Page 49 of Tessa and Nash

His shoulders tense. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Engagements aren’t vague in Buckhorn,” I continue. “They’re communal. Visible. Everyone expects proof.”

He grimaces. “What kind of proof?”

“A ring.”

He blinks. “A… what?”

“A ring,” I repeat calmly. “Not something new. That would raise questions. It needs history. Weight.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t just⁠—”

“I do,” I cut in.

That stops him.

“My grandmother has rings,” I say. “Family pieces. The kind people recognize without remembering where they’ve seen them before.”

His brows knit. “She’d give you one?”

“I’ll borrow it.”

“That feels worse,” he mutters.

“It feels convincing,” I counter. “Which is the point.”

He studies me, recalibrating again. “Your family supplying the ring makes this complicated.”

“Yes,” I agree. “Which means no one will suspect it’s fake.”

He exhales. “You’ve really thought this through.”

“I think under pressure,” I remind him. “Unlike you.”

He snorts quietly. “Low blow.”

“We’re seen together,” I continue. “In public, consistently. No sneaking around. No avoiding eye contact across rooms.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“You’ll manage.”

“We attend town events,” I add. “Founders’ Day, church socials, the winter festival. We sit together at the barn dance.”

His mouth twists. “People are gonna talk.”

“That’s the idea.”

“And affection?” he asks carefully.

“We don’t overdo it,” I say. “But we don’t flinch, either. We look comfortable. Familiar. Like this isn’t new, only newly noticed.”

He swallows.

“And the council?” he asks.

“You defer to me on anything involving land near Long property,” I reply. “It makes you look cooperative instead of reckless.”