14 | Fifth Weekend Long Night
Friday came faster than I expected.
I picked Tessa up at six. She was waiting outside her building with a weekend bag, wearing jeans and a green sweater that made her hair look even redder than usual.
“Hey,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat.
“Hey.”
I pulled away from the curb. The drive was two hours north—long enough to feel significant, short enough that we couldn’t avoid conversation.
“So,” she said after about twenty minutes. “Who’s going to be there?”
“David Park. My boss. He’ll be with his wife, Linda. She’s nice. A little intense about wine, but nice.”
“Okay.”
“James Rothstein. You met him at the party. He’s bringing his partner, Marcus.”
“The gossip department guy.”
“That’s him.”
She smiled. “I liked him.”
“He liked you too. He told everyone on Monday.”
“Really?”
“Really. Said you were ‘refreshingly genuine.’” I glanced over. “His words, not mine.”
“What would your words be?”
The question caught me off guard.
“I don’t know,” but I did. Perfect would be the word, but I couldn’t say that. “There aren’t really words for it.”
Not ones I could say out loud.
She looked at me for a long moment. Then away.
“Who else?” she asked.
“Marina Novak. She’s bringing her husband, Robert. And Claire Williams with her boyfriend, Andrew.”
Tessa went still.
“The wasps,” she said.
“What?”
“Marina and Claire. They were at the party. With Sophia.” She made a face.
Guilt twisted in my chest. Should have told her before asking.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have—”
“It’s fine.” Her voice was light, but I heard the edge underneath. “I can handle the wasps.”
“You don’t have to. If they say anything—”
“Theo. It’s fine.” She looked at me. “Really. I’m a big girl. I can survive some catty comments from your coworkers.”
The cabin appeared through the trees just as the sun was setting.
It wasn’t really a cabin.
It was more like a lodge—two stories, wide windows, a wraparound porch, smoke already curling from the chimney. Expensive and rustic in that carefully designed way rich people called “getting back to nature.”
Cars were already parked out front. Voices carried from inside.
“Ready?” I asked.
Tessa took a breath. “As I’ll ever be.”
We grabbed our bags and headed for the door.
David greeted us in the entryway—handshake, big smile, that practiced warmth he used on our clients.
“Theodore! Good to see you. And Tessa—” He turned to her, extending his hand. “Lovely to have you here.”
“Thanks for including me,” she said smoothly.
“Of course, of course. Linda’s in the kitchen. James and Marcus are claiming the best spots by the fire. Make yourselves at home.”
The interior was exactly what I’d expected—exposed beams, leather furniture, a massive stone fireplace already blazing.
James spotted us and waved from across the room. Tessa waved back.
Marina and Claire were standing near the windows, wine glasses in hand, talking to Linda. They looked over when we walked in. Marina’s smile was polite. Claire’s was assessing.
“Let me show you to your room,” David said.
We followed him upstairs, down a hallway with thick carpeting and paintings of mountains. He stopped at a door near the end.
“Here you are. Bathroom’s through there. Dinner’s at seven, but drinks and appetizers are already out if you’re hungry.”
He left us alone.
I opened the door.
The room was nice—big windows overlooking the woods, a dresser, a chair, soft lighting.
One bed.
A large one, granted. King-sized. Plenty of room for two people.
But still.
One.
Tessa stood in the doorway, staring at it.
“I can take the floor,” I said quickly.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I don’t mind—”
“Theo. We’ve shared a bed before. We were kids but… still.”
She said it like it was obvious. Like it didn’t make my pulse kick up just thinking about her there beside me.
“Okay,” I said.
She set her bag down, unzipped it, started pulling out clothes. I did the same, trying not to watch her move around the room. Trying not to think about the fact that we’d be sleeping three feet apart in a few hours.
“Should we go down?” she asked.
“Yeah. Probably.”
Dinner was loud and easy—good food, better wine, the kind of conversation that flowed when everyone was relaxed and no one was talking about work. Tessa fit in better than I’d expected. She laughed at James’s stories, asked Linda about her book club, talked to Marcus about his architecture firm.
She was good at this. Better than I was, honestly.
Marina and Claire were polite. Surface-level friendly. But I caught the looks they exchanged when Tessa mentioned working at the clinic, the slight smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.
