21 | Not Like This
Theo came in just as I dropped my bag on the chair.
“Tessa—what—”
I turned too fast.
“If you brought me here to make her jealous, I’m done.”
The words came out sharp. Too sharp. Even for me.
He blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“Vanessa.” I laughed under my breath, but it sounded wrong. “If this is some kind of game—if I’m just… part of it—”
“Tessa, slow down.”
“Don’t tell me to slow down.” My voice lifted before I could stop it. “I just spent an hour being told she came here for you. That she wants you. That everyone knows it. So forgive me if I’m trying to understand what exactly I’m doing here.”
He didn’t interrupt this time. Just watched me.
That almost made it worse.
“If she brought him to make you jealous—” I gestured vaguely toward the outside, toward the vineyards, toward the whole situation “—then what am I? Huh? Because it’s starting to look a little symmetrical.”
His brow furrowed. “You think I brought you here for that?”
“I don’t know what to think,” I said, more quietly now, but not calmer. “That’s kind of the problem.”
A beat.
“I thought—” I exhaled sharply. “I thought you were… you.”
His expression shifted slightly. “I am.”
“No.” I shook my head. “No, you’re not.”
He went still.
“I thought you were my Theo,” I said, the words slipping out softer now, but heavier. “You know. Quiet. Predictable. The one who shows up. The one who… makes things simple.”
I let out a breath that turned into something closer to a laugh.
“Not this.” I gestured between us. “Not some sex god that women fight over.”
There was a beat.
And then—very briefly—
his mouth twitched.
Not full amusement. Not mocking.
Just reflex.
I saw it.
“Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” I took a step back, heat rising fast now, sharp and humiliating. “God, this is exactly what I mean. This is not—you’re not—”
“I’m not laughing at you,” he said, more seriously now.
But the damage was done.
“I can’t compete with that, Theo.” My voice dropped, but it didn’t soften. “With your reputation, with all the women at work who clearly think they have a shot—”
“You don’t have to compete with anyone.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” My arms crossed instinctively, but it didn’t feel protective—just exposed. “You’re the one everyone wants.”
His expression shifted.
“That’s not—”
“No, it is.” I shook my head. “And I’m not like them. I’m not sophisticated, or polished, or—whatever Vanessa is.”
A breath.
“I’m just me.”
The words came out smaller than I intended.
“And apparently that’s not… enough to make you lose control, because you barely touch me and—”
“Tess.”
“No, I’m serious.” I looked at him fully now. “I don’t know what this is anymore. I don’t know if this is real or fake or just… convenient timing for you.”
His expression changed then.
Subtle.
But definite.
He stepped closer.
“Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know what I think,” I admitted, the words slipping out before I could filter them. “I had wine. Blake talked. You were out there with her and—” I exhaled. “I don’t know what’s real.”
Another step.
Closer now.
“Look at me,” he said.
I already was.
“That?” he nodded slightly toward the terrace “—was work. That’s all it was.”
“She was touching you.”
“I didn’t invite that.”
“You didn’t stop it either.”
A beat.
“You’re right,” he said.
That caught me off guard.
“I should have.”
Something in my chest shifted. Not fully. But enough.
“But that doesn’t make this a game,” he added, quieter now.
“Then what is it?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Just looked at me.
And stepped into my space.
Close enough that I had to tilt my head back slightly.
“This,” he said finally, voice lower, “is me trying not to do something stupid.”
My breath caught.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he exhaled slowly, like he was choosing the words carefully, “that I’ve been trying very hard to take this slow.”
My heart kicked.
“Why?”
His gaze dropped—just for a second—to my mouth. Then back up.
“Because if I don’t,” he said, “I’m not sure I’ll stop.”
The room felt smaller.
Warmer.
Too close.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t,” I said, before I could think better of it.
Something in him snapped.
Not loud.
Not obvious.
But I felt it.
He closed the distance in one step, his hand coming up to my face, fingers firm against my jaw as he kissed me.
Hard.
Not careful. Not controlled.
I made a sound—half surprise, half something else—and grabbed his shirt without thinking.
He kissed me deeper, his other hand sliding to my waist, pulling me flush against him. Heat surged through me, fast and overwhelming, like my body had been waiting for this longer than I’d admitted.
