22. TESSA
TESSA
“This really wasn’t necessary,” I mumbled, sinking deeper into Blake’s Mercedes-Benz E-Class, trying to ignore how the buttery-soft leather seemed to embrace me like a lover’s arms.
The contrast to my own car’s torn vinyl seats felt like a metaphor for everything in my life right now: held together with determination and duct tape.
In contrast, everything about his vehicle breathed success.
From the hand-stitched leather that probably cost more than my monthly rent to the gleaming wood trim that caught the fading sunlight like liquid amber.
The ambient lighting only made the differences between our lifestyles more pronounced.
While my car offered two settings—serial killer shadows or police interrogation—Blake’s Mercedes painted the world in whatever shade of luxury he desired.
The soft glow caught the sharp line of his jaw, turned his dark eyes to midnight pools, and made everything, and everyone, look like they belonged in a world where people didn’t have to choose between paying rent and fixing their transmission.
“We’ve been over this.” Blake’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel, the movement drawing my traitorous gaze to his forearms. Now wearing fitted black pants and a long-sleeved shirt that clung to every hard-earned muscle, he looked like he’d stepped out of a luxury-car commercial.
“My shift ended, and you didn’t have a car at the hospital. End of discussion.”
“Oh, is it the end?”
He glared at me.
I forced my voice to lose its bite. Not easy, considering the argument we’d gotten into over said ride situation. I called an Uber. He canceled it. I flagged down a taxi. He waved him off.
“You’re helping me,” I started. “A lot. An important fact that I’m going to take into consideration with the tone of my response.”
“Here we go.” The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.
“I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. I really do. Major brownie points for taking eighty percent of my blood and passing it around to all your doctor friends to try and identify the defect in my body.”
“But?”
“But I want to be very clear where that line ends. You are helping me with my medical issues. Not my driving issues. Not my work issues. Medical only. Okay? So, please, don’t slip back into your bossy self.”
“ I’m bossy?” His eyebrows tried to high-five his hairline.
“Infuriatingly.”
“This from the woman who used to barricade the kitchen and declare martial law whenever you were baking?”
“You and Ryker used to eat all the cookie dough!”
“And threatening my life with a wooden spoon. How’d that work out for you?”
Heat flashed through my body at the memory.
He’d grabbed that spoon with a devilish smirk, but I didn’t release it, so we locked in a silent battle of wills, our chests nearly touching.
With flour dusting his black T-shirt (he knew exactly what that shirt did to me, damn him) and desire making my fingers itch, something shifted between us and the playful banter evaporated into something raw and primal.
Blake’s gaze dropped to my mouth, and when he stepped forward, the air crackled with possibility.
I wanted that kiss with an intensity that scared me.
Cut to my brother yanking that spoon from his grip, shoving Blake back, and giving him a death glare that could have frozen the North Pole. Probably killed Santa and all his elves too. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones who noticed the kitchen had turned into a powder keg of sexual tension.
“We’re getting off topic. Point is, don’t get all bossy on me, Morrison.”
His mouth curled again. I swear, he looooooved pushing my buttons.
Shelly McBride’s latest text popped up with yet another issue. Who knew wedding planning was less champagne and more battlefields?
“Why do you keep checking your phone?” Blake asked.
“I’m googling how to escape overprotective men in moving vehicles. The results are concerning.”
“Hilarious. Question remains.”
“I missed a meeting yesterday with my client. There’s a situation I need to handle.”
He seemed to digest this. “Ryker said you started that event planning business.”
“Wedding planning,” I corrected.
Irony was a wicked witch with a possible vendetta against me. Thirty-three-year-old woman, who hasn’t even come close to finding her soulmate herself, plans everyone else’s happily ever after. I should put that on my business cards. Maybe add some tearstains for authenticity.
“I’m sure your clients will understand you taking a few days off.”
I seriously tried not to roll my eyes. “I’ve burned through a zillion days off this past year in medical appointments and illness alone. Not all of us can afford to miss work anytime?—”
“Our heart stops?”
“Swim lane, Morrison. I can’t take any more time off work, and I can’t afford to lose this client.”
My only client.
“Tessa.” The way he said my name—soft yet commanding—made my stupid pulse skip. “You need to rest.”
“I did. All night. Will have a gigantic fat hospital bill to prove it.”
“Yet you look exhausted.” His gaze swept over me while I pretended every inch of my skin didn’t cheer him on, all shouting, Look here! Look at me!
“Turns out, hours of beeping machines and a hovering cardiologist aren’t exactly a spa treatment.” Plus, my chest still hurt. I got lucky. No cracked ribs from the CPR, but my bones were still yelling at me.
“The cardiologist suggested staying another night.”
“When someone suggests they add another twenty grand to your already-bankrupt-inducing bill, the choice isn’t difficult.”
Oof. Blake’s face turned into granite.
“Trust me,” I assured. “If I thought death was still lurking nearby, I’d be demanding the penthouse suite.”
I drew in a steadying breath, wincing at the twinge, which, of course, he noticed. His eyes slammed into my ribs with the same force as chest compressions, and then that sexy mouth of his converted itself into a dash before returning to the road.
