strings?”
“Yes, ma’am. Rocked too hard, miscalculated the jump, and met the coffee table with my foot.” He shakes his head, laughing. “The ER basically told me there’s nothing you can do for a broken toe except tape it and walk it off.”
“Wow. So heroic.”
“Exactly,” he says, smirking. “Really adds to the rock star image.”
The conversation slides into music, then food, then into that hazy territory of pure silliness.
“I once ate a bowl of SpaghettiOs with crushed Doritos on top,” he admits proudly, “and called it dinner.”
“That’s not dinner, that’s a crime against humanity.”
“Oh yeah? What’s your culinary confession?”
I hesitate, then groan. “Pickles and peanut butter. Straight from the jars.”
There’s silence for a beat. Then he makes a gagging noise so dramatic I bury my face in the pillow.
“Separate jars!” I yell. “Not together!”
“Oh, well, that makes it totally normal then,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.
We debate whether cereal counts as a meal and then move on to ranking fast food fries.
“Waffle fries are superior,” Gray insists.
“Wrong. Curly fries win every time,” I shoot back.
“No way. You only like them because they look fun.”
“Exactly! Food should be fun. Who decided fries had to be boring?”
We’re still bickering, both laughing too much to take it seriously. Somewhere between waffle fries and curly fries, between laughter and the easy rhythm we’ve fallen into, the words tumble out before I can stop them.
“Okay, but if my boyfriend doesn’t agree with me, then…”
I freeze. The word hangs there, heavy, impossible to snatch back.
Silence.
My stomach plummets. “Oh no. Oh my gosh. I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to label us. I don’t even know whyI said that, I wasn’t trying to overstep or assume anything, I just…”
“Ivy.”
His voice is quiet. Calm.
