Chapter 20 Tessa #2
And that’s how it goes. I give him a problem, he offers a solution—usually with a side of commentary about my control issues or my handwriting or the fact that I apparently make the same face when I’m stressed that I make when I’m about to sneeze.
Every time I try to protest that I can handle it myself, he just raises an eyebrow and says, “I know you can. But you don’t have to.
” And then he adds something insufferable like, “Also, you have muffin crumbs on your chin. Very professional.”
By the time we’ve worked through half my list, the muffin is gone, I’ve called him an asshole twice, and I’m starting to feel like I can breathe again.
“The programs,” I say, checking my spreadsheet. “They need to go to the printer by Wednesday. I still need to finalize all the bachelor bios and—”
I stop.
Ben is watching me with an expression I can’t quite name.
“The bachelor bios,” he repeats quietly. “Including Nate Thorn, I’m guessing.”
Right. Nate. Who I recruited in the truck yesterday while fleeing from this man and two other alphas. The awkwardness of that hits me fresh.
“He said yes,” I say, a little defensively. “I needed an eighth bachelor.”
“I know.” Ben’s voice is calm. No judgment. “I’m glad you got your lineup filled.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then he sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“Look, Tessa. You kind of ran out of there before I could explain. About the auction. About why I said no.”
My stomach flips. “Ben, you don’t have to—”
“Yeah, I do.” He stands up, suddenly restless. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk. I can’t have this conversation sitting in your office staring at spreadsheets.”
“I have work—”
“You have a thousand things on your list and you’ve been staring at the same one for three hours. Your eyes are going to fall out.” He holds out his hand. “Come on. Fresh air. Ten minutes. I promise I’ll have you back before the muffin wears off.”
I should say no. I have emails to send, calls to make, a festival that’s not going to plan itself.
But Ben is standing there with his hand outstretched and that look in his eyes, and I’m tired of fighting this.
I take his hand.
The February air is crisp and cold, but the sun is out for the first time since the blizzard. Main Street is bustling with people digging out from the storm—shoveling sidewalks, clearing cars, calling greetings to each other across the snow banks. Honeyridge Falls in recovery mode.
Ben keeps hold of my hand as we walk, and I let him. His palm is warm and calloused against mine, and I’m hyperaware of every point of contact.
We walk in silence for a minute. I can feel him working up to something, the way he does when he’s about to stop joking and be real.
“So,” he finally says. “The auction.”
“You really don’t have to explain—”
“Tessa.” He stops walking, turns to face me.
We’re standing in front of The Barn Bar, I realize.
The windows are dark—Milo must be at home.
“I’ve been dodging this conversation for weeks.
Making jokes, blasting my radio, finding any excuse to avoid it.
And then at the cabin, I finally had a chance to tell you, and you were out the door with Nate before I could get the words out. ”
“I panicked.”
“I know. I’m not blaming you.” He squeezes my hand. “But I need you to understand why I said no. Why I couldn’t say yes.”
I wait.
“The auction is about letting people bid on a date with you. Right? That’s the whole point. Someone pays money, they get to spend Valentine’s Day with one of Honeyridge’s most eligible bachelors.” He says the last part with air quotes, self-deprecating.
“That’s the idea.”
“And I can’t do that.” His eyes meet mine, and there’s no humor in them now. Just honesty. “I can’t stand up on that stage and let other women bid on me, Tessa. Because the only woman I want to spend Valentine’s Day with already has me. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
My breath catches.
“I’ve been saying no for weeks because I didn’t know how to tell you that,” he continues.
“Every time you asked, I panicked and made some stupid joke or turned up the radio or found some excuse to avoid the conversation. Because I’m an idiot who doesn’t know how to talk about feelings without making everything into a bit. ”
“Ben—”
“I’m not done.” He takes a breath. “At the cabin, when you asked again, I was going to finally tell you. I was going to say that I can’t do the auction because the thought of going on a date with anyone else makes me want to throw up.
But then Nate showed up, and you bolted, and I just..
. I needed you to know. That’s why I said no.
Not because I don’t care about the community center roof or the fundraiser or any of that. Because I care about you.”
The words hang between us.
“Why didn’t you come after me?” I ask quietly. “When I left.”
