Daylight

Taylor #3

I'm curled up on the couch with a cup of tea, scrolling aimlessly through my phone when I hear the unmistakable sound of Tree's heels clicking against the hardwood floor. Without looking up, I know she's on a mission—Tree always walks with purpose, especially when she's about to tell me something I don't want to hear.

"Taylor," she says, her voice clipped as she drops a magazine onto the coffee table in front of me.

I set my phone down, glancing at the cover. And there it is, in bold letters under a grainy photo of me and Travis from dinner the other night: Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce: A New Love Story?

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I mutter, grabbing the magazine and flipping it open to the article. The picture is clearly when we were walking out of the restaurant. Travis's hand is mid-gesture, and I'm laughing at something he said. It looks a hell of a lot more intimate than it actually was.

Tree crosses her arms. "Care to explain this?"

I toss the magazine back into the table and lean back into the couch. "Explain what? We had dinner. That's it."

She raises an eyebrow. "Dinner? With him? Taylor, you can't just go out for 'friendly dinners' with someone like Travis Kelce and expect people not to lose their minds."

I sip my tea, trying to appear unbothered. "Relax, Tree. He's an old friend. We went to school together. It's not a big deal."

Tree scoffs. "Not a big deal? He's one of the most famous athletes in the country. You're, well, you. It's a big deal, Taylor. A huge deal. If you wanted to catch up, why didn't you just invite him to have dinner at your house?"

I set my cup down a little harder than I intended. "Oh, sure, that wouldn't have looked suspicious at all. 'Hey, Travis, wanna skip the public dinner and come over to my place instead?' You think that would've gone over better with the tabloids?"

"It would've kept the paps away," Tree says, her tone sharp. "And it's not like you don't have the space for it."

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Tree, this is ridiculous. We had one dinner. Friendly. That's it."

She leans against the armrest of the couch, her expression skeptical. "You know better than anyone that nothing is just friendly in your world, Taylor. Every move you make is dissected. You're giving people reasons to speculate."

I open my mouth to argue, but the words catch in my throat. Because she's right, isn't she? It doesn't matter what actually happened—perception is all anyone cares about.

Tree tilts her head, her voice softening slightly. "You know I'm just trying to protect you, right? This could get messy."

I wave her off. "It won't get messy. Travis is...he isn't like that."

She gives me a knowing look, waiting for me to elaborate.

And then, before I can stop myself, the words tumble out. "And plus, if I invited him over, all he'd want is what every guy would want. He'd wanna..." I trail off, realizing what I'm about to say. "Never mind. Forget it."

Tree's eyebrow arches higher. "Wanna what?"

"Nothing." I stand up, brushing imaginary lint off of my sweatpants. "You're reading too much into this. Travis and I are just friends, and that's all we're ever gonna be. So, can we please move on?"

As she leaves the room, I sink back into the couch, staring at the magazine on the table. The caption feels like it's taunting me.

Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce: A New Love Story?

"No," I whisper to myself. "That's not what this is."

But the words sound hollow, even to me.