Harper glanced up and caught my eye, giving me aslight smile. Not teasing, not knowing. Just warm. Like Tessa being here was the most normal thing in the world, like she’d always been part of the daily rhythm of resort life. Maybe that was the problem. It was too easy to believe this was permanent when everything about it was temporary.
Later that afternoon, Harper caught me outside the brewery, arms crossed and wearing her “resort manager dealing with a situation” expression. “Hey, I’m doing a family bonfire tomorrow night. Nothing fancy. Just burgers and beer.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you announce family bonfires? We do them all the time.”
“I wantedto check with you first, so I haven’t sent the group text yet,” she said, her expression softening. “I’m thinking of inviting Tessa.”
My stomach flopped onto the ground. “Tessa? To a family thing?”
“She’s here almost every day, Braden. She’s practically staff at this point. It’s starting to feel weirdnotincluding her.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping into a gentle, sisterly register. “But I know that bringing her into the inner circle is a big step. So, I’m asking—are you okay with that? Because if it’s going to make you miserable, I won't send the invite. You come first. Always.”
I looked at her. Harper meant it. She would exclude the lead scientist of our major partnership just to protect my feelings. The realization made my gut calm down.
“I’m not miserable,” I said, and realized it was true. “Invite her.”
Harper studied me for a beat longer, searching for any sign of hesitation. When she didn't find one, shenodded. “Good. Because honestly? She’s not just some visiting scientist anymore. She’s part of what we’re building.”
The words landed hard. Because Harper meant the conservation center, the partnership with the resort, the community initiative. But all I heard wasshe’s part of what we’re building. Thewein that sentence included me whether Harper intended it or not.
“Yeah,” I heard myself say. “Okay. See you tonight.”
When Tessaand I showed up to the bonfire, I couldn’t pry my eyes off her. She was in cutoff shorts and a loose white linen shirt that caught the breeze off the water, her hair down and wavy from the salt air. She brought homemade guacamole—actual homemade, not store-bought with claims of authenticity—and a bag of tortilla chips. Within ten minutes she was deep in conversation with Austin about tide patterns and reef structures, and my grumpy, hermit brother was actually smiling. Not his politebeing social because I have tosmile, but a real one.
Eli got her into a debate about the best dive sites in the Keys, both gesturing wildly and talking over each other. Brenna asked about her research methodology with genuine curiosity. Even Ben engaged her in a conversation about environmental policy that left them both animated and laughing.
She wasn’t a guest at this bonfire. She was part of it.
I watched her laugh at one of Eli’s terrible jokes, watched her help Harper wrangle Claire and Cameron from getting too close to the fire with practiced ease, watched her fit into my family like she’d always been there. This was exactly the life I’d been imagining in my quietest, most vulnerable moments.
But wanting it didn’t make it real. Imagining it didn’t make it a promise.
“You haven’t taken your eyes off her.” Iris appeared at my elbow, holding a glass of wine and wearing the knowing expression that made her both endearing and dangerous. She’d become a fixture at family events since she and Austin got together, and her ability to read a room was unnervingly accurate.
“I’m observing.”
“Ahhh, so that’s what it is.” She followed my gaze to where Tessa was now crouched beside Finn, showing him something on her phone. Probably photos of fish or coral, knowing her. “She’s great, by the way.”
“I know.”
Iris shot me a sweet smile, all sunshine. “Does she know you’re in love with her?”
I nearly choked on my beer. “Jesus, Iris.”
“I’m just saying, the way you look at her is pretty obvious.” She bumped my shoulder with hers. “For what it’s worth, the way she looks at you is pretty telling too.”
I wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe the soft glances, the easy affection, the way her hand found mine when we walked down the beach after planning sessions. Wanted to believe that the hours we spent in my sheets meant the same thing to her that they did to me.
The next weekbrought a rhythm that felt like a relationship, but a quiet alarm clock continued ticking. We knew the timeline. The fellowship committee wouldn’t make a move for several weeks, and her Scripps assignment was on track to wrap up on time. Staring at the calendar wouldn't make the days go slower. The application and her project’s end were a grenade with a long fuse, and wemade a mutual decision to stop watching it burn. Instead, we poured every ounce of that restless energy into the one thing we could actually control—the beach festival.
“Have you finalized the vendor list for the event?” Tessa asked one evening, sprawled across my couch with her laptop balanced on her stomach. She’d changed out of her work clothes into one of my old Tidal Hops t-shirts, the navy blue one with the fading logo. Her bare legs draped over my lap.
“Almost. I’m waiting on confirmation from two more food trucks.” I glanced down at my notes, forcing myself to focus on logistics instead of how great she looked in my shirt.
“Perfect.” She tapped something into her spreadsheet with the efficiency of someone who’d organized a hundred events. “Kaia’s working on the educational materials. We’ll have interactive displays about reef health, water quality, and local species. Real hands-on stuff.”
“What about the kids’ activities?”
“Face painting. Temporary sea creature tattoos. A sandcastle competition.” She glanced up with a grin. “Finn’s going to lose his mind.”
