Then he moved.
Not rash, not reckless—a man answering something bone-deep and overdue. He leaned forward from the hearth, one hand braced on the stone, the other hovering as if making sure she could stop him.
She didn’t.
Their mouths met hard.
Like he’d been holding it back too long.
It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was need and heat, the kind of kiss that startles a sound out of a person. Tessa’s fingers curled into his jacket without thinking, pulling him closer. Scout answered instantly, deepening it, the warmth of him overtaking the cold that had lived in her chest for months.
He tasted like beer and winter and something steadier than she’d expected.
Her breath caught—wild, startled, alive in a way she couldn’t remember.
And under it came the wrongness of it—because Sara was still out there and this was the last thing she’d meant to let herself want. Maybe that was why it scared her more than the dark roads and empty ridges—wanting anything that wasn’t the job while another woman was depending on her.
When Scout finally pulled back, he stayed close enough that she could feel the ghost of his warmth on her lips. His forehead touched hers for half a second, the space between them charged and trembling.
“Tessa…” he whispered, like he wasn’t even sure he’d meant to say her name aloud.
She didn’t trust her voice—didn’t trust anything that might break the moment. She looked at him, stunned at the jolt he’d lit inside her—something she hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.
He was about to lean in again?—
—and that’s when Burke’s voice cracked through the radio on Scout’s hip, shattering the moment.
“Wilson, you copy? Need you back at HQ.”
Scout closed his eyes. Then he reached for the mic.
“Copy. On my way.”
Tessa sat back on her heels, pulse still stumbling, lips still tender from the kiss. The fire popped again, loud in the quiet.
Scout rose, brushing his jacket. “Thanks for the beer,” he said softly. “And… for the fire.”
Her voice came out softer than she meant. “Anytime.”
At the door, snow blowing around him, he hesitated—long enough to tell her the kiss hadn’t been a mistake.
“Get some sleep, Tessa.”
She swallowed. “You too, Scout.”
She touched her lips once after he left. Then forced her hand down. Sara was still missing.
Scout — The Drive Back Down
Scout eased the cruiser down the narrow drive, mind spinning, hot and cold, in a way he hadn’t felt since rookie days. Snow started to stick, swirling in the headlights, turning the road into a narrow white tunnel.
He couldn’t shake it—Tessa by the fire: black leggings, that gray Tennessee Vols sweatshirt, bare feet tucked beneath her, hair loose over her shoulders, orange-painted toes. Not the field agent—warm, unguarded, devastating.
Guilt jabbed him. Sara was still out there. He pressed a hand to his chest, as if he could shove the longing away. What the hell was wrong with him? He was supposed to be tracking every lead. Instead, he replayed the spark of Tessa’s laugh. Whatever he’d lit with her would have to wait. Finding Sara came first.
He dragged a hand down his face. When the world went quiet, loneliness found the cracks.
He hit the main road; snow thickened. Scout fixed his eyes ahead. Not tonight. Not now. But the taste of the moment lingered—sweet, guilty, impossible to shake.
