Tess flips her off without looking, and I almost laugh.
The day ends the way it begins, with a hum of shared energy. We crush evening prep. For the first time in a month, Tess seems ahead for tomorrow. Like she’s not drowning. Like she can breathe.
Gwen leaves, giving Tess a pointed look as she slings her bag over her shoulder.
“Don’t forget to… lock up,” Gwen says, her voice loaded. “Properly.”
Tess groans. “Goodnight, G.”
“Night, lovebirds,” Gwen says, and I hear her cackle as the door jingles shut.
Tess makes an offended noise. “We are not…”
But Gwen is gone.
And then it’s just us.
The silence that falls is comfortable now. Companionable. Not the punishing silence of avoidance. Not the tense silence of resentment.
Just quiet.
And in that quiet, the bakery feels like ours.
Like this is what my life could be, if I let it.
If she lets it.
I’m still holding onto that thought, dangerous and bright and impossible, when I realize Tess is looking at me.
Not at the dough.
Not at the spreadsheet.
Not at the timer.
At me.
And her eyes are softer.
She opens her mouth, like she’s about to say something. Something that might change everything.
And my heart starts slamming again, because apparently my body has decided this is its new hobby. Panic in the presence of Tess Bennett.
I swallow.
“Tess?” I say quietly.
And wait.
Chapter 16
Tess
I wipe down the last steel table until it squeaks, dragging the rag over the familiar scratches and burn marks like I can scrub the day into permanence.
“You were good today, Ashford,” I say, keeping my voice casual. Neutral. Like my pulse isn’t still doing something stupid and fluttery. “Really good.”
He’s at the sink, sleeves soaked, forearms flexing as he scours a sheet pan like it personally wronged him. He doesn’t look up.