“Look, I know you care. And, again, I appreciate everything you’re doing.
But this—the hovering, the second-guessing, the swooping in to save me from myself—this is exactly what I asked you not to do.
I need my doctors to give me the facts, and, yes, I even need your medical opinion.
But the final call? That’s mine. Can you respect that? ”
The muscle in his jaw ticced, and his fingers tightened on the steering wheel until I thought the leather might crack. For a moment, I thought he’d argue. But he released a breath that seemed to carry the weight of our entire complicated history.
“Fine,” he said finally, though the word seemed to cost him.
Hallelujah. I could hear the angels singing.
“Thank you.”
Blake shifted, his shoulders tensing, eyes darting to me in quick glances.
“So,” he said, “do you want to stop at a coffee shop before I drop you off?”
I raised my eyebrows, realizing he was referring to the talk.
“ Now ?”
“We agreed to go once you were discharged.”
My phone buzzed for the fourth time in an hour. The bride’s name flashed across my screen.
“I didn’t mean the literal moment of being discharged,” I clarified, staring at the wedding disaster emails that kept coming in. “And I should probably rain-check that.”
“But you said?—”
“I know.” I rubbed my temple, already feeling the pressure of missed appointments mounting.
“And we need to have this conversation. But I’ve got a panicking bride, and I already missed her meeting yesterday.
I need to deal with this crisis, and when you and I talk …
” I met his eyes. “I want to actually talk. No distractions, no checking my phone every two minutes because work is imploding.”
Right on cue, my phone lit up again.
“Shelly. Yes, I’m looking into the catering issue right now …”
The bride’s voice trembled through the speaker, panic evident in every syllable as she explained how the caterer was suddenly balking at her menu requests.
“I’ll pull up the contract right now. Don’t worry; he put this in writing. He can’t change it, and we won’t let him.”
Her grateful sniffles filled the line before she hung up.
Blake’s jaw tightened. “Just over twenty-four hours ago,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet, “your heart stopped beating. And now you’re jumping back into work like?—”
“Like I’m running a business that could make or break my entire future,” I cut in. “This client could change everything for me, Blake. Everything.”
My small business—the one I’d dreamed of since I was a girl and confidently rambled about to Blake, his eyes actually sparking with interest—was on the brink of bankruptcy.
That’s right. Despite my business skills and meticulous planning, I’d managed to start, run, and drive a business into the ground in less than two years.
Currently, I was giving it CPR, and if it died, I’d have to say goodbye to a dream I’d had my whole life.
And worse, suffer the massive financial strain of those loans for years to come.
Future Tessa would probably be living off ramen noodles well into her fifties.
But this client—this one could change everything. A high-end client, with an influencer list that could bring in years of brides waiting around the block, trying to book me. I would not fail. Period.
Blake’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed whatever lecture was brewing, until, finally, he parallel parked in front of my rented townhouse.
That’s when it hit me.
“How do you know where I live?” I’d moved here after we’d stopped talking.
Blake unfastened his seat belt with deliberate slowness. “Ryker gave your address to me when you moved in.”
“What? Why?”
With casual elegance, Blake slid out of his luxury sedan, came around, and opened my door with old-world charm that felt dangerous in its familiarity.
“Because I asked him for it,” he said simply, extending his hand.
See? This was exactly what I didn’t want: him to look at me like I was too weak to stand on my own. I shifted out of the way and stood up of my own accord, dodging his hand altogether.
And now, I had to act like I didn’t notice his handsome, knowing smirk.
On the sidewalk, Blake’s broad frame seemed to curve toward me like a protective wall, his shoulders angling to shield me from the street. When he looked down at me, the height difference between us had never felt more electric.
“Again, why? Why did you want my address?”
“The day we stopped talking.” His voice softened. “I made two promises to myself: I’d respect your space, and I’d always know where to find you if you needed me. Ryker’s been helping with the second part.”
Respect my space? Did he seriously just say that? Did he not remember what happened two years ago?
I should have called him out on it, timing be dammed, but unfortunately, my heart was too busy putting its spotlight on the other thing he’d said. If I ever needed him. As in, no matter what, he’d always come running if I did.
My soul danced in celebration at those words.
Somewhere in the hospital’s data cloud, little blips representing my heartbeat were bouncing across a screen.
The electrodes itched against my skin with a constant reminder that my every heartbeat was being monitored, analyzed, and transmitted from the small device clipped to my waistband straight to my cardiologist’s watchful eye.
“Well,” I started, “thank you for the ride, and for …” The words lodged in my throat like unspoken promises. How exactly did you thank someone for refusing to let you die? For seeing past your stubborn denials to the truth underneath? “Everything.”
“You sure you’re okay, Tess?” Blake’s worried gaze settled on my face.
I flashed a reassuring smile. “If I feel off, I’ll call the cardiologist right away. I feel fine though; you don’t need to worry about me.”
But I could see that was exactly what he was going to do today, until those lab results came back at least. I opened my mouth to reassure him again, but before I had the chance, life threw a fresh complication at me.
“Tessa!”
God Almighty.
If he found out about my neighbor, Blake would totally overreact …