Page 74 of Tessa and Nash

“I suggested leverage,” I cut in. “Not theater.”

Why am I taking this out on him? It wasn’t even his idea for the kiss. I just can’t seem to get my pulse to slow down enough to think clearly.

Because he’s not wrong. That’s the worst part. The kiss was effective. I can already feel the shift in the square behind us. The way the town relaxed, satisfied. A box had been neatly ticked. Engaged. Confirmed. Settled.

But that doesn’t explain why my chest still feels tight, or why my hands are faintly unsteady at my sides.

I draw a careful breath. Then another.

Grandma places a gentle hand on my arm, calming without silencing. “Enough. Both of you.” She looks at Thomas first. “You got what you wanted tonight. Let that be sufficient.” Then she turns to me, eyes softening. “And you, my dear, looked happy.”

The word lands harder than I expect.

“I was managing,” I say automatically.

She hums, unconvinced. “You’ve managed things your whole life. This looked different.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “Appearances can be misleading.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “But sometimes they reveal more than we intend.”

Thomas shifts his weight, clearly irritated by the direction of this conversation. “We should focus on what comes next.”

“We will,” Grandma says calmly. “But not this second.”

She studies me for a long moment, then smiles. Small, genuine, unsettling in its tenderness.

“It’s been a while,” she says quietly, “since I’ve seen you let yourself be seen.”

My chest tightens.

I glance back toward the square without meaning to.

Nash is standing where I left him, talking with Boone and Dallas now, hands moving as he speaks, laughter breaking across his face. He looks lighter.

I stand. “I need a drink.”

Nell reaches for my hand as I rise and squeezes once, pride and reassurance in the gesture, something dangerously close to hope beneath it.

“You’re doing well,” she murmurs. “Just remember, strategy is strongest when it doesn’t require you to lie to yourself.”

I nod, even though I’m not sure what truth she means.

As I step away, the sounds of Founders’ Day wash over me again. Music restarting, laughter rising, the town continuing on as if nothing irrevocable just happened.

But something has.

The kiss still hums through me—not as a mistake or a triumph, but as a question. And I’m not entirely certain I want to control the answer.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Nash

January 14th

If I’ve learned anything in the last two weeks, it’s that hope is a dangerous drug.

It hits fast, makes you reckless, and convinces you the world is finally tilting your way, right up until it dumps you flat on your back.