A familiar voice called from the next aisle. “Well, if that’s for the department’s GSD, better grab the biggest one they’ve got—he’s all muscle.”
Tessa turned. “MaryLou! Hi.”
MaryLou Johnson, director of the Jackson County Visitor Center, stood a shopping basket over her arm. Beside her was Ned from Moonshine Creek Campground, laughing as two tiny Yorkies peeked out of his jacket pockets.
“Tessa,” MaryLou said, her smile barely there. “How are you doing, honey? With everything that’s happened…”
“We’re managing,” Tessa said. “But the department’s running on fumes. Everyone is.”
Some of the light eased out of MaryLou’s face. “I’ll bet,” she said quietly. “After the news about Lauren Pierce… folks are rattled.”
Tessa’s fingers tightened around the toy. “Yeah.”
"People keep asking at the Center. They’re on edge.”
Tessa hesitated. “We’re—” She stopped herself.
MaryLou caught it immediately and winced. “Listen to me, running my mouth. I know you can’t talk about it.”
At the register, Tessa paid for the toys and a dog treat for Ruger, the jingle of the drawer sounding loud in the calm. For a second, she imagined what normal felt like—Christmas errands, friendly faces, no missing deputies or empty cabins.
God, let us bring Sara home before Christmas. Please let her be alive.
She stepped outside, the glow from the pet shop soft behind her. Down the block, the neon sign for Catch My Draft shimmered through the haze—her next stop, and a conversation she wasn’t ready for.
Catch My Draft Bar
The bar’s windows glowed through the mist, strings of white lights outlining the front awning. A couple laughed as they ducked inside, leaving a swirl of cold air and pine-scented rain behind them.
The place was alive and humming—low laughter, the clink of glasses, a band poster curling on the wall. Kyle was already there at a back booth, jacket draped over the seat. An empty pint glass sat near his hand, condensation ringed on the table, and a second—half full—waited where she would’ve sat. He’d been there a while.
He smiled, tentative. “You look good, Tess.”
“Long week,” she said, tugging off her gloves.
“Yeah,” he said. “I miss this. Us.” He looked down at his hands, thumb rubbing at the edge of the coaster. “I keep thinking about the night I told you I didn’t want to play second to your job.” His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “That was me being scared, not honest.”
She watched him for a beat, the words landing heavier than she wanted them to. “You hurt me,” she said quietly. “But… I appreciate you saying that.”
Before she could answer anything else, the door opened.
A rush of cold air swept through—and with it, Scout Wilson. He strode toward the bar, scanning for Mike Stevens. His focus didn’t land on her immediately.
Kyle’s smile faltered as her posture shifted, her attention pulled elsewhere.
And when Scout finally turned, his gaze caught hers across the crowded bar.
Kyle’s voice sliced through the moment. “Guess I’ve got my answer.”
Tessa’s stomach knotted. The air between them went sharp. “You didn’t have to come if you knew how this would go.”
Without a word, she reached for her coat and slid from the booth.
“Maybe not,” she murmured.
She moved quickly, the paper bag from the pet shop still in her hand. Scout turned again in time to see her slip out the door.
He looked back toward Kyle. The man was still sitting in the booth, elbows on the table, gaze locked on Scout—steady, unflinching.
