He thought about telling her about the footprints. Thought about the way her face had looked yesterday when she'd described the man at the fair, tight with a fear she was trying to rationalize away. He didn't want to add to that fear. Didn't want to make her feel like she couldn't walk to town without looking over her shoulder.
But he also didn't want her blindsided.
"Be careful," he said, keeping his voice casual. "Stick to the main streets. There've been some break-ins lately, tourist shops mostly. Nothing serious, but still."
It wasn't entirely a lie. There had been break-ins back in the spring. But that wasn't why he was telling her to be careful, and from the way her eyes sharpened, she knew it.
"Brian." Her voice was quiet. "Did something happen?"
He hesitated. She deserved the truth. She was a grown woman who'd spent years dealing with life-and-death situations; she could handle footprints in the sand.
"I found tracks along the back fence this morning," he said. "Fresh. Someone was walking the property line last night or early this morning."
Her face went still. Not panicked, but controlled. The face of someone who'd learned to manage her reactions in high-pressure situations.
"Could be anyone," she said carefully.
"Could be. Probably is." He set his glass down. "But that path doesn't go anywhere. Dead ends into the woods. No reason for anyone to be back there unless they were coming here."
She was quiet for a moment, processing. Then: "You think it's connected. To yesterday."
"I don't know what I think. But I'm going to install some motion lights along the fence today. If anyone comes back, we'll know about it."
She nodded slowly, her hand drifting up to touch the pendant at her throat. The little fern she'd bought at the fair. He'd noticed her wearing it last night, noticed the way she touched it sometimes, like a talisman.
"Thank you," she said. "For telling me."
"I figured you'd rather know than not."
"I would." She managed a small smile. "I've had enough of people trying to protect me from information. It never works out the way they think it will."
He filed that away. Another piece of the puzzle that was Tessa Callahan. Someone had tried to shield her from something once, and it had gone badly. He wondered what. He wondered who.
"I'll head into town later," he said. "Pick up the lights at Cooper's. You want a ride, or are you set on walking?"
"I'll walk. But maybe I'll meet you there for lunch?"
"Lila's? Noon?"
"It's a date." The words came out casually, but something flickered in her eyes as she said them. Like she'd surprised herself.
Brian felt something flicker in his chest, too. Something he wasn't ready to examine.
"Noon," he agreed, and left it at that.
He spent the morning working on the addition, trying to burn off the restless energy that had been building since he'd found the tracks. The framing was coming along, the skeleton of what would eventually be a guest room and bathroom taking shape against the side of the cottage.
His parents would never visit; his mother was gone, and his father had remarried and moved to Florida, content to exchange birthday cards and the occasional awkward phone call. But Hank and Colby would come, and Bree and Sabrina with them. And maybe someday, other people. Family he'd chosen rather than been born into.
He thought about Tessa as he worked, the steady rhythm of the hammer helping him sort through the tangle in his head. She'd been here less than a week, and already she'd carved out a space in his daily routine. Coffee in the morning. Meals shared at the small table. The sound of her moving through the cottage, quiet and careful, trying not to take up too much space.
He thought about her laugh. The way it had come easier yesterday than the day before, like she was slowly remembering how to do it.
He thought about the fear in her eyes when she'd told him about the man at the fair, and the way she'd tried to talk herself out of it. I'm probably wrong. There are a lot of people. I spent too many years reading rooms for threats.
She wasn't wrong. He knew it in his gut. Something was off, and whether it was connected to her or just bad timing, he wasn't going to let her face it alone.
Around eleven, he cleaned up and drove into town. Cooper's Hardware was quiet, the morning rush already past, and old Tom Cooper himself was behind the counter, reading glasses perched on his nose as he sorted through a box of screws.
