I linger longer than I should, frozen in place and captivated by her. My chest feels tight, caught somewhere between nostalgia, irritation, and…attraction.
Shit.
I’m damn near twenty-years older than her. There’s no way I should be attracted to her.
“It’s probably just heartburn,” I grumble to myself.
But then, she tilts her head and—of course—locks eyes with me. That same smirk she’s had since she was in high school curls at her lips.
I clear my throat. “Tessa,” I call out, voice rougher than intended.
She freezes, then grins like she knew I was watching all along.
“You called, Chief Hale?” she says teasingly as she crosses the street. “Or was that just the wind?”
I fight a snort. “Yeah. Wind. Definitely wind.”
She laughs, and the sound hits me in ways I’d rather ignore.
“You’re not exactly subtle,” I mutter, trying to make this about authority instead of…anything else. “Town’s buzzing about a documentary crew, and apparently, it’s all you. Didn’t think to mention that earlier?”
She steps closer, studying me like she’s cataloging every wrinkle, every gray hair—most of which are probably because of her. “Is that a problem?”
“Could be.”
“Oh, come on, Chief. You can’t possibly be holding a grudge because Iaccidentallysped through town earlier?”
I shake my head, exasperated. “I’m not holding a grudge. Just…cautious. Mistletoe Bay is sacred, especially this time of year. And you’re…well, you know how you were in high school. Can’t say I trust that you’ve changed. In fact, bet you haven’t even gotten the permits to film this documentary of yours.”
“Are you threatening me?” she asks, mock-serious.
“Professional concern,” I reply, jaw tight.
She laughs again, and I grit my teeth because yes, her personality is exactly the same, and no, Ican’tdecide if that’s comforting or infuriating.
“Well, I’ll have you know, Idohave all my permits. I picked them up after I visited with my parents for a bit.” Tessa pulls some folded papers out of her back pocket and shows me. “See. Perfectly legal, Chief Hale.”
Somewhere in the distance, a bell rings. The scent of gingerbread drifts through the square. I should be focusing on tomorrow’s event, making sure everyone is safe. But I can’t. I can’t stop looking at her.
“You look…different,” I mutter, wincing at the words that have just come out of my mouth. Of course she looks different;she’s not a lanky teenager anymore. She’s a grown woman with curves in all the right places.
She quirks an eyebrow. “Different in a good way or a bad way?”
“Jury is still out, Trouble.”
Her grin widens. “And you look…a little bit older and even more uptight.”
I open my mouth to argue with her. To tell her I’m not uptight. But I quickly close it and grind my teeth. I’m 45- years-old. I shouldn’t be arguing with a…I do the quick math in my head…a 26-year-old.
“Do me a favor? Stay out of the way. Let people enjoy this without your camera in their faces,” I snap at her. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
Turning on my heel, I continue down the street, trying to shake the memory of her laugh and the way she’s managed to burn into my skin already.
A couple of teenagers dash past, hauling a stack of chairs for the town square. The chairs shift precariously with their every move. I give them a pointed look. “Careful! Looks like a dangerous game of Jenga you’ve got going on!”
They chuckle, replying, “Yes, Chief Hale!” Their good-natured mischief only reminds me of Tessa, laughing like that with her friends, carefree and untouchable.
Mrs. Callahan’s grandkids gather near the old pine tree in the square, carrying boxes of ornaments. They wave when they spot me, excited to help out, even if their grandmother volunteered them without their permission. I give them an authoritative but friendly nod, trying to act like the professional I am.
