Brian parked next to a motorcycle that gleamed in the fading light, all chrome and vintage curves. A 1942 Crocker, Tessa remembered. Hank's family heirloom.
"Ready?" Brian asked, pie balanced in one hand.
"As I'll ever be."
The door opened before they reached the porch steps, and a woman stepped out with a smile that could light up a room. She was petite, with dark blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and paint smudges on her fingers that she didn't seem to notice or care about.
"You must be Tessa." She came down the steps and pulled Tessa into a hug before Tessa could react. "I'm Bree. I've heard so much about you."
"From who?" Tessa asked, slightly breathless from the unexpected embrace.
"Everyone." Bree stepped back, her eyes dancing. "This is Copper Moon. Word travels." She turned to Brian and took the pie from his hands. "Lila's apple crumb. You're forgiven for being five minutes late."
"We're not late," Brian said.
"You're not early, which is basically late." Bree winked at Tessa. "Come on in. Sabrina's shrimp and grits are almost ready, and Colby's been threatening to eat them straight from the pot."
The inside of the farmhouse was warm and cluttered in the best possible way. Art covered every wall, some of it clearly Bree's work, bold colors and sweeping brushstrokes that made Tessa want to stop and stare. Comfortable furniture was arranged for conversation, and the smell of something incredible drifted from the kitchen.
Hank emerged from a doorway, a beer in each hand. He passed one to Brian and nodded at Tessa. "Good to see you again. Wine? Beer? Sabrina made some kind of fancy cocktail if you're feeling adventurous."
"Wine would be wonderful."
"Coming right up."
Bree led her into the kitchen, where chaos reigned in the most delicious way. A woman with dark hair and a determined expression stood at the stove, stirring something that smelled like heaven. Colby sat at the kitchen island, stealing bites of something from a cutting board while pretending he wasn't.
"Sabrina, this is Tessa," Bree announced. "Tessa, Sabrina. She's the reason Colby hasn't starved to death."
Sabrina looked up with a warm smile, wiping her hands on a towel before extending one to Tessa. "It's so nice to meet you. I heard Brian has a new roommate, and I had to see for myself the woman who got him to let someone into his space."
"It wasn't by choice," Tessa said. "More like an accident of paperwork."
"That's how the best things happen." Sabrina's eyes were knowing. "Accidents that turn into something more."
Colby snorted. "She's a romantic. Can't help herself."
"And you're a cynic who proposed to me on a cottage porch at sunset," Sabrina shot back. "So maybe keep your commentary to yourself."
"That was romantic. And practical. Those cottages make us money."
Tessa laughed, surprised by how easy it was. These people barely knew her, but they'd opened their home and their circle like she belonged there. Like she'd always been part of it.
Hank appeared with her wine, and she took it gratefully, letting the conversation flow around her. Brian drifted into the kitchen doorway, beer in hand, watching the scene with an expression she couldn't quite read. When his eyes met hers, something passed between them. A check-in. You okay?
She nodded slightly. I'm okay.
He smiled, just a little, and the warmth that spread through her had nothing to do with the wine.
Dinner was everything Brian had promised and more. Sabrina's shrimp and grits were creamy and rich, with just enough spice to make Tessa's eyes water. Fresh bread from Lila's, a salad with vegetables from someone's garden, and conversation that never lagged.
They ate at a long farmhouse table on the back porch, the evening air soft and warm, citronella candles flickering against the encroaching dusk. Fireflies blinked in the yard beyond, and somewhere in the distance, a mockingbird ran through its repertoire.
"So," Bree said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, "Brian says you're a trauma surgeon. That must be intense."
"It is." Tessa set down her fork. "Was. I'm on leave right now, trying to figure out what comes next."
"I get that." Bree's voice was gentle. "I used to work in advertising in New York. Seventy-hour weeks, no time for anything that mattered. When I came here, it was supposed to be temporary. A month to clear my head." She glanced at Hank, her expression softening. "That was two years ago."
