Page 44 of Tessa and Nash

“You’re fine,” she whispers sharply. “Just…”

A floorboard creaks somewhere in the house.

We both freeze.

Her eyes widen. My heart drops straight into my boots.

Footsteps.

“Shit,” I breathe.

She grabs my collar and yanks me back toward the window just as a door opens down the hall.

“Tessa?” a voice calls. “Are you awake?”

I flatten myself against the exterior wall, one boot balanced precariously on the trellis, the other dangling in midair idiotically. Tessa presses herself flat against the wall inside, hand clamped over her mouth to keep from laughing or screaming, I can’t tell which.

“Yes,” she calls back, too bright. “I’m, uh… stretching.”

There’s a pause.

“Stretching,” he repeats.

“Yes,” she says firmly. “Morning routine.”

Another step. Closer.

I close my eyes and will my balance not to fail me now.

“And the window’s open because…?” he asks.

Cold sweat trickles down my spine.

Tessa doesn’t miss a beat. “Fresh air. Clears my head.”

Silence.

Then: “You’ve always been odd before breakfast.”

She hums. “Runs in the family.”

The footsteps retreat.

I wait a full three seconds after the last sound fades before I dare to move.

“Tessa,” I whisper. “I’m going to fall.”

“Drop,” she whispers back. “Just drop.”

“I don’t think that’s…”

She shoves my shoulder.

I yelp, lose my grip, and drop the last few feet into the snow with a muffled whump, landing on my ass, hard as a sack of feed.

The cold is immediate.

I lie there for half a second, staring up at the gray morning sky, breath knocked clean out of me.