Page 63 of Tessa and Nash

He glances down. “That sounds like a trap.”

“It is.”

We make it three steps before Penny Tucker practically trips over herself coming out of Buckhorn Feed & Supply.

“Oh wow,” she breathes, eyes locked on our hands, which are not touching yet, thank you very much. “It’s true.”

“Yes,” I say calmly.

Nash smiles like this is all very charming and not a logistical nightmare. “Hi, Penny.”

She squeals. Literally squeals. “I knew it! Grandpa owes me ten dollars.”

She scurries off before either of us can respond.

Nash watches her go. “Do I ask?”

“No.”

“Good.”

We reach the bakery window, and Clara is already inside, peering out with unmistakable interest.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “I feel like I’m being paraded.”

“You are,” I reply. “Try not to spook.”

“That hurts.”

“Accurate, though.”

He bumps his shoulder lightly against mine. “You’re enjoying this.”

I glance at him. “You’re not?”

He considers that. “I like being walked around like a prize less than you do.”

“That’s because you are a prize,” I say blandly. “I’m the handler.”

He laughs under his breath. “You’re ruthless.”

We stop near the town square, lights twinkling around the gazebo. Nash finally turns to face me fully.

“You’re very good at this,” he says quietly.

I meet his gaze. “You’re less terrible than expected.”

“High praise.”

“Earned,” I allow.

A couple passes us, smiling knowingly. Nash hesitates, then reaches out, fingers brushing mine.

I don’t pull away. I let him lace his fingers through mine.

There it is. The click.

The town exhales around us like it’s just been waiting for that one detail.