Page 174 of Tessa and Nash

But it is true.

And right now, truth is the only place left to start.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Nash

February 4th

“This is going to be good, Nash, don’t you worry about it.”

I smile thinly as Boone pats me reassuringly on the shoulder, but I’m starting to wonder if bringing my brothers was the best plan.

These town hall meetings haven’t exactly been easy.

I don’t know if I can stand him and Dallas seeing me fail.

Dallas shuts the truck door beside us and glances toward the Town Hall building, its brick front looking a little too official this morning.

“Either way,” he says calmly, “you won’t be doing it alone.”

Boone nods in agreement, already heading toward the entrance because he plans to hold the entire town accountable if things go wrong.

“You’ve done the work,” he adds over his shoulder. “They’d be idiots to turn this down.”

I wish I believed that as easily as he does.

Town Hall smells of paper, dust, and coffee that’s been sitting too long on a hot plate. The bitter scent hits me the moment we step inside, and somehow it feels appropriate.

Boone walks beside me as a wall that decided to grow legs. Dallas trails slightly behind, already studying the room the way he does when he’s quietly analyzing how things might unfold.

The three of us together probably look crazy. A McCoy cavalry.

The council chamber is already half full.

Mayor Caldwell sits at the front table with her neatly stacked folders and the composed expression she always wears, whether she’s organizing the Christmas parade or telling someone their permits have been denied. Hank Lawson leans against the back wall with his arms folded, watching the room as a man who expects something entertaining to happen.

I ignore him.

A few townspeople glance our way as we take our seats. Some nod politely. Others look away. A handful stare long enough to make it clear they’re forming opinions.

Buckhorn gossip moves faster than spring runoff.

Dallas pulls a notebook from his jacket pocket and flips it open.

“You don’t have to take notes,” I mutter.

He shrugs. “Habit.”

Fair enough.

Mayor Caldwell taps her pen against the table, the quiet sound carrying through the room. “Let’s begin.”

The chatter fades.

I straighten in my seat, trying to keep my shoulders loose even though every muscle in my body is already bracing for impact.

This meeting was supposed to be routine. Clarification, maybe a few cautious questions about the guest ranch plans.