Page 73 of Tessa and Nash

The absence is immediate. Startling.

“Well,” he says quietly, the word rough around the edges. “That was… Founders’ Day appropriate.”

I huff out a sound that might be a laugh if I weren’t still trying to remember how to breathe. “Barely.”

His mouth tilts, but his eyes are still searching my face, trying to read the aftermath. I give him nothing useful. Control snaps back into place, a familiar, welcome weight.

I step back first.

“I should…” I gesture vaguely toward the edge of the square, where I already know my grandmother is seated. “Go check on my grandma.”

His shoulders ease a fraction—he’s relieved to have something practical to anchor to. “Yeah. Okay.”

There’s a pause.

“I’ll… be here,” he adds, unnecessarily.

I nod. “Good.”

Then I turn before either of us can say something we’re not ready to own.

Grandma is seated near the gazebo, wrapped in her wool coat, knitting needles moving with intense precision. She looks exactly as she always does. Composed, observant, quietly aware of everything happening within a fifty-foot radius.

My uncle stands beside her.

Which is not ideal.

Thomas has his hands clasped behind his back, posture straight, expression stoic. He looks like a man watching a chessboard three moves ahead, and I know without asking that he saw the kiss.

Everyone saw the kiss.

Grandma’s eyes flick to me as I approach, sharp and warm all at once.

“Well,” she says mildly, “that caused a stir.”

I sit on the bench beside her, smoothing my coat as if it might smooth my thoughts. “It was… spontaneous.”

“Those are often the most interesting kind,” she replies.

Thomas clears his throat. “It was effective.”

I look up at him sharply. “Excuse me?”

He meets my gaze evenly. “The town believes in it now. Whatever doubts remained, they’re quieter.”

Of course that’s what he takes from it.

“Belief is a delicate thing,” Grandma says calmly. “It doesn’t like being handled roughly.”

Thomas’s jaw tightens. “We’re not handling it. We’re using it.”

I turn fully toward him. “I’m aware of the plan.”

“Good,” he says. “Then you understand why tonight mattered.”

“I understand why you think it mattered,” I reply coolly. “That doesn’t mean I enjoyed being used as proof.”

His brows knit. “You’re the one who suggested⁠—”