Page 14

Tessa

T he sound of gravel crunching faded as Max’s truck pulled away.

I stood on my front porch for a moment, staring out into the quiet night.

The mountain air was cool, brushing against my skin like a sigh.

Crickets sang their usual song, and somewhere in the trees, an owl called out once before falling silent again.

Dinner hadn’t gone how I thought it would.

I expected to sit across from him, stiff and uncomfortable, dodging eye contact and pretending I hadn’t heard him say I was just some girl staying in his house.

But instead… Max was patient. Gentle. Funny, even. He never pushed.

And somehow, without even trying, he made me forget—just for a little while—that I was supposed to keep my guard up.

I stepped inside the cabin and shut the door behind me. It still smelled like fresh wood and lemon cleaner, and my mop bucket sat by the door where I’d left it earlier. I toed off my sandals and sank down onto the couch, hugging a pillow to my chest.

He didn’t know I’d overheard. I was sure of that now.

And maybe that was a good thing. Or maybe it meant I was just being a coward—punishing him for something he didn’t even know he’d done.

Still… I couldn’t shake the way he’d looked at me when I said I felt out of place. Like he understood. Like he felt it too.

When he apologized, something inside me cracked a little.

Not all the way. Not enough to let everything spill out. But just enough to let some of the weight lift from my chest.

He cared. I knew that now.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough for tonight.

I curled up on the couch, the pillow still clutched against me, and let myself replay the moment when his hand brushed mine across the table.

I hadn’t pulled away.

Not this time.

I wasn’t going to call him. I told myself that a dozen times since dinner.

But every time my phone buzzed with his name, I answered.

Every time I ran into him in town—or he “just happened” to be near the school—I felt myself softening again. Falling back into his warm gravity,

But this wasn’t a crush. And I wasn’t a teenager hoping a guy would change his mind.

So tonight, when he texted You hungry? I’ve got leftover enchiladas and no one to share them with, I didn’t hesitate. I texted back:

Come over. We need to talk.

I didn’t try to make the place look nice. I didn’t fix my hair. I didn’t even change out of my soft, worn-in leggings.

I just waited.

When Max knocked, I opened the door without a word and stepped back to let him in. He carried a foil-covered dish and that sheepish smile that made it harder to be mad at him.

“I brought dinner,” he said, holding it up like a peace offering.

I folded my arms. “You always this generous with people you don’t want in your life?”

That got his attention. His smile faded. He set the dish on the counter and turned to face me.

“Tessa…”

“No,” I cut in, arms crossed tighter. “I want to know why you keep calling me. Why you keep showing up. Why you’re acting like you care—when I heard you , Max.”

His brow furrowed. “Heard me?”

“That day,” I said, my voice sharper now. “Outside the lodge. You and Frasier. You said you didn’t want a relationship. That I was just some girl staying in your house. You didn’t want to screw things up.”

He blinked. “You heard that ?”

I nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. I did.”

He ran a hand through his hair and stepped back like I’d shoved him. “Tess… that wasn’t what I meant. I—I panicked. Frasier was giving me hell, and I didn’t know how to explain what I was feeling. It was too soon. Too fast. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“By pretending you didn’t want me at all?” I snapped.

He opened his mouth, then shut it again. I could see the war in his eyes. The guilt. The regret.

“It’s not like that. It’s just… after Olly, I—”

I held up my hand. “No. Don’t. I don’t want to hear about Olly. I’ve heard enough.”

“Tessa—”

“I mean it,” I said, swallowing the knot in my throat. “If you’re still hung up on her, you need to say it. Just be honest. I’m not her. And I’m not waiting around to be your second choice.”

Silence fell heavy between us.

He looked like he’d been punched.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” he said quietly. “You’re not a backup plan. You never were.”

“Then stop treating me like one.”

I turned away, walking to the other side of the room before I said something I’d regret. I stood there for a long moment, arms folded tight across my chest.

When I finally looked back, he hadn’t moved.

“I don’t want games, Max. I don’t want someone who’s half in. I’ve been through enough to know I deserve more than that.”

His jaw flexed. “You do.”

“Then figure out what you want,” I said. “Because I’m not standing in this doorway again, wondering why the hell I’m hurting over someone who said I was just some girl. ”

Max didn’t move at first. Just stood there with his fists clenched at his sides like he was holding back a thousand things he wanted to say. I could practically see the storm in his chest.

Then, quietly—almost like he was afraid to break something—he said, “Tessa… the feelings I have for you… they’re more than anything I ever felt for Olivia.”

I looked up, heart thudding. He wasn’t blinking. His eyes were locked on mine like he needed me to believe every single word.

“That’s what scared the hell out of me,” he said. “Not that you were staying in my house. Not that things were moving fast. But that I was starting to feel more for you in the last four weeks than I ever did in two years with her.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“I wasn’t prepared for you,” he continued. “You walk into a room, and everything shifts. You lose your keys, leave your shoes everywhere, talk to Junior like he’s your personal Walmart greeter—and I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s not just attraction. It’s everything.”

My chest ached. My head spun. I stood frozen, lips parted, heart torn wide open.

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like giving me the chance to stop him.

I didn’t.

His hands cupped my face gently. His thumbs brushed my cheekbones like I was something breakable.

Then he kissed me.

God.

It wasn’t desperate or rushed—it was deep and warm and full of all the things he couldn’t put into words. Like he was giving me the truth, finally, the only way he knew how.

And just as I leaned into him, breath caught and knees soft, he pulled back.

His eyes searched mine, something raw flashing there.

Then he turned around and walked out the door without saying another word.

I stood there, stunned.

My hand drifted to my mouth, fingertips grazing the place where his lips had been.

I smiled.

Not the shaky, uncertain kind I’d been wearing the past few days—but a real one. Small and stunned and just a little bit scared. But real.

Because whatever this was between us—it was real, too.

And now I knew he felt it.