“The auction,” I try instead. “I have vendor calls tomorrow. And the seating chart still needs?—”
“You’re not working tomorrow.” Milo’s back, pressing a mug of something hot into my hands. “You’re resting.”
“I don’t need to rest. I need to?—”
“Rest,” all three of them say at once.
I blink at them. Then at my mug. Then back at them.
“This is ganging up,” I inform them. “I don’t appreciate being ganged up on.”
“Noted,” Ben says. “Rest anyway.”
I take a sip of whatever Milo made. Hot chocolate. It’s good. I hate that it’s good.
“Thank you,” I mutter into the mug. “For coming to get me. You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah, we did,” Ben says simply.
I don’t know what to say to that. So I don’t say anything. Just drink my hot chocolate and stare at the fire and try not to think about the fact that three alphas trekked through a blizzard for me.
Tomorrow I’ll deal with my car. Tomorrow I’ll figure out how I’m getting home. Tomorrow I’ll call the vendors and finalize the seating chart and get back to my normal, controlled, perfectly organized life.
Tonight, I’m just going to sit here. And be warm. And pretend I don’t notice the way Ben’s shoulder feels pressed against mine, or the gentle way Elijah’s cleaning my hands, or the soft look on Milo’s face as he watches me drink his hot chocolate.
And I’m definitely not going to think about the fact that I’m surrounded by three alpha scents and my body is humming in a way that has nothing to do with the cold.
It doesn’t mean anything.
It can’t mean anything.
I don’t do... this. Whatever this is.
But for tonight, I’m too tired to figure out what this is. So I’m just going to let it happen.
Tomorrow I’ll go back to being Tessa Lang, professional event planner who doesn’t need anyone.
Tonight, I’m just going to be warm.
Chapter 10
Milo
I’ve spent six years behind a bar learning to read people.
My grandfather taught me that. Forty years he ran the Barn Bar before he handed me the keys, and every single one of those years he spent watching, listening, learning. “A good bartender,” he used to say, “is half therapist, half detective, and all heart.”
I thought he was being dramatic. Then I spent my first month behind that bar and realized he was underselling it.
The nervous first date who needs a confidence boost. The guy drowning his sorrows who needs someone to listen. The couple pretending everything’s fine when it’s clearly falling apart. The regulars who come in not for the drinks but for the company, the conversation, the feeling of being known.
You learn to notice the little things. The tells. The moments when someone’s mask slips and you see what’s underneath.
Right now, watching Tessa Lang wrapped in a blanket on Ben’s couch with firelight dancing across her face, I’m seeing a whole lot of mask slipping.
She’s exhausted. That much is obvious. Dark circles under her eyes, shoulders finally dropping from their usual position somewhere around her ears. But it’s more than tired. It’s... soft.The sharp edges she usually keeps honed to a razor point are blunted tonight. Whether it’s the cold or the shock or just the sheer relief of being warm and safe, Tessa’s walls are down. Maybe not all the way, but enough.
And Ben and Elijah have noticed too.
