Page 133 of Tessa and Nash

I glance around to see the eyes of the town upon us. I know that’s what we want to make this engagement seem realistic, but still…

My heart keeps skipping a beat.

I can’t stop thinking about what’s happened between us.

“Is it weird,” he says slowly, “or is it useful?”

I blink. “Those are not the same thing.”

His mouth quirks. “In Buckhorn? They usually are.”

I glance around again, taking in the low-stakes drama. Clara is two booths over, pretending not to stare while absolutely staring. Hank is at the counter, laughing too loud, pausing just long enough between laughs to clock where Nash’s hand is resting on the table. Mrs. Halloway is whispering to her sister like she’s narrating wildlife.

Engaged wildlife.

“I feel like we’re on display,” I mutter. “It’s stressful.”

“That’s kind of the point,” he says gently. “They expect to see us together. They expect it to look… normal.”

He reaches for his coffee, takes a sip, and without looking, slides his knee just a fraction closer to mine under the table.

It’s subtle.

Intentional.

Completely unnecessary.

My pulse stutters like it’s missed a step.

“And does this feel normal to you?” I ask, aiming for dry and landing somewhere closer to brittle.

“No,” he says honestly. “But it feels right.”

That is absolutely not what I was prepared for.

I open my mouth, then close it again because my brain has temporarily vacated the premises.

All I can really think about is the feel of his hands all over me.

I clear my throat like that might reboot my brain.

It does not.

What it does do is draw Nash’s attention back to my face, and the corner of his mouth lifts like he knows exactly where my thoughts just went and is choosing mercy.

Mostly.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” I say too quickly. “Totally fine. Just… thinking.”

His brow arches. “About?”

“Pie,” I blurt.

He glances toward Clara Jenkins’s booth, where she is absolutely still pretending to read the menu she has memorized since 1987. “Dangerous topic in this building.”

“I panicked,” I mutter. “My brain left.”