Chapter 20 Tessa
Tessa
Friday morning, I’m drowning.
My desk is covered in lists. The vendor spreadsheet is open on my laptop, half the cells highlighted in angry red because confirmations are overdue.
My phone keeps buzzing with texts I don’t have time to answer.
The Valentine’s fundraiser is one week away, and I lost four days to a blizzard and a heat and three alphas who—
Nope. Not thinking about that.
I take a sip of my third coffee of the morning and pull up the bachelor auction checklist. Eight bachelors confirmed—including Nate Thorn, who I managed to recruit during that awkward truck ride on.
Programs need to be printed by Wednesday.
The caterer still hasn’t sent the final menu.
The sound system rental company hasn’t returned my calls.
And I still need to coordinate with the decorating committee about the stage setup, which should have happened two days ago but didn’t because I was—
Not. Thinking. About. It.
My phone buzzes again. I glance at the screen.
Milo: Checking in. How are you doing?
I flip the phone face-down without responding. I’ll text him back later. When I have time. When I can figure out what to say.
The knock on my office door makes me jump so hard I nearly spill coffee all over my keyboard.
“Come in,” I call, assuming it’s someone from the events committee. Linda Patterson was supposed to stop by with the stage diagrams, and she’s already twenty minutes late.
Ben Wilson walks through the door.
My whole body goes still.
He’s in his usual work clothes—jeans, flannel, boots that have seen better days.
There’s a smudge of grease on his jaw he probably doesn’t know about, and his hair is doing that thing where it sticks up in the back like he’s been running his hands through it.
He’s holding my car keys in one hand and a paper bag from Maeve’s bakery in the other.
“Special delivery.” He dangles the keys from one finger, that familiar grin spreading across his face. “One Honda, fully repaired, detailed inside and out. You’re welcome.”
I stare at him.
Two days ago, I bolted out of his cabin without explanation. Two days of silence—no calls, no texts, nothing. And now he’s standing in my office like nothing happened, grinning at me like we’re just... normal. Like I didn’t spend four days in his bed. Like I didn’t run away without looking back.
What is he doing?
My heart does something complicated in my chest. “Ben. I— thank you. What was wrong with it?”
“Besides the fact that you drove it into a snowbank at approximately forty miles per hour?” He drops into the chair across from my desk without waiting for an invitation, long legs sprawling out in front of him.
“Cracked radiator hose—that’s what happens when you hit a wall of ice and snow.
Also bent your front bumper, but I hammered that back into shape. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“It’s got character now.” He sets the bakery bag on the edge of my desk.
“Good news is, all the work I did a few weeks ago held up fine. Timing belt, brakes, everything. Your car’s a trooper.
” He tosses the keys onto my desk. “Oh, and I put your stuff in the glovebox. Found some things on the passenger seat.”
My suppressants. He found my suppressants.
I feel my face heat. “Thanks.”
If he notices my reaction, he doesn’t comment on it. Classic Ben—seeing everything, saying nothing unless it’s wrapped in a joke.
And that’s the thing that’s throwing me.
He’s being so... normal. Like we didn’t just spend four days tangled together in ways I’m still trying to process.
Like he didn’t see me completely unraveled, begging, desperate.
Like this is just any other Friday morning and he’s just the town mechanic dropping off a car.
Is this how it’s going to be? Are we just going to pretend nothing happened?
Part of me is relieved. Part of me wants to shake him.
“What do I owe you?” I ask, steering us back to safe territory. “For the car.”
He waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Ben, I’m not letting you fix my car for free twice.”
“Fine. Buy me a coffee sometime.” He grins. “Or, you know, let me take you to dinner. Whatever works.”
Heat creeps up my neck. I ignore it. “What’s in the bag?”
“Blueberry muffin from Maeve’s. You look like you haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t caffeine.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it. He’s not wrong.
“How did you know I was in my office?”
“Small town.” He shrugs. “Also, your car’s been sitting in my lot since I towed it back Wednesday, and you never came to pick it up. Figured you were either avoiding me or buried in work. Since I spotted the lights on in here at six this morning when I was opening the shop, I’m guessing work.”
“You noticed my lights were on at six AM?”
“My shop’s round the corner.” He says it casually, but there’s something in his eyes that makes me think it wasn’t casual at all. “Eat the muffin, Tessa.”
