“We’ll take four,” Tessa says immediately.
I pull out my wallet, but Tessa’s already handing over cash.
“I have it,” she says.
“Tessa—”
“Logan, you’ve bought me literally everything for the past week. Let me buy the tomatoes.”
I raise my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. You can buy the tomatoes.”
She looks pleased with herself as the vendor bags them up, and it makes me smile.
We wander through the market, stopping at nearly every stand. Tessa picks out fresh basil and mozzarella, talking animatedly about making caprese salad. I grab a loaf of sourdough. We sample honey from local beekeepers, artisan cheeses, and jam made from berries I didn’t even know existed.
“Try this one,” Tessa says, holding out a small plastic spoon with raspberry preserves.
I take it, and my eyes widen. “That’s incredible.”
“Right?” She’s already asking the vendor for two jars.
As we move through the crowd, I notice the way people glance at me—some with recognition, some just curious. A couple of guys do double-takes, and one nudges his friend and points. But nobody approaches, and I’m grateful for that.
Tessa doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy examining a display of fresh flowers, her fingers hovering over a bunch of sunflowers.
“You should get them,” I say.
She glances at me. “For what?”
“For the condo. It could use some color.”
“Your condo is beautiful,” she protests.
“It’s very bachelor pad,” I counter. “Very ‘I paid someone to decorate this and haven’t changed anything since.’ Get the flowers.”
She bites her lip, considering, then picks up the sunflowers. “Okay. But only because you admitted your place is boring.”
“I said itcould use color. There’s a difference.”
“Tomato, tomahto,” she says, grinning.
I pay for the flowers before she can argue, and she rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest.
We’re looking at a stand selling fresh pasta when Tessa suddenly goes still beside me.
“You okay?” I ask.
She’s looking over her shoulder, scanning the crowd behind us. Her expression has shifted—not quite afraid, but wary.
“Yeah,” she says, but her voice is tight. “I just... I felt like someone was watching me.”
My protective instincts kick in immediately. I glance back too, searching the crowd. Dozens of people are milling around—families with strollers, couples holding hands, groups of friends laughing. Nobody stands out.
I catch Cole’s eye across the crowd, and he gives me a subtle nod. He’s already on it, scanning the area.
“Do you see Preston?” I ask quietly.
“No,” she says, still looking. “I don’t see him. I just… I don’t know. It was probably nothing.”
