A request
The very day it was apparent they were going somewhere, that it was indeed serious also marked the day Travis finally had something to be afraid of.
It wasn't that initial text message he'd immediately thought was someone playing a prank or the first time they talked over the phone (though he would've definitely admitted his palms were sweating when she picked up). It wasn't even their first date because the way he figured it, they got along, they could hold a conversation and it would either happen or it wouldn't. Putting pressure on himself had seemed to be jumping the gun at the time, so he'd kept an open mind. If anything, his friends were the ones flipping out, but he kept his cool.
It was a night where he'd flown out, under the radar to visit her somewhere near the end of August. The air was that stale summer New York air, the kind that made even taking a breath unpleasant. She had cooked him dinner; a pasta dish with a Caesar salad and fresh bread that he asked if she'd baked herself, thoroughly impressed when she said she had.
"I have a bread maker machine," she shrugged nonchalantly as though it was the easiest thing in the world. "Do you like it?"
"It's delicious," he confirmed, reaching over to kiss her.
His mother, who'd always been an incredible baker (self-admittedly, less skilled as a cook) refused to make an attempt. "Too much work," she always said so he knew, fancy machine aside, that it was a big deal Taylor had taken the time to do it.
He liked her apartment. It was beautifully decorated with furniture and art pieces he could tell she'd carefully selected, but mostly because all the corners were lit up by her warmth. Travis had always admired people who had the ability to fill any space, no matter if it belonged to them or not and infuse who they were into it. She could make someone comfortable in any given situation and he really felt her living space reflect that.
She walked around the gleaming hard woods in fuzzy white socks, tucked into a grey NYU hoodie and black leggings, leaving her curly hair down, loading up the dishwasher, while keeping up a steady stream of conversation that tended to drift in and out of topic which he loved because it told him that her brain was a runaway freight train, just like his.
"Can I help?"
"Nope. Relax. Wanna share dessert? I made some chocolate chip cookies this morning and I have some vanilla ice cream...wait, hold that thought." She paused, opening the freezer and sticking her head inside, "yes! I have vanilla ice cream we can throw on top. I'll warm them up, if you want."
"You had me at chocolate chip cookies," he smiled. "Thanks for dinner...everything was great."
"Of course," she beamed back, nose crinkling. "You flew all the way here for a date, so honestly, the least I can do is make sure you eat well."
They hadn't talked about anything official, not yet...they spoke almost daily, had since their first meeting, had seen each other in person on a few separate occasions since. The timing was tricky; she was still touring and he was dealing with the physical and emotional impact of a knee injury that would leave him unable to be in the first game of the season. They were both self-aware enough to know that whatever was developing between them would be a challenge to manage with their crazy schedules.
And even acknowledging that, Travis was falling. He'd already had a huge crush on her, but liking someone from a distance and then actually having it happen were two different things. He hadn't been remotely prepared for the idea. In a span of weeks, he'd come to adore her, found himself thinking about her...counting the hours until he would get to hear her voice or see her face when they talked. No one could predict something like that and going from "it's not gonna happen, but at least I tried to shoot my shot" to "I tried to shoot my shot, someone told her and it happened" was absolutely insane to him.
