Page 194 of Tessa and Nash

“I’m standing normally.”

“You’re standing like someone preparing to defend a thesis.”

“I’m emotionally preparing for social interaction.”

She sighs dramatically and reaches out to physically square my shoulders. “There. Human posture.”

“I resent this coaching.”

“You’ll thank me later.”

We step inside.

No one notices us at first. The room is full of laughter and overlapping conversations while people move between the silent auction tables and the bar.

Then Clara Jenkins looks up.

Her expression freezes.

“Oh,” she says.

Which is apparently enough to start a chain reaction.

Virgil Tucker turns. Then Becca Haskins. Then two ranchers near the chili table. Conversations falter one by one, the way the wind slowly dies across a field.

A pause here. A whisper there.

“…that’s her.”

“…after the council…”

“…do you think she knew?”

The words don’t reach me clearly, but the tone does.

Maeve leans slightly closer to me.

“Do not panic,” she murmurs.

“I’m not panicking. But everyone is staring.”

“I noticed.”

The room isn’t silent, but the shift is unmistakable, and it isn’t exactly kind. Heads turn. A few people whisper. Someone actually bumps into a chair while trying to look casual about looking directly at me.

Maeve beams.

“Well,” she says softly, “that makeover was clearly the correct strategic choice.”

“I hate this.”

“You look incredible. Don’t forget that.”

Clara recovers first and hurries toward us, flour still somehow on her sleeve despite the formal event.

“Tessa Long,” she announces with the enthusiasm of someone who has just discovered a plot twist. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Clara.”