Page 138 of Tessa and Nash

Hank leans forward now, elbows on the table. “Sounds reasonable to me.”

I finally look at him.

He doesn’t flinch. Just smiles as if he’s watching a rodeo from the cheap seats.

“I’m not opposed to oversight,” I say, carefully choosing each word. “I just want to make sure we’re not freezing progress based on speculation.”

Mayor Caldwell nods once. “That’s fair. And to be clear, this is not a rejection.”

Not a yes either.

Again.

She glances down at her notes, then back up. “But until these questions are resolved, the committee can’t move forward.”

There it is. The quiet stall.

I sit back down slowly, pen slipping from my fingers and clattering against the notebook. The sound feels too loud in the room.

The meeting wraps up without ceremony. No one hangs back. No one asks about wedding dates or guest lists or how it feels to be engaged to your childhood rival.

Outside, the January air cuts sharp and clean, trying to wake me up.

It doesn’t work.

I stand on the steps of Town Hall, staring at Main Street. The bakery windows still have winter wreaths up. Clara’s probably inside right now, kneading dough and gossip at the same time. Life is rolling on as normal.

My phone buzzes.

Clay.

That brings a smile to my face. My younger brother always does.

I answer before the second buzz can hit.

“Clay, it’s always good to hear from you when life is grim,” I say.

Clay laughs straight into my ear, loud and bright and entirely too cheerful for the state of my nervous system. Wind rushes behind him, engines maybe, the sound of somewhere that isn’t Buckhorn.

“That bad, huh?” he says. “You picked up like I called to tell you the barn burned down.”

“Town Hall,” I say flatly.

“Oof,” he replies immediately. “Say no more.”

I huff a breath. “How’s the circuit?”

“Cold. Loud. Smells like dirt and bad decisions,” he says cheerfully. “I got launched off a bull named Diablo this morning.”

“That tracks.”

“Second place though,” he adds. “Not bad for a guy everyone thought was washed.”

I smile despite myself. “Proud of you.”

“Damn right you are.” There’s a pause, then his tone shifts just a hair. “Mom sounded… weird on the phone yesterday.”

I grimace. “She always sounds weird.”