Chapter 21 - Tessa
I wouldn’t say that I’m a pessimist or an optimist. Not even a realist, really, because I believe in magic. Not the fairytale kind, but the small, ordinary kind that hides inside moments and people. The kind you almost miss if you’re not paying attention.
I definitely wouldn’t have called myself a romantic.
But maybe I am.
Because when I love, I love hard. Quietly. Completely.
And yet I don’t think I’ve ever been in love, not the way books or songs describe it. Not the kind that steals your breath and rearranges your soul until you don’t know where you end and the other person begins.
So, when I look back on the last two weeks of July, sitting on my porch swing with my coffee cooling between my palms, I can’t help the sigh that escapes me.
The only word that fits is lovely and maybe a little terrifying.
Because these feelings didn’t crash in like a storm, they came like sunrise, slow and quiet until the world was lit before I even realized it.
I think it started on the ice, or maybe that's just when I recognized them.
Kenzie and I sat high up in the bleachers, the air sharp with cold, our coffees steaming between our palms. The guys’ voices echoed against the rafters, laughter bouncing off the boards. But when Nate skated out, everything shifted.
It wasn’t that he was louder or faster. It was as if the air seemed to bend around him.
His focus was razor-sharp, his movements efficient and precise. He wasn’t performing for anyone; he was just there, completely in control, like the ice belonged to him and he to it.
I’d never seen him like that. Not the charming, teasing version. Not the man who grinned across my tailgate.
This was Nate stripped down to instinct.
Something about it felt different. Like seeing the inside of someone’s soul through motion. And for the first time, I understood why people followed him, why they called him Captain.
Kenzie nudged me, whispering, “He’s different out there, huh?”
I tried to keep my voice casual. “He’s good.”
“Good?” She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Tessa, that’s like calling the ocean damp.”
When practice ended, the sound of skates scraping the ice and sticks tapping in rhythm filled the air. The guys were all jokes and sweat and adrenaline, tugging off helmets, shoving each other, laughing loudly.
And then Nate looked up.
He didn’t smile; he just found me in the stands, eyes locked, holding mine with a quiet intensity before turning away.
“Come meet the rest of the crew,” he said later, voice rough and low.
The locker hall smelled like soap and sweat. The three men who stepped forward didn’t posture the way I expected; they were calm, grounded, watching me like they already knew who I was.
The first was tall, built with quiet strength.
“Gabe Duarte,” he said, shaking my hand with a firm, deliberate grip. His eyes, deep amber and calm, lingered a moment longer than felt casual. “Good to finally meet you, Tessa.”
Then came a mountain of a man, shoulders broad enough to block the light.
“Misha Petrov,” he said, his thick accent softening his words. He pulled me into a bear hug before I could react. “You are smaller than I thought.”
I blinked up at him. “Excuse me?”
He laughed, the sound huge and warm. “They talk about you like you fight bulls. I thought you’d be… bigger.”
I grinned, nudging him. “I make up for it in attitude.”
He nodded solemnly. “Ah, yes. Small but dangerous. I see why Nate is afraid of you.”
“I’m not afraid of her,” Nate muttered, and Misha laughed louder.
The third man leaned against the wall, all slick dark hair and sinfully green eyes. His smirk could probably start a small war.
“Dante Rinaldi,” he said smoothly. “Center. Trouble, if you ask the wrong person.”
“I’ll make sure to ask the right ones,” I said, matching his smirk.
His grin widened. “Smart and beautiful. No wonder the Captain’s smiling again.”
Nate groaned. “Ignore him. He was dropped on his head as a child.”
“Repeatedly,” Gabe murmured.
“Voluntarily,” Misha added, and the group burst out laughing.
Still, something about it felt strange. The way they looked at me, like they already had opinions formed. Like they’d all been briefed.
Before I could dwell on it, McKenna jogged over, grin boyish, hair damp and sticking up in every direction.
“Hey, Tessa, can I ask you something?” he said. “How come you call everyone else by their first names but not me or Colby?”
I smiled. “Because they introduced themselves by their first names.”
He blinked, paused, then laughed. “Oh. Well… I’m Liam.”
“It suits you, Liam,” I said.
His grin faltered, cheeks pinking up. “Yeah? Cool. Good.”
Before I could say more, Nate’s arm slid lightly around my waist. “Hey, this one’s claimed.”
From behind us, someone coughed something that sounded a lot like by the whole damn team, and Misha choked on his water.
I didn’t ask. I just smiled up at Nate and let it go.
The rhythm of us began quietly, softly.
Mornings at the Carsons’ farm, dirt under my nails, sun on my neck. Maggie and I would plant quick-yield crops for the fall, the air humming with heat and insects.
Sometimes Nate would just appear, boots crunching on gravel, grin slow and easy, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
“You following me, Captain?” I teased once, straightening up.
“Maybe,” he said. “I like having my eyes on you.”
I laughed, pretending my heart didn’t skip a beat. He’d take over whatever I was doing, fixing fencing, hauling feed, hammering posts into the ground like it was nothing.
When I asked if he was trying to impress me, he looked up through his lashes and said, “Is it working?”
It was, and he knew it.
Lunches on the tailgate became