“Because you needed space.” He says it simply, like it’s obvious. “You were panicking. I could see it in your face, smell it in your scent. And chasing you down the driveway yelling about my feelings wasn’t going to help anything. You needed time to process. So I gave you time.”
“And you just... let me go?”
“I let you go.” He smiles, but it’s softer than his usual grin. More vulnerable. “And then I went back to my shop and fixed your car. Because that’s what I do, Tessa. I fix things. I help. It’s the only way I know how to show people I care about them.”
Something warm spreads through my chest. This man. This ridiculous, joke-cracking, grease-stained man who shows up at my office with muffins and car keys and offers to solve all my problems without asking for anything in return.
“You fixed my car,” I say slowly.
“Twice now, if we’re counting.”
“You gave me your truck when mine broke down. For almost a week.”
“Customer service.”
“You wrapped your jacket around me when I was cold. You gave me your flannel too.”
“You were shivering. There would have been paperwork if you froze to death in my garage.”
“Ben.” I step closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. “You walked through a blizzard to rescue me.”
He looks down at me, and the humor is gone now. Just honesty in those brown eyes. “Yeah. I did.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
I do. I think I’ve known for a while, even when I was pretending not to.
“I’m scared,” I admit. “I don’t know how to do this. The pack thing. The letting-people-in thing. I’ve spent so long being in control of everything, and this is...” I gesture vaguely with my free hand. “This is the opposite of control.”
“I know.” He brings our joined hands up, presses a kiss to my knuckles.
The gesture is so tender, so unexpected, that my heart stutters.
“But here’s the thing. You don’t have to figure it all out today.
You don’t have to have a plan or a spreadsheet or a contingency strategy.
You just have to let us show up for you. ”
“Like you’re showing up now? With my car and my muffin and my to-do list?”
“Exactly like this.” He grins, and some of the tension breaks.
“I’m not asking you to decide anything. I’m not asking you to commit to forever or figure out how a four-person pack works or any of that.
I’m just asking you to let me help. Let me be here.
Let me keep crossing things off your list and bringing you breakfast and making you roll your eyes at my terrible jokes. That’s all I want right now.”
I think about what he said at the cabin. I’ve wanted you for three years. Since the first time you walked into my garage with that clipboard and told me my filing system was a disaster.
Three years. He’s wanted me for three years, and he’s never pushed. Never demanded. Just showed up, over and over, making jokes and fixing my car and driving through blizzards when I needed him.
“Okay,” I say.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Okay?”
“Okay. You can help. With the fundraiser, I mean.” I squeeze his hand. “And... we can figure out the rest as we go.”
The smile that breaks across his face is the brightest thing I’ve ever seen. Like the sun coming out after a storm.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late. It’s already weird. We had sex for four days straight and now we’re holding hands on Main Street where the entire town can see us. Weird is our baseline now.”
I glance around. Sure enough, Mrs. Henderson is watching us from across the street, grocery bags in hand, a delighted expression on her face. Through the window of the general store, I can see Margie Winslow craning her neck for a better view.
“Oh god,” I mutter. “Everyone’s going to know.”
“Sweetheart, everyone already knows. You came out of a cabin after four days with three alphas. There’s a hickey on your neck the size of Texas.” He grins at my horrified expression. “Did you really think the scarf was hiding that?”
My hand flies to my neck. I thought the scarf was doing a reasonable job. Apparently not.
“I hate small towns.”
“No you don’t.” He tugs my hand, starting to walk again. “Come on. We’ve got a sound system to secure and a caterer to bully and about thirty other things on your list.”
He shoots me a sideways look. “We’re all in this together, you know. Me, Milo, Elijah. We’ve been talking.”
“Talking about what?”
“About you. About us. About how to do this without scaring you off.” He shrugs. “Pack stuff.”
There’s that phrase again. Pack stuff. The same thing Nate said about Seth and his pack. Compromise, communication, showing up for each other.
“We’re not a pack,” I say, but it comes out uncertain.
“Not yet.” Ben squeezes my hand. “But we could be.”
I don’t have an answer for that. Not yet. But as we walk down Main Street together, past the shops and the people and the small-town life I’ve built here, I find myself thinking about it.
