“Right now...” I tilt her chin up with one finger. “I’m going to kiss you goodnight.”
She rises up on her toes and kisses me.
Softer than before. Sweeter. A goodnight kiss that somehow says more than words could. Her hands curl into my sweater, pulling me closer, and I press her gently back against the door. She opens for me, and I let myself sink into it—the taste of her, the feel of her, the way she fits against me like she was made to be there.
When we finally pull apart, she’s smiling.
“Goodnight, Milo.” Her voice is soft.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” I steal one more kiss—just a brush of lips—and make myself step back. “Lock your door. Drink some water.”
“Think about you?”
“Only if you want.” I wink. “But I’ll be thinking about you, so it’s only fair.”
She laughs softly and fumbles with her keys. When the door swings open, she pauses on the threshold and looks back at me with a smile that makes my chest ache.
“Thank you,” she says. “For tonight. For all of it.”
“Anytime.” I wait until she’s inside, until I hear the lock click. Then I head back down the stairs, heart pounding, lips still tingling, her scent clinging to my clothes.
Best date I’ve ever been on.
And we’re just getting started.
Chapter 22
Tessa
The text comes Tuesday evening while I’m doing something I almost never do: absolutely nothing.
My to-do list is... done. Not “done for now” or “done enough to justify a bathroom break.” Actually done. Every vendor confirmed, every timeline locked, every backup plan in place. For the first time in possibly ever, I’m ahead of schedule.
I have Ben Wilson to thank for that. He’s been showing up at my office every day since Friday, crossing things off my list before I even have a chance to panic about them. This morning he appeared with coffee and a blueberry muffin from Maeve’s, set them on my desk with a wink and a “Fuel for the boss lady,” and disappeared to go help a florist who was behind on their delivery.
He hasn’t kissed me. Not since the cabin. He flirts, he helps, he finds excuses to touch my shoulder or tuck a blanket around me when I fall asleep at my desk—but he hasn’t made a move. I’m starting to wonder if he’s waiting for something.
So now I’m sitting at my desk with my feet up, eating the muffin he left me and actuallytastingit instead of inhaling it between crisis calls. The coffee is still warm. The afternoon light is golden through my window. I feel almost... peaceful.
It’s deeply unsettling.
My phone buzzes, and I grab it like a lifeline. Finally, something to do.
Elijah:Can you come to the workshop tonight? 7pm.
I stare at my phone. Elijah Smith has sent me approximately three text messages in the three years I’ve known him. Two of them were about centerpiece dimensions. One was a thumbs-up emoji when I confirmed delivery times for the heart vases he’d already finished and brought to my office two weeks ago.
Tessa:Everything okay?
The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. Classic Elijah—choosing his words carefully even in text form.
Elijah:Yes. I’d like to make you dinner. If you’re free.
My stomach flips.
Ben showed up at my office Friday with muffins and car keys and that grin that makes me want to strangle him and kiss him in equal measure. He’d crossed half my to-do list off before noon, made me laugh despite myself, and then told me to say yes when Milo asked me out. Which I did. Saturday night at Bella Notte, candlelight and fire cheese and a kiss on an overlook that still makes my toes curl when I think about it.
And Elijah... Elijah has been waiting. Quietly. Patiently. The way he does everything.
