Page 85 of Tessa and Nash

Relief hits so fast it makes my knees weak.

“And,” I add quickly, “please don’t mention it to Thomas.”

Grandma’s mouth tightens. “He’s been tense all week.”

“That’s his natural state,” I mutter.

Her eyes soften. “Tessa.”

I hold her gaze. “Please.”

Grandma studies me for a long moment.

“I won’t,” she says simply. “But be careful.”

She stands, crosses the room, and touches my cheek.

Behind me, the front door opens and closes with cautious quiet.

Nash steps into the hall, shoulders slightly hunched, entering enemy territory, eyes scanning as if he expects a trapdoor under the rug.

His gaze lands on Grandma.

He stills.

“Mrs. Long,” he says politely.

Grandma smiles. “Nash McCoy.”

He glances at me, silently asking if this is safe.

“It’s fine,” I say. “She’s not my uncle.”

“That’s comforting,” he mutters, and Grandma’s eyes twinkle.

“I expect you’ll bring her back in one piece,” she says to him mildly.

Nash straightens like he’s been given an order. “Yes, ma’am.”

Grandma lifts her brows. “Good.”

I grab my bag and keys and move fast, before my nerve evaporates.

As we step outside, Nash falls into step beside me.

Which is ridiculous.

And also… oddly reassuring.

The drive out of town is quiet for exactly two minutes.

Then Nash clears his throat.

“So,” he says, eyes on the road, “you’ve been holding out on me.”

“I haven’t been holding out,” I snap. “I didn’t know anything useful.”

“You knew there was a creepy Long House in the woods,” he says. “That feels like information.”