About what it would mean to let them in. All three of them.
About what it would mean to not be alone anymore.
By the time we get back to my office, it’s almost noon and half my to-do list is done.
Ben talked to Dave about the sound system—confirmed for Friday, no deposit required, “any friend of Ben’s” discount applied.
He stopped by Amy’s catering and charmed Amy into finalizing the menu within the hour .
“She said to tell you the mini quiches are to die for, and if you don’t eat more she’s going to start leaving care packages on your doorstep”.
He even stopped by Mrs. Patterson’s house to pick up the stage diagrams she’d forgotten to bring over.
“You’re terrifyingly efficient,” I tell him as he drops the diagrams on my desk.
“I’m motivated.” He perches on the edge of my desk, long legs dangling. “Also, I know everyone in this town. Benefits of being the only mechanic within twenty miles.”
“Is that why you became a mechanic? For the social leverage?”
“Nah. I became a mechanic because I like fixing things.” He picks up one of my pens, twirls it between his fingers.
“There’s something satisfying about taking something broken and making it work again.
Figuring out what’s wrong, finding the right parts, putting it all back together.
” He shrugs. “Plus, I’m terrible at sitting still. Desk jobs would kill me.”
I watch him fidget with the pen, all restless energy and easy confidence. “You’re good at it. The fixing things.”
“Thanks.” He grins. “You’re good at the organizing things. We make a good team.”
“We’re not a team.”
“Sure we are. You make the lists, I cross things off. Perfect system.” He sets the pen down and slides off my desk. “I should get back to the shop. Got a transmission rebuild waiting for me.”
“Ben.” I stand up, suddenly not wanting him to leave. “Thank you. For today. For all of it.”
“Anytime.” He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is so gentle, so intimate, that my breath catches. “I meant what I said, Tessa. I’m here. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. No strings, no pressure. Just me, showing up.”
“And making terrible jokes.”
“The jokes are non-negotiable.” He grins. “Part of the Ben Wilson package.”
“Lucky me.”
“You have no idea.” He heads for the door, then pauses with his hand on the frame. “Hey, Tessa?”
“Yeah?”
“Milo’s gonna ask you out. On an actual date. A real one, not a four-day heat marathon in a cabin.” He says it casually, like he’s commenting on the weather. “When he does, say yes.”
I blink. “You’re... telling me to go on a date with another alpha?”
“I’m telling you to give him a chance. Give all of us a chance.” He shrugs. “Pack’s not about competition. It’s about everyone bringing something different to the table. Milo’s got the smooth-talking thing down. Elijah’s got the strong-and-silent thing. I’ve got the devastatingly handsome thing.”
“You’ve got the humble thing, apparently.”
“That too.” He winks. “Say yes when he asks. Trust me.”
And then he’s gone, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving me alone in my office with a half-finished to-do list and a heart that’s beating way too fast.
I sink back into my chair and stare at the door.
Three alphas. A pack. It’s not what I planned. It’s not organized or controllable or anything like the careful life I’ve built.
But maybe Ben’s right. Maybe I don’t need a plan. Maybe I just need to let them show up.
My phone buzzes. Milo again.
Milo: Seriously, how are you? I’m starting to worry.
I pick up the phone. Hesitate.
Tessa: I’m okay. Busy with fundraiser stuff. Ben just left.
The response is immediate.
Milo: Ben was there? Good. He’s been worried too. We all have.
Tessa: I know. I’m sorry I ran.
Milo: Don’t be sorry. Just... let us in when you’re ready. No rush.
I stare at the screen for a long moment.
Tessa: Maybe we could get coffee sometime? And talk?
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Milo: I’d like that. How about dinner instead? Tomorrow night? There’s a place in Pine Valley I think you’d love.
A date. A real date. Just like Ben said.
I take a breath. Think about control, and letting go, and what it might feel like to stop being so alone.
Tessa: Okay. Yes. Tomorrow night.
Milo: It’s a date. I’ll pick you up at 6.
I set the phone down and let out a shaky breath.
One week until the fundraiser. One week until the auction.
And apparently, a whole lot of feelings to figure out in between.
But for the first time since I walked out of that cabin, I’m not dreading it.
I’m almost looking forward to it.