After dinner, we migrated to the living room. Someone opened another bottle of wine. The fire was warm, the lights were low, and slowly people started pairing off into comfortable spots.
David and Linda claimed the couch. James and Marcus took the loveseat. Marina and Robert settled into the armchair. Same with Claire and Andrew—one couple, one chair.
That was the math.
And only one chair left.
Tessa hovered for a moment, clearly doing the math too.
“Come here,” I said quietly.
She looked at me.
I shifted back slightly. Made space.
She hesitated. Then sat down on my lap.
I stopped breathing for a second.
It felt—different. More intimate than holding hands at a party, more deliberate than standing close in a crowded room. Her weight against me, her back to my chest, her hair close enough that I could smell vanilla.
My arm came around her waist automatically. Steadying her.
She was tense at first—I could feel it in the way she held herself, careful, aware of every point of contact. But then Linda started telling a story about their last vacation, wine was poured, the conversation flowed.
And slowly—so slowly I almost didn’t notice—Tessa relaxed.
She leaned back slightly. Settled against me.
My hand was on her hip, and without thinking, my thumb started moving. Low circles against the fabric of her sweater. She didn’t pull away.
An hour passed. Maybe more. People talked and laughed, the fire crackled, and my hand kept moving against her side and she stayed exactly where she was. Soft. Warm. Fitting against me like she belonged there.
At some point, I realized I’d stopped listening to the conversation entirely.
All I could focus on was her—the weight of her in my lap, the curve of her waist under my hand, the way she’d tilt her head when she laughed.
This didn’t feel like pretending.
This felt real.
Eventually, people started heading to bed.
Linda yawned. David stretched. James and Marcus disappeared upstairs, followed by Marina and Robert.
When Tessa stood up, my hand slid away from her waist.
The absence of her felt wrong somehow.
“We should probably—” she started.
“Yeah.”
We said goodnight to the stragglers and headed upstairs. The hallway was quiet, our room at the end, door still slightly ajar from earlier.
Inside, everything looked the same. Except now the bed felt impossible to ignore.
“I’ll, um—” Tessa grabbed something from her bag. “I’ll just change in the bathroom.”
“Okay.”
She disappeared.
I changed quickly—sweatpants, T-shirt—and tried not to think about what she was wearing on the other side of that door.
The bathroom door opened and she came out in pajama shorts and an oversized sweatshirt.
And she looked—
Fuck.
Hair down. Face clean. Completely unaware of what she was doing to me.
“Bathroom’s all yours,” she said simply.
I went in. Stared at myself in the mirror and tried to get my shit together.
When I came back out, she was already in bed—on the far side, covers pulled up to her chin, staring at the ceiling.
I turned off the light. Climbed in on my side. Left a foot of space between us.
The room was dark and quiet except for the faint sound of the fire downstairs. I lay there listening to her breathe—quick at first, then slower, evening out gradually the way it did when someone was trying to fall asleep without looking like they were trying.
She was falling asleep.
I was very much not.
The dark settled around us.
Then, quietly: “Theo?”
I went still. “Yeah?”
“Thanks. For inviting me. This is… nice.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”
Silence stretched between us again, warm and close in the dark.
“Good night, Tessa.”
“Good night, Theo.”
I lay there staring at the ceiling, every nerve in my body aware of the space between us.
Too close.
Not close enough.
I shifted slightly, adjusting the pillow, the blanket—anything to settle the restlessness under my skin.
Beside me, she moved too.
Just a small shift. Fabric brushing. Breath catching for half a second before evening out again.
Then—
her hand.
Not fully reaching.
Just… there.
Resting between us, palm turned slightly upward like she hadn’t decided what she was doing.
Or maybe she had.
I didn’t move for a second.
Then I turned my hand, just enough.
Our fingers brushed.
Light.
Accidental, if anyone asked.
She didn’t pull away.
Neither did I.
My fingers curled—barely—just enough to catch hers.
Not holding.
Not yet.
Just… there.
Her breath changed. Slight. Almost nothing.
But I felt it.
And that was it.
No more movement. No words. No decision made out loud.
Just the quiet, steady awareness of her beside me.
Close enough now.
This was going to be a long night.
????
Be honest—would you survive a night in that bed without crossing the line, or would the fake part of the relationship end before morning?
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