Page 101 of Tessa and Nash

I clamp around him, shaking, my voice hoarse and raw as it echoes against the walls. I’m unraveling and dissolving and being built back into something entirely new, and it’s all because of him, all because of the way he’s looking at me like I’m the first and last true thing he’s ever found.

He follows, seconds after, and the way his hands tighten on me is the only warning I get. The desk shifts, a book skids to the floor, and he comes with a shudder and a ragged gasp that’s half my name and half an animal noise, pure and hollowed out, and then he collapses on top of me, every muscle melting into a boneless sigh.

For a minute, neither of us moves. The only sound in the room is the chuff of our breathing and the soft, stubborn complaints of the old house settling around us.

I run my hand over his hair, feeling the sweat and the soft, baby-fine part at the cowlick. His weight is solid, a pressure I never knew I wanted until tonight.

When he finally stirs, he kisses the hollow of my collarbone, then my chin, then sits up with a dazed, boyish grin. His cheeks are flushed, his hair a wreck. He looks at me like I’m a math problem he’s actually good at solving.

We both start giggling, soft at first, then unable to stop. It’s a stupid sound, ugly and uncontrolled, and it feels so fucking good to let it out.

After the day we’ve had, I think this release is exactly what we needed.

Even if it is insane.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Nash

January 16th

The first thing I notice when I wake up is that the house is too quiet.

Gray light spills through the bedroom window upstairs, the same guest room we collapsed into after leaving the office sometime past midnight.

The second thing I notice is that I’m warm.

Which should not be possible, because Juniper House is the kind of place that feels it was built to punish human comfort. Drafty windows. Old bones. The sort of “historic charm” people romanticize right up until they can’t feel their toes.

So much so that neither of us thought it was a good idea to stay last night in the ice-cold. But by the time we were done, it was just too damn dark.

And maybe, a little bit of us, did want to stay.

Because now…

I’m warm because there’s a body pressed against mine.

As real as the ache in my chest and the slow, even rise of her breath against my shoulder.

Her hair is loose, not braided, which is unusual. Tessa always seems to be one neat tug away from winning a courtroom battle. Right now, she clearly slept hard, deep, and didn’t spend a single second planning for it.

Then her eyelids flutter, and she shifts, trying to burrow deeper into warmth.

And I feel it in my ribs. That stupid, terrifying tug.

The part of me that wants to pull her closer and pretend this is normal. Pretend this is ours. Pretend this didn’t start as a lie I blurted out in a council meeting. The reckless idiot I am, making all of this an act.

Tessa’s brow tightens in her sleep, and she makes a small sound. Annoyed, even unconscious, which honestly feels on brand.

I hold my breath and stay still.

Because if she wakes up and remembers everything at once…

Juniper House. The journal. The map. Our families’ signatures side by side. A promise someone let rot.

And us.

I don’t think there’s enough coffee in Oregon to save me from that moment.