She hears his truck as it nears, but doesn't move from the couch until she hears the knock on the door. Slowly she stands and opens it, keeping the screen door between them like a flimsy wall of protection.

"Hi," he says.

"What do you want this time?" she asks, trying to sound aloof, but mostly sounding bitter, "To be friends. To promise me something and then stick me in the nosebleeds."

He shakes his head, "To apologize."

"Yeah, I've heard that one before too. Seriously, Tim, what do you expect me to say here?"

"Nothing. I, uh, I didn't come here to….I just," he ducks his head, hair falling over his face. When he looks up its covering his eyes and she makes herself look away, biting the inside of her cheek to stop the words that want to come out.

He lifts his hand and the package in it. It's covered in newspaper and a horribly bent bow, "This is…for you."

"Tim, I don't…."

"Please, Tyra," he says, with his mouth, but also with his eyes and that's what gets her.

She opens the door steps out, grabbing the package and tearing it open, wanting this over with before she does something stupid like forgive him again, or believe in him again or….just anything.

But then the wrapping is gone and she can see it….its a painting…an oil painting of the sun going down over the hills.

"Where is it? The painting…what is it of?"

"Um….the guy said the Alps. I picked it up when we were in Dallas. I know you like pictures like that, from the ones on your wall. Especially Europe so…."

"So, what? Is this your way of making yourself feel better?" she says, trying not to let herself feel thrilled that he actually noticed something that was important to her.

"No," he stops, "I'm sorry about the tickets Tyra. I really am, but, it meant a lot to me then you were there. I know I didn't show it, but it did. And I just, wanted to do something nice for you. No hidden agenda."

She looks away from his eyes again, "Well, okay….thanks Tim."

He nods and walks back towards the truck.

She watches him, but just before he gets in she calls out, "You know those were really crappy seats."

One foot in the truck he stops, "Yeah, I know."

"So….you probably owe me dinner too."

His lips turn up slightly, as if he's unsure if he should smile, "Oh you think so, do you?"

"Yes, I do."

Slamming in the door, he goes around to the other side. He opens the passenger door and gestures widely with his hand, "Your chariot awaits."

Smiling she walks toward the truck, her body almost brushing his as she gets in. He closes the door, but leans against it, leans towards her. Their eyes lock for a moment, but then he pushes back and heads around.

"So," he asks, "Burgers?"

She shakes her head, "You're never going to change, are you Tim Riggins?"

"Like you'd ever want me to."

He starts the car and sets off down the road. One hand rests on the wheel as the other rests over the back of the seat. She moves over, just slightly, so the tips of his fingers or brushing her shoulder.

It almost nothing, barely even a touch. But for now, it's enough.