Page 140 of Tessa and Nash

“You hesitated,” he says. “You don’t hesitate.”

“That’s not⁠—”

“You talk with your whole chest,” he goes on. “You’re a golden retriever in boots. If you liked this for normal reasons, you’d already be halfway through describing her laugh.”

I swallow.

Clay goes quiet for a beat. Then, carefully, “You really have fallen for her. Hard. Harder than anyone that’s ever come before. No wonder you’re marrying her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t deny it either.”

Shit.

I don’t know if I even can deny it anymore.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Tessa

January 26th

“They were just staring at me like I’d lost my head!”

Nash says it the second I step out onto Main Street, like he’s been holding it in his chest too long and might combust if he doesn’t get it out now.

I blink at him. “Good afternoon to you too. I guess this ‘date’ is much needed, huh?”

He’s pacing, full on pacing, hands shoving through his hair, jacket half unzipped like he forgot how weather works. He looks like a man who walked into a meeting with a plan and walked out carrying everyone else’s suspicion instead.

“I’m serious,” he says, stopping in front of me. “I swear, Tessa, I said one thing about the land boundaries, and suddenly it was like…” He makes a vague circling motion with his hands, “like I’d stood up and announced I was going to build a water park on the cemetery.”

I purse my lips. “That would explain the looks.”

He huffs. “Don’t.”

I fall into step beside him as he starts walking again, because apparently this is how our fake engagement operates now: spontaneous public strolls through Buckhorn while emotionally unraveling.

Main Street is busy in that winter slow way, people loitering because there’s nowhere else to be, boots crunching on old snow while the hardware store door swings open and shut. Clara Jenkins is already visible through the bakery window, moving with purpose like she’s about to commit a festive crime.

Nash gestures wildly as we walk. “They kept asking about surveys. About precedent. Hank Lawson wouldn’t shut up.”

“Hank never shuts up,” I say. “That’s his whole personality.”

“And,” he continues, “I swear I heard someone actually say ‘convenient’ out loud. About us.”

I stop walking.

Nash takes two more steps before realizing I’m no longer beside him. He turns, eyes searching my face.

“They think you’re manipulating them.”

“They think I’m manipulating you.”

A flicker of sharpness moves through me.

“That’s not⁠—”