Page 103 of Tessa and Nash

“No,” she repeats, throwing on her leggings. “This is not happening.”

I huff a short laugh, half panic, half disbelief. “Tessa, I don’t think the storm asked permission.”

She shoots me a look that could cut steel. “This is your fault.”

I blink. “My⁠—”

“You brought me here,” she snaps.

“You dragged me here.”

“I did not drag…” she starts, then stops, then pivots. The technicality doesn’t matter because rage is easier than fear. “If you had kept your mouth shut at that meeting⁠—”

“If I had kept my mouth shut,” I interrupt, “I wouldn’t be engaged to you, and none of this would’ve happened.”

Tessa freezes.

So do I.

Because that came out wrong. It came out as an accusation, when what I meant, what I actually meant, is that my life went off the rails the second I tried to impress a council that never took me seriously.

But Tessa Long doesn’t hear subtext when she’s angry. She hears weapons.

“Do not put this on me.”

“I’m not,” I say quickly. “I’m just saying⁠—”

“You’re always just saying,” she bites back. “That’s your favorite thing. You say something reckless, and then you smile and hope it lands like charm instead of shrapnel.”

I swallow hard. “Okay. That’s fair too.”

Tessa yanks her sweater on, hands shaking slightly as she shoves her arms into the sleeves. She acts as if she doesn’t notice. But her body is betraying her.

Mine is betraying me too, for the record.

I still feel her warmth running right through me.

I turn back to the window, force myself to focus on the actual problem.

We’re snowed in.

The truck is buried. The drive is gone.

I try to spot Old Mill Road extension.

There’s nothing but white.

“Okay,” I say, more to myself than her. “We just… we wait it out.”

Tessa lets out a sharp laugh, humorless. “Wait it out.”

“What do you want me to do?” I snap. “Yell at the sky?”

She storms past me toward the hallway. “We need to leave.”

“Right now?” I call after her. “Through what, Tessa? The wall of snow?”

She doesn’t answer.