Milo:Don’t be sorry. Just... let us in when you’re ready. No rush.
I stare at the screen for a long moment.
Tessa:Maybe we could get coffee sometime? And talk?
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Milo:I’d like that. How about dinner instead? Tomorrow night? There’s a place in Pine Valley I think you’d love.
A date. A real date. Just like Ben said.
I take a breath. Think about control, and letting go, and what it might feel like to stop being so alone.
Tessa:Okay. Yes. Tomorrow night.
Milo:It’s a date. I’ll pick you up at 6.
I set the phone down and let out a shaky breath.
One week until the fundraiser. One week until the auction.
And apparently, a whole lot of feelings to figure out in between.
But for the first time since I walked out of that cabin, I’m not dreading it.
I’m almost looking forward to it.
Chapter 21
Milo
Ichange my shirt three times before I leave.
Which is ridiculous. I’m a bartender. I’ve spent six years reading people, making conversation, putting strangers at ease. I’ve talked down bar fights and coached regulars through breakups and once convinced old Pete to finally call his estranged daughter after fifteen years of silence.
But apparently none of that matters when it comes to Tessa Lang.
The first shirt is too casual—just a henley, the kind I’d wear to work. The second is too formal—a button-down that makes me look like I’m trying too hard. The third is somewhere in the middle: a dark green sweater that Gramps said brings out my eyes, whatever that means. I roll the sleeves up. Roll them back down. Roll them up again.
This is pathetic.
I check my reflection one more time. Hair’s doing that thing where it won’t quite lie flat, but at this point I’ve accepted that’s just how it’s going to be. I splash on some cologne—not too much, just enough to layer with my natural scent—and grab my keys.
It’s a forty-minute drive to Pine Valley, which means I need to leave now if I’m picking her up at six. I reserved a table at Bella Notte weeks ago, back when I was still telling myself I’d eventually work up the nerve to ask her out properly. Before the blizzard. Before the cabin. Before four days of watching her fall apart in the best way.
Now I’m finally taking her on a real date, and I’m more nervous than I’ve been in years.
Gramps would laugh at me. “A pretty omega’s got you tied in knots, boy? Good. Means she’s worth the trouble.”
He’s not wrong.
Tessa’s apartmentis above her office on Main Street. I’ve walked past it a hundred times, looked up at the windows and wondered what she does when she’s not organizing the entire town’s social calendar. Now I’m standing at her door with my heart hammering like I’m seventeen again.
I knock and wait, resisting the urge to fidget.
The door opens, and my brain goes offline.
She’s wearing a dress. A deep blue dress that hugs her curves and makes her eyes practically glow. Her hair is down—I’ve never seen it down before, always pulled back in that efficient ponytail—and it falls past her shoulders in soft waves. There’s a hint of makeup, just enough to accent her features, and her lips are painted a shade of red that makes my mouth water.
