I think about lying. Making a joke. Deflecting the way I usually do.
But it’s Tessa. And she asked. And I’m tired of hiding.
“I wanted to.”
She blinks. “That’s it? You wanted to?”
“You needed to eat. I could help.” I shrug, look down at my plate. “It’s not complicated.”
“But you barely talk to anyone. You could’ve just dropped off the vases and left.”
“I could’ve.”
“Then why?—”
“Because it’s you.” The words come out before I can stop them. Honest. Raw. Probably too much. “You needed something. I could give it. That’s enough.”
She goes still.
Her scent changes.
It’s subtle at first—just a deepening of the lavender, a warmth spreading underneath. But then it blooms, sweet and rich andwanting, and the smell of her arousal hits me like a fist to the chest.
My hands curl around my coffee mug so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. Heat floods through me, my pulse pounding in my ears. I want to lean across this table and bury my face in her neck. Want to find out if she tastes as good as she smells.
I don’t move. Can’t move. If I move, I’m not going to stop.
Her cheeks are flushed. Her breathing has gone shallow. She’s looking at me like she’s seeing me for the first time.
I don’t know what to do with that. Don’t know what to do with any of this.
“Elijah—”
“Finish your food.”
It comes out rough. But I need her to stop looking at me like that before I do something stupid. Before I forget we’re in Maeve’s bakery in the middle of the day. Before I forget that Ben Wilson’s scent is still lingering on her coat. Before I forget that I’m just the quiet guy who makes furniture, and she deserves someone who knows how to make her laugh the way Ben does, or make her feel wanted the way Milo does.
I just make things. That’s all I know how to do.
She picks up her scone, but her hand is trembling slightly. Her scent is still thick with want, and it’s taking everything I have not to reach for her.
“I should get back,” she says after a few more bites. “The venue contract won’t sign itself.”
“I’ll walk you.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I know.” I stand, pull out my wallet, leave enough cash on the table to cover the meal twice over. Maeve catches my eye from behind the counter and nods, that knowing look still on her face.
Outside, the air is cold enough to shock some clarity back into my head. Tessa walks beside me, arms wrapped around herself, and I don’t miss the way she angles slightly toward me. Like she’s seeking warmth. Like she doesn’t realize she’s doing it.
We don’t talk. That’s fine. I’ve never needed words to fill silence.
Halfway back to her office, the first snowflake lands on her hair.
She looks up, surprised, and more follow—soft and slow, drifting down from a sky that was clear an hour ago. They catch in her eyelashes, on the shoulders of her coat, in the loose strands of hair around her face.
“Oh,” she says quietly. “It’s snowing.”
