Except the pull wouldn’t let go. Even now, a mile from the restaurant, she could feel it—a gentle tug beneath her ribs, as if an invisible thread connected her to something back in Bear Creek. To someone.
The thought left her annoyed with herself. She’d come here to help Rachel, to work on her illustrations, to clear her head. Not to get tangled up in... whatever this was.
By the time she pulled into Rachel’s driveway, Tessa had almost convinced herself that tomorrow would be different. The novelty would wear off. The strange intensity would fade. She would do her job, help her friend, and focus on her real work.
Almost.
Rachel’s face lit up when Tessa walked in with the bag of food. “Please tell me that smells like Matt Thornberg’s chicken parmesan,” she said from her position on the sofa, her ankle propped on a pillow.
“It does,” Tessa confirmed, setting the bag on the coffee table. “How are you feeling?”
Just like that, she slid into caretaker mode—checking Rachel’s ankle (still swollen, but the bruising had faded from angry purple to a mottled blue-green), sorting the containers of food in the kitchen, wiping down already-clean counters, and making sure the girls were settled with their coloring books at the dining table.
It was automatic, this role. Comfortable in the way old habits were comfortable—proof she could be useful, proof she belonged. She’d been taking care of others for so long that the motions felt like muscle memory.
“The swelling’s going down,” she told Rachel as she returned from the kitchen with an ice pack. “But you should keep it elevated.”
Rachel nodded, accepting the ice pack with a grateful smile. “How was the restaurant? Was Matt nice to you?”
The question caught Tessa off guard, and she busied herself adjusting the pillow under Rachel’s foot to hide the heat she could feel rising to her cheeks. “Everyone was nice,” she said, aiming for casual. “Jenny was really helpful.”
“And Matt?” Rachel pressed, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Tessa glanced up to find Rachel watching her with curious eyes. “He was... professional,” she said finally. “Ran a tight ship in the kitchen.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Rachel hummed, clearly unconvinced by Tessa’s attempt at nonchalance.
Tessa escaped to the kitchen to heat the food, grateful for the distraction. As she moved between the microwave and counter, setting the table and preparing drinks, she found herself pausing occasionally, listening. Not for anything specific—just... listening. As if she might hear the echo of the restaurant,the rhythm of service, the low rumble of Matt’s voice giving directions to his staff.
And beneath that, an undercurrent of anticipation that she couldn’t quite suppress—a quiet, insistent whisper that tomorrow would bring her back to that kitchen, back to those dark eyes that seemed to see something in her she hadn’t known was visible.
She hated how much she wanted tomorrow to come.
Dinner was a welcome distraction. The food was delicious; the flavors were deep and rich. The girls ate with enthusiasm, their faces lighting up at the chocolate cake that Matt had included.
“Can we start on the fairy garden later?” Aria asked between bites, her eyes hopeful. “We found the perfect spot by the big tree in the backyard.”
Tessa opened her mouth to agree—she’d promised, after all—but Rachel cut in gently.
“Maybe in the morning, sweetie. Tessa’s had a long day, and she’ll be working another shift tomorrow. She needs to rest.”
Tessa’s protest died on her lips as she registered the deep ache in her calves, the tightness across her shoulders. Rachel was right. She was tired, more tired than she’d realized.
“I’m sorry, girls,” she said, hating the disappointment on their small faces. “But your mom’s right. I’m pretty worn out.”
To her surprise, both girls nodded without argument. Lucy even slid from her chair and came to wrap small arms around Tessa’s waist in a gentle hug.
“It’s okay,” she said solemnly. “You helped Mommy down from the mountain and made us sandwiches.”
Aria joined the hug from the other side. “We can wait.”
The simple acceptance, the uncomplicated affection, made Tessa’s throat tighten unexpectedly. She hugged them back, breathing in the sweet scent of their shampoo, wishing she might one day have children of her own.
After dinner, the familiar routine took over—Tessa washing dishes while Rachel supervised the girls’ bedtime preparations from the sofa, then Tessa helping each girl brush her teeth, reading stories, and tucking them in with gentle kisses to their foreheads.
When she returned to the living room, Rachel was waiting with two glasses of wine and a knowing look.
“So,” she said, handing Tessa a glass as she settled onto the opposite end of the sofa. “Are you going to tell me what happened at the restaurant?”
