Page 102 of Tessa and Nash

She blinks awake slowly, eyes unfocused at first.

Then she looks up.

Right at me.

Her gaze sharpens, a blade being drawn.

We stare at each other for a beat, both of us silent, both of us probably thinking the same thing:

Now what?

Then Tessa shifts back an inch, and the warmth between us breaks a spell.

“Good morning,” I say automatically, because I’m a moron and my mouth keeps trying to make things normal.

Tessa’s expression is closed off. “Is it?”

I swallow. “Okay. Fair.”

She pushes herself upright, hair falling over one shoulder, eyes scanning the room as if she expects to find a witness. She expects Juniper House itself to accuse her.

There’s a sweater on the floor. My shirt draped over a chair.

And then I see it.

Through the window.

I sit up too fast, shoulder bumping hers.

Tessa glares. “What?”

I stare at the glass.

Snow clings to the outside, packed tight. The world beyond is nothing but a white blur.

My stomach drops.

“That…” I say disbelievingly. “That wasn’t there last night.”

Tessa looks, and the second she sees it, her whole posture changes. “Oh, shit.”

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, the cold floor biting my feet. I cross the room and yank the curtain aside.

It’s as if someone erased the road.

Snow drifts are stacked up against the porch railing. The truck is half covered, a rounded shape in the yard, trying to disappear.

And the sky isn’t sky.

It’s a low, heavy sheet of gray, pressing down hard.

I stare for a long beat, trying to make my brain accept it.

Then I hear Tessa behind me.

“No,” she says flatly.

I turn. “No?”