“Yes, I understand the deposit policy, but we’ve been using your venue for three years and—” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Fine, I’ll send the check today. Thank you.”
She hangs up and drops her head into her hands. For a moment she just sits there, breathing, and I can see the tension in her shoulders, the weight she carries.
Then she straightens, squares her shoulders, and reaches for her coffee mug. That’s Tessa. She doesn’t stay down long.
I knock on the doorframe. “Bad time?”
She looks up, startled. For just a second, her face softens—surprise, warmth, a flicker of pleasure at seeing me—before she smooths it out.
“Elijah. No, it’s—come in. Is that the vases?”
I cross the room and set the crate on her desk, careful to avoid the stacks of paper. Her office smells like her—lavender and coffee and printer ink. But there’s another scent underneath, one that makes me go still.
Leather. Musk.
Ben Wilson.
She smells like Ben. Not just a passing trace—this is hours of contact, maybe days. Like she’s been wrapped up in him. Like he’s marked her without meaning to.
I don’t ask. It’s not my place. But my hands tighten on the crate, and I have to force myself to breathe through it. To focus on why I’m here instead of wondering what happened between them. Whether he finally stopped running. Whether I waited too long.
I pull back the canvas, focusing on the vases instead of the jealousy sitting heavy in my chest. “All thirty-six.”
She reaches in and picks one up, turning it in the light the same way I did this morning. Watching the grain shift and ripple. Her fingers are gentle on the wood, reverent, and I’m holding my breath without realizing it.
“These are beautiful.” Her voice goes soft, losing that sharp professional edge. “Elijah, these are really beautiful.”
“They’re just vases.”
“They’re not just anything.” She sets it down carefully, almost reverently, and her eyes meet mine. “You always do that,you know. Downplay your work. But this—” She gestures at the vases. “This is art. Sadie’s going to cry when she sees them.”
Heat creeps up my neck. I’m not good at compliments. Never know what to do with them.
“You okay?” Tessa’s watching me. “You went quiet.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“Quieter than usual.” She stands, grabbing her coat from the back of her chair. “I need to get these to Sadie so she can check the fit with the flower arrangements. Walk with me?”
I take the crate. “Lead the way.”
The sidewalks are icy.
I notice it as soon as we step outside—that slick sheen on the concrete where the morning sun hasn’t reached yet. Tessa’s wearing heels. Not high ones, but enough to be dangerous on black ice.
I shift the crate to one arm and move closer to her.
“So the bachelor lineup is finalized?” I ask, mostly to give her something to focus on besides whatever’s making her scent so sharp.
“Seven confirmed. Milo was a lifesaver—he recruited four on his own.” She’s walking fast, the way she always does, like she’s racing against a clock only she can see. “I’ve got you, Milo, Theo, Dr. Price, Sam from the hardware store, and those two college kids—Jake and Asher.”
“That’s seven.”
“I need eight.” Her jaw tightens. “Ben Wilson is going to be the eighth if I have to drag him there myself.”
I don’t miss the way her scent shifts when she says his name. Warmer. Complicated.
“He’s still saying no?”
