Page 20 of Beasts

“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?

Chapter thirteen

Practice

The quiet of the house envelops me as I wander, a sense of purpose driving my steps. The desire to contribute, to somehow repay the kindness and acceptance I’ve received from the residents, nudges me to find a way to help. Yet, as I pace through the pristine rooms, it becomes evident that the house is in impeccable condition. How often, I wonder, do they dedicate themselves to maintaining such cleanliness?

Lost in these thoughts, I’m startled by a sudden voice behind me. “Hey.”

I let out a scream, not expecting anyone to be home. “Don’t do that!” I exclaim, turning to face Oliver.

He smirks, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Seriously, you’re too easy.”

Embarrassed and slightly annoyed, I reply, “Sorry, I thought I was alone in the house.”

“And you thought you’d just wander up and down the living room and kitchen until something popped up?” he teases.

Feeling a little foolish, I confess, “I just wanted to do something nice, like clean something, but everything’s clean. I don’t really know how I can help out. But I feel like I need to do something.”

Oliver’s expression softens, and he suggests, “Well, it might not be for everyone, but I still need assistance being a bit more interactive.” The reminder of his unique situation nudges me back to reality.

“Okay, so where did you want to do this?” I ask, ready to offer my help.

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