Page 191 of Tessa and Nash

“I’m not hiding.”

“You absolutely are.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words stall because, unfortunately, she isn’t wrong.

For the past two days, I have been working late, arriving early, and finding increasingly creative reasons to remain inside Town Hall long after most people have gone home. The building has become a convenient refuge from the town itself, which at the moment feels like a crowded room where everyone already knows a story about me that I did not intend to tell.

The council meeting did not remain contained within the chamber.

It never does in Buckhorn.

By the next morning, the entire town had opinions.

Some people looked at me with open curiosity, as if they had just discovered a particularly entertaining piece of gossip. Others avoided eye contact altogether, their silence carrying the unmistakable strain of judgment.

And then there were the sympathetic looks.

Those, somehow, have been the worst.

Maeve watches my expression carefully.

“You’ve spent two days avoiding everyone,” she says gently. “If you skip the auction tonight, people will notice.”

“People have already noticed.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “But hiding will only make them talk more.”

The Valentine’s Day charity auction is one of Buckhorn’s most beloved traditions, which is unfortunate because it means nearly everyone in town will be there.

“You realize,” I say slowly, “that walking into that room will feel like stepping into a courtroom.”

Maeve shrugs. “Then we’ll treat it like jury duty. You sit through the awkward parts, and eventually they release you.”

I sigh. “This is emotional blackmail.”

“It’s friendship.”

After a long moment, I give up the battle, because against Maeve, I never win. “Fine. Whatever.”

Maeve grins. “Excellent.”

“I still hate this.”

“You’re going to look amazing while hating it.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “That sounds suspiciously like a plan.”

“Oh, it absolutely is. Come on, we’re going to mine.”

Maeve’s house becomes a staging ground.

That is the only accurate way to describe what happens next.

Within ten minutes of arriving, I find myself sitting on a stool in her bathroom while she rummages through a collection of makeup products that appears large enough to support a small theatrical production.

“I regret this already,” I mutter.

“You regret everything,” Maeve replies cheerfully.