Page 153 of Tessa and Nash

“I keep thinking I know what this is,” I say suddenly. “And then it shifts.”

Maeve’s gaze softens. “That’s called uncertainty.”

“I hate uncertainty.”

“I know.”

“I hate it,” I repeat. “I don’t do maybes. I do plans.”

Maeve tilts her head. “And he doesn’t.”

“No,” I shake my head. “He does instincts. And saying things like they’re obvious when they’re not.”

Maeve smiles faintly. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” I say. Then, more quietly, “And I can’t tell if he’s pulling away because he wants distance or because he’s afraid of what happens if he doesn’t.”

Maeve’s eyes flick back to the bar. “What do you think?”

I hesitate.

“I think he’s carrying something heavy,” I say. “And he doesn’t want to put it down where anyone can see.”

“Does that include you?”

“I don’t know where I stand with him,” I admit finally. “Not really. Not since Juniper House.”

Maeve’s expression shifts. “That night mattered.”

“Yes,” I say. “And I don’t know how it mattered.”

Maeve exhales slowly. “Have you tried asking him?”

I laugh, short and humorless. “In the middle of a barn dance? While half the town is waiting to see if we kiss?”

“No,” she says gently. “In general.”

I shake my head. “Every time I get close, he steps back. Every time I step back, he looks like he wants to follow. It’s…” I search for the word. “Disorienting.”

Maeve nudges my shoulder. “Welcome to liking someone.”

“I don’t like him,” I say automatically.

Maeve’s smile is patient. “Sure.”

I take a long drink of cider I don’t need.

Across the room, Nash shifts again, turning slightly, his gaze sweeping the barn.

It finds me.

My chest tightens.

I don’t chase him or wave. I don’t do anything that would look like need, because whatever this is, it’s already too close to the surface.

“I’ve never been this confused by a man in my life,” I say quietly.

Maeve squeezes my arm. “That’s usually how it starts.”