He nudged the logs, sparks snapping up. Warmth rolled across the rug.
Tessa sat back, sleeves over her hands—gray cotton: Tennessee Vols.
He eyed it, deadpan. “Tell me that’s not yours.”
“Grad school,” she grinned. “Go Vols.”
“You’re in North Carolina, Agent. Enemy territory.”
“It’s comfortable,” she teased.
“Traitor,” he mock-grumbled, but there was still a grin behind it.
Scout laughed—a deep, real sound that lit the cabin.
Tessa shook her head. “I owe you a beer for that fire. And for saving me from hypothermia.”
He fixed her with a look in the firelight. “I won’t say no.”
She brought two bottles from the fridge. Their fingers brushed—a quick, charged jolt.
“To Sara,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“To Sara,” he echoed.
They drank. The fire popped, punctuating the moment neither of them dared speak.
Sleet softened into snow—big, lazy flakes drifting past the windows.
Scout shifted on the hearth, settling onto the warm stone ledge.
Tessa slipped down from the couch to the rug in front of the fire, sleeves tugged over her hands.
Tallulah paced once between them, then curled into a perfect crescent, her tail flicking over Tessa’s knee as if claiming the space.
The three of them sat in a loose triangle—Scout on the hearth, Tessa on the rug, the cat between them. The fire’s glow haloed everything.
Tessa reached down absently, fingers brushing Tallulah’s soft fur. She let her hand rest there for a moment.
Then she lifted her eyes.
She’d meant to look at Scout.
Instead, she looked straight at his mouth—the curve of it, the way the firelight softened the line of his lower lip.
Heat shot through her, quick and unwelcome.
Scout seemed to freeze.
His gaze dropped—slowly, unmistakably—to her mouth.
No hesitation.
No question.
Only that same pull from before—only this time, it wasn’t gentle.
For one suspended moment, neither of them breathed.
