The question landed like a stone in still water. She'd been waiting for it, she realized. Waiting for the moment when she'd have to tell him the truth.
"Yes," she said. "Once. In Chicago."
She felt him go still beside her. Waiting.
"There was a man. His brother died in my ER. I did everything I could, but the injuries were too severe." She swallowed hard. "He blamed me. Started leaving notes on my car. Calling at all hours. Following me home from the hospital."
"Jesus." Brian's voice was low and rough. "What happened?"
"I got a restraining order. The police talked to him. It stopped." She turned to look at Brian, needing him to see her face when she said the next part. "But I never stopped looking over my shoulder. Never stopped waiting for it to start again."
"Is it the same guy? The one from the fair?"
"I don't know. I never got a clear look." She shook her head. "It might not be connected at all. It might be nothing. But I can't shake the feeling that someone's watching me."
Brian reached across the console and took her hand. His grip was warm and steady, an anchor in the dark.
"Thank you for telling me," he said. "I know that wasn't easy."
"I should have told you sooner. When I first saw the man at the fair."
"You told me when you were ready. That's what matters." He squeezed her hand. "We'll figure this out. Together."
Together. The word wrapped around her like a blanket, warm and safe.
They sat there for a long moment, hands intertwined, watching the motion lights flicker against the dark. Whatever was coming, they'd face it side by side.
And for the first time in longer than she could remember, Tessa didn't feel alone.
Chapter Eight
Brian couldn't stop thinking about what Tessa had told him.
A stalker. Someone who'd followed her, threatened her, made her afraid in her own city. Someone who might still be out there, might have followed her here to this quiet corner of South Carolina, where she'd come to heal.
He lay awake long after they'd said goodnight, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the cottage settling around him. The motion lights hadn't triggered since they'd gotten home. No footprints in the morning, no gray caps lurking at the edge of crowds. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe the man at the fair was just a tourist with bad social skills, and the footprints belonged to some kid taking a shortcut through the woods.
But Brian didn't believe in coincidences. And he couldn't shake the image of Tessa's face when she'd told him about the notes on her car, the calls at all hours. The way her voice had gone flat and careful, like she was reciting facts instead of reliving trauma.
She'd learned to protect herself by shutting down. He recognized the strategy. He'd used it himself, back when the weight of the job had started crushing him.
By the time dawn crept through his window, he'd made a decision. He couldn't control whether someone was watching Tessa, but he could make sure she wasn't alone when she left the cottage. He could be there. He could pay attention.
It wasn't much. But it was something.
The farmer's market was in full swing by the time they reached town. Tessa had wanted to go, and Brian had offered to drive her without making it obvious that he didn't want her walking alone. She'd given him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing, but she hadn't argued.
Small victories.
The market sprawled across the green near the harbor, white tents and folding tables laden with produce, baked goods, handmade soaps, and everything in between. The smell of fresh peaches hung in the air, sweet and heavy, mixing with coffee from the Harbor Bean cart and something savory from a food truck at the far end.
Brian watched Tessa move through the stalls, her face open and curious in a way it hadn't been when she'd first arrived. She stopped to smell a bundle of lavender, chatted with a woman selling honey, picked up a peach, and held it to her nose with an expression of pure pleasure.
She was beautiful. He'd known it from the first moment she'd walked into his cottage, but it hit him differently now. Not just the symmetry of her features or the way her blonde curls caught the sunlight. It was the way she engaged with the world when she let her guard down. The way she laughed at something the honey vendor said, throwing her head back, her whole face transforming.
He was in trouble. He knew it. He just didn't know what to do about it.
A commotion near the produce stalls pulled his attention. Raised voices, the kind that cut through the pleasant hum of market chatter. He scanned the crowd and found the source: a man in a grease-stained cap, arguing with one of the vendors over something Brian couldn't make out.
