Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
The sun had burned off the morning fog, leaving the air bright and sharp. From the deck, Tessa could hear the gulls bickering over scraps down by the boardwalk and the distant hum of a coffee grinder.
Inside, Brian was already at the small kitchen table, laptop open, fingers tapping. His focus was absolute, jaw tight, the way it always was when he worked. She’d learned that “morning Brian” wasn’t chatty.
Tessa slipped her shoes on and slung her tote over her shoulder. “I’m heading to the market. Need anything?”
“Already went,” he said without looking up.
Of course, he had. Organized, early, and entirely self-sufficient. She still didn’t know if that was a kindness to make her feel like less of a burden, or just his default wiring.
“I’ll pick up some fruit anyway,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
He glanced up then, eyes narrowing slightly. “Stay on the main streets.”
She stilled, hand on the doorknob. “Why? Is there some Copper Moon crime wave I don’t know about?”
“Not exactly.” He leaned back, closing the laptop. “There’s been a string of break-ins in the side alleys. Tourist shops mostly, but still.”
Her brow lifted. “And you were going to mention this… when?”
He shrugged. “When it was relevant. Like now.”
She rolled her eyes but filed away the seriousness in his tone. “Noted, Sheriff.”
The market was bustling, summer people mingling with locals who eyed them with a mixture of curiosity and mild irritation. Tessa lingered over the produce stand, letting the normalcy wash over her — the weight of peaches in her hands, the earthy smell of fresh herbs.
She’d just handed over cash for her purchases when the sound of raised voices cut through the crowd. Two stalls over, a man in a grease-stained ball cap was shouting at a vendor, his body language sharp, hands jabbing. The vendor’s smile was thin, and the crowd had started to edge back.
Tessa stepped instinctively toward them, that old pull to de-escalate before things turned ugly. But before she could say a word, a familiar presence was suddenly at her side.
Brian.
His hand closed lightly around her elbow, steering her back a step. “Not your problem,” he said quietly.
“That man’s—”
“—about to be escorted out by the market coordinator,” Brian cut in, nodding toward a uniformed woman threading through the crowd. “See? Handled.”
She bristled. “You don’t get to decide what’s my problem.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “You’re right. But I do get to make sure you’re not in the middle of someone else’s mess when you don’t know all the players.”
The tension between them hung there until the shouting man was led away and the crowd noise smoothed back to its usual hum.
They walked back to the cottage in silence, her tote heavier than it should have been.
Inside, she set the peaches on the counter with more force than necessary. “I can take care of myself, Brian.”
“I know you can,” he said evenly. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
His jaw worked, but his answer was softer than she expected. “You’re living under my roof — for now. I’d rather not watch something happen to you because I didn’t speak up.”
The heat in her chest wasn’t entirely from irritation anymore. “That almost sounded like you care.”
One corner of his mouth curved — not quite a smile, but close. “Don’t get used to it.”
And just like that, he picked up his laptop and headed for the deck, leaving her with the faintest flicker of warmth under her ribs… and the unsettling thought that she might actually be starting to like him.