We stumbled back a step.
Hit the wall.
I didn’t care.
My fingers tightened in his shirt, pulling him closer instead of away.
“This—” he breathed against my mouth, barely pulling back “—real enough for you?”
“Theo—”
“You want to know why I haven’t touched you?” His hand slid down my side, stopping at my hip, grip tightening just enough to make my breath hitch. “Because I’ve been trying to do this right.”
He kissed me again, slower this time, but no less intense.
“I’ve been trying not to rush you,” he murmured against my lips. “Not to blur the line before you’re ready.”
My head tilted back against the wall, breath uneven.
“I am ready.”
“You’re drunk,” he said immediately.
“I’m not—”
“Tessa.” His voice sharpened just enough to cut through. “You smell like you bathed in Cabernet.”
“So?” I pushed at his chest, frustrated now. “That doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything.”
I stared at him.
Angry. Confused. Still wanting.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not doing this when you’re not fully here,” he said, quieter now but firm. “Not when you’re hurt, and comparing yourself to her, and letting that get into your head.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I know.”
“That’s not—” my voice broke slightly “—that’s not why—”
“It is,” he said gently. “At least part of it.”
I shook my head, but the fight in it was weaker now.
“I can’t compete with her.”
“You’re not competing.”
“It doesn’t feel like that.”
He stepped closer again—but slower this time.
Deliberate.
“There is no competition,” he said, lifting his hand to my face, thumb brushing lightly under my eye. “There never was.”
My throat tightened.
“It’s you, Tessa.”
The way he said it—steady, certain—made something in my chest twist painfully.
I didn’t trust it.
Not completely.
But I felt it.
He pulled me into him then, not urgent this time. Just… held me.
Solid. Grounding.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“I don’t want to sleep.”
“I know.” A pause. Softer: “But you need to.”
I didn’t argue after that.
Didn’t have the energy to.
----
He moved around the room with quiet efficiency—setting a glass of water on the nightstand, pulling back the covers, giving me space without making it feel like distance.
It should have felt awkward.
It didn’t.
Just… calm.
Too calm, considering everything that had just happened.
I hovered for a second near the bed, then looked down at myself—wine-warm skin, tangled hair, the faint, lingering feeling of his hands still everywhere they’d been.
“I should shower,” I said, more to myself than to him.
He nodded immediately.
No hesitation. No suggestion to stay.
Just that same steady tone.
I grabbed something loose from my bag and disappeared into the bathroom before I could overthink it.
The water was too hot at first.
I stood under it anyway, letting it hit the back of my neck, my shoulders, trying to slow everything down—the alcohol, my thoughts, the way my body still felt like it hadn’t caught up to the fact that he’d stopped.
His hands.
His mouth.
The way he’d pulled back.
I pressed my palm flat against the tile and exhaled slowly.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered.
But I stayed there longer than necessary, letting the heat wash some of it away. Not all of it. Just enough that I could think in something closer to a straight line.
When I finally stepped out, the room was quieter.
Softer.
Theo was by the window, jacket gone, sleeves pushed up, looking out into the dark like he needed the distance.
He turned when he heard me.
And for a second—
just a second—
his gaze caught.
Not lingering.
But not neutral either.
Something tightened low in my stomach.
I crossed the room quickly, before I could sit with it.
“I’m good,” I said, climbing into bed and pulling the covers up, suddenly very aware of the space again.
He nodded once.
“Yeah.”
He stepped back.
Started to turn—My hand shot out before I could stop it, catching his.
“Stay.”
He hesitated.
Just for a second.
“Please.”
Something shifted in his expression.
Then he nodded once and climbed in beside me—on top of the covers, leaving space between us like he didn’t trust himself to do anything else.
I turned onto my side, facing him.
“Theo?”
“Yeah?”
My voice came out smaller than I meant it to. “Do you really—am I really—”
He didn’t let me finish.
“You’re,” he said quietly.
A pause.
“And tomorrow,” he added, softer, “if you still want me to… I’ll show you.”
My eyes burned slightly.
I nodded.
Didn’t trust myself to say anything else.
He leaned in, pressing a light kiss to my forehead.
And this time—
when I closed my eyes—
I let myself believe it.
Tommorow.
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