Just like her.
The sound of Brian's hammer started up from the side of the cottage, steady and rhythmic. She found herself timing her breathing to it again, letting the repetition calm the flutter of anxiety that Julia's words had stirred up.
She wasn't ready for this. Whatever this was. She'd come here to heal, not to fall for someone. But her heart apparently hadn't gotten that memo.
By late morning, the clouds had rolled in, turning the water from copper to pewter. Tessa stood at the kitchen window, watching the sky darken over the bay.
Brian came inside just as the first drops began to fall, his T-shirt damp with sweat despite the cooling air. "Storm's coming," he said, grabbing a glass of water from the sink. "Supposed to be a big one. Thunder, lightning, the works."
"I can see that." She tried to keep her voice light, but something must have shown on her face, because he paused with the glass halfway to his mouth.
"You okay?"
"Fine. Just... storms make me a little jumpy." She managed a smile. "Too many nights in the ER when the weather brought in car accidents and power outages and everything going wrong at once."
He nodded slowly, and she could see him filing that away. Another piece of the puzzle that was Tessa Callahan.
"I was going to make lunch," he said. "Is grilled cheese okay? I've got some of that tomato soup Lila sent home with me last week."
"That sounds perfect."
They moved around the small kitchen together, the dance of shared space that had become familiar over the past week and a half. He buttered bread while she heated soup. Their elbows bumped as they reached for things, and neither of them pulled away as quickly as they used to.
The rain picked up outside, drumming against the windows in sheets. Thunder rumbled in the distance, still far away but getting closer. Tessa focused on stirring the soup, trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened with each rumble.
They ate at the small table, watching the storm roll in. The water had gone dark, waves choppy and white-capped. Lightning flickered on the horizon, followed seconds later by a crack of thunder that made the windows rattle.
Tessa flinched.
She tried to cover it, reaching for her water glass like that was what she'd been doing all along. But Brian saw. Of course, he saw.
"Hey." His voice was gentle. "It's just noise."
"I know." She set the glass down with a hand that wasn't quite steady. "I know it's just noise. But my body doesn't always get the memo."
Another crack of thunder, closer this time. The lights flickered once, twice, then steadied.
"It's the startle response," she said, more to herself than to him. "Hyper-vigilance. Part of the PTSD package. My brain is always waiting for the next emergency, the next crisis. Loud noises trigger it."
"You don't have to explain," Brian said. "I get it."
And he did. She could see it in his eyes, the recognition of someone who'd lived with his own version of that constant bracing.
The power went out.
The cottage plunged into gray dimness, the only light coming from the storm-darkened windows. Rain hammered the roof. Thunder cracked again, so close it seemed to shake the walls.
Tessa's breath caught. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles going white.
"Tessa." Brian's voice cut through the noise, calm and steady. "Look at me."
She forced her eyes to his face, barely visible in the dim light.
"You're safe," he said. "The cottage has weathered worse than this. We've got candles, flashlights, everything we need. It's just a storm. It'll pass."
She nodded, trying to slow her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The same technique she'd taught countless patients in the ER.
Brian stood and crossed to a drawer near the sink, pulling out a flashlight and a box of matches. He lit a candle on the counter, then another on the table, and the warm glow pushed back the darkness.
