"Mostly making sure Tessa Lang doesn't murder anyone while putting up Christmas decorations." The words come easier when I'm driving, eyes on the road instead of her face. "She takes the holidays very seriously."
"I noticed. The general store looks like Santa's workshop threw up in there."
"Wait until you see what she's doing to the town square." I turn onto Maple Street, where strings of unlit lights are draped between lampposts. "She's got the whole schedule mapped out. Lights turn on this Friday night, then the tree lighting ceremony Saturday with caroling and hot chocolate."
"You memorized her schedule?"
My neck heats. "She came into the station. Made sure we knew the exact timeline so patrol could plan around the crowds."
"That's very Tessa." Bea shifts in her seat, and I catch more of her scent. It's distracting. "Though I'm surprised she hasn't roped you into actually hanging the decorations."
"Who says she hasn't?" I risk a glance at her. "I spent three hours yesterday on a ladder outside the bakery."
Her laugh is bright and unexpected, and heat pools low in my gut at the sound. "Deputy Monroe, volunteering for manual labor? That doesn't sound like the shy guy who can barely talk to me."
"I can talk to you fine when I'm driving."
"Why's that?"
Because I'm not looking at you. Because I can pretend you're not close enough to touch. Because if I actually had to meet your eyes right now while your scent is drowning me, I'd probably drive off the road.
"Easier to focus," I say instead. "Eyes on the road. Following procedures."
"Right. Procedures." There's a pause, then her voice gets quieter. "Seth, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"At the festival. When I just... grabbed you and kissed you." She's not looking at me now, picking at a thread on her coat. Her scent shifts—anxiety creeping in. "I never even asked if you had someone. A girlfriend, boyfriend, pack. I just assumed you were available and used you as a shield and—god, what if you had someone? What if I caused problems for you?"
The genuine worry in her voice catches me off guard.
"I don't." The words come out too fast. "Have anyone. I mean. I'm not—there's no one."
"Oh thank god." She lets out a breath, and I can smell her relief—that sharp anxiety fading into something softer. "I've been worried about that since it happened. That I might have screwed something up for you."
My chest tightens at the realization she's been carrying this worry for three days. "You didn't. I promise."
"Good." She's quiet for a moment. "Though I have to admit, I'm a little surprised."
"Surprised?"
"That you don't have someone." She's still not looking at me, focused on that thread. "You're..."
"I'm what?"
"Come on, Seth. You're telling me you don't know you're attractive?"
Every coherent thought I have evaporates. "I'm... what?"
"Attractive. The whole tall, dark, and quietly capable thing?" She's looking out the window now, not at me. "Plus the uniform. I'm just saying, you're not exactly hard to look at."
My neck heats. "I don't... I mean... you think?—"
"Forget I said anything." Her voice is higher now, rushed. "That was weird. I made it weird."
"You didn't?—"
"So why no girlfriend?" She cuts me off, clearly desperate to change the subject. "Bad breakup? Married to the job?"