I pull the bag toward me and take out the muffin. It’s still warm. Maeve must have just pulled it from the oven.
“Thank you,” I say, quieter this time.
“You’re welcome.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and his eyes sweep over my desk. The stacks of paper. The three empty coffee cups. The chaos that’s been my life since I walked out of that cabin two days ago. “You really do look like hell.”
“Charming as always.”
“I try.” He tilts his head, studying me in a way that makes me want to squirm. “When’s the last time you slept more than four hours?”
I take a bite of muffin instead of answering. It’s delicious. Damn Maeve and her perfect baking.
“That’s what I thought.” Ben nods slowly, like I’ve confirmed something. “Okay. What do you need?”
“What?”
“Your list.” He gestures at the chaos on my desk.
“You’ve got approximately forty-seven things going wrong right now.
I can see it on your face. Also—” He picks up a sticky note, squints at it.
“Your handwriting gets worse when you’re stressed.
This either says ‘call Linda’ or ‘cult llama.’ I’m hoping it’s the first one. ”
I snatch the note back. “It says ‘call Linda.’“
“Sure it does.” He grins. “So tell me what you need, and I’ll help.”
I stare at him. “You don’t have to—”
“Tessa.” His voice is gentle but firm. “I want to help. Let me help.”
Something in my chest cracks open, just a little. The same way it did in the cabin when he wrapped his jacket around my shoulders. When he made me laugh even though I was terrified. When he looked at me like I was something precious instead of something to be managed.
“The sound system company,” I hear myself say. “They haven’t returned my calls about the rental for the auction.”
“Dave’s Audio? I know Dave. Helped him rebuild a carburetor last summer. I’ll swing by on my way back to the shop.” He pulls out his phone, types something.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He doesn’t even try to hide the smugness. “Turns out when you’re the only mechanic in a twenty-mile radius and you don’t overcharge people, they tend to like you. Shocking, I know.”
“Must be nice to have the entire town owing you favors.”
“It’s a burden.” He puts a hand over his heart. “A heavy, heavy burden that I bear with grace and humility.”
“You don’t know what humility means.”
“I know it’s somewhere between ‘humidity’ and ‘hummus.’“ He winks. “What else?”
“The caterer needs to confirm the final menu by end of day or we’re stuck with whatever they decide.”
“Who’s doing the food?”
“Amy’s Catering. She’s great, but she’s been hard to pin down this week.” I rub my temple. “And Maeve’s donating desserts from The Honey Crumb, but I still need to confirm quantities with her.”
“I’ll swing by both. Amy owes me—I fixed her van last month. And Maeve loves me.” He adds another note to his phone. “What else?”
“The decorating committee was supposed to meet me Wednesday to discuss stage setup, but—”
“But you were stuck in a cabin with three alphas having the best sex of your life?”
I choke on my muffin.
Ben grins, completely unrepentant. “What? Too soon?”
“I hate you,” I manage between coughs.
“No you don’t.” He’s still grinning, but there’s warmth underneath it. Something soft that makes my stomach flip. “Decorating committee. Who’s in charge?”
“Linda Patterson.”
“Mrs. Patterson? The one with the Volvo that’s held together by prayers and duct tape? I’m surprised that thing made it through the blizzard.”
“She said it stalled twice on Main Street.”
“Of course it did. That engine’s running on pure spite at this point.” He shakes his head. “I’ll call her. She loves me. Brings me cookies every time I keep that car from dying.”
“She brings you cookies?”
“Oatmeal raisin. Homemade.” He adds another note to his phone. “What else?”
“The volunteer schedule has three conflicts I haven’t resolved yet.”
“Email me the list. I’ll make some calls.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can and I will. Next.”
“Ben.”
“Tessa.” He mimics my exasperated tone perfectly. “You’re doing that thing where you clench your jaw because you want to strangle me but you also know I’m right. It’s very cute. Keep going.”
I want to argue. I want to tell him I don’t need his help, that I’ve been handling things on my own for years, that I’m perfectly capable of—
“Stop spiraling and give me the next problem.” He snaps his fingers. “Chop chop, sweetheart. I’ve got a transmission rebuild waiting and you’ve got a fundraiser to save.”
“Did you just ‘chop chop’ me?”
“I did. It felt weird. I won’t do it again.” He grins. “But seriously. Next problem. Let’s go.”