My Hockey Bully Stepbrother
I padded out of the bathroom in his socks and followed the hallway and stopped in the doorway of the dining room.
Tyler was standing at the table, which he had set with actual plates, actual candles lit in the middle, and an amount of food that made zero sense for two people. Little dishes arranged carefully, steam still rising from some of them, everything laid out like he had been planning this for an hour and not assembling it in the twenty minutes I'd been in the shower.
"What," I said, "are you doing."
He looked up. "We're having dinner."
"Tyler."
"It's your birthday."