Page 156 of Tessa and Nash

“I need some air,” I say.

Boone studies me, then nods once. “Don’t wander.”

“I won’t,” I lie.

I slip away from the bar before he can stop me.

Outside, the cold slaps me hard enough it’s almost mercy, the night sharp and the snow reflecting the string lights from inside the barn. I breathe in slowly, trying to reset my nervous system. I’m a machine that just needs recalibration.

I hear the barn door creak behind me.

I turn.

Tessa steps out, coat buttoned, braid tight, cheeks flushed from the warmth inside, and her eyes narrow the second she sees me.

“Running away?” she asks.

I huff a laugh. “Strategic retreat.”

She steps closer, boots crunching on snow. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Observation skills.”

Her gaze flicks to my glass. “How much?”

“Not enough,” I mutter, then regret it immediately.

Tessa’s jaw tightens. “Nash.”

The way she says my name is a warning. It should make me behave, but doesn’t.

I stare at her, the cold air between us, and all I can think is that I want to touch her.

Not in the way we touch in public for the town, the act, but for me, the part of me that’s tired of pretending.

“You okay?”

The question cracks me open.

Because I’m not okay. Not even close.

But if I say that, I’ll have to explain why.

And if I start talking, I might not stop.

So instead, I do what I always do.

I deflect.

“You stalking me?”

Tessa’s mouth twitches. “I came out to breathe, and you were here looking like you were about to throw yourself into the snow.”

“Tempting.”

She crosses her arms. “You’re struggling, I think.”

“I’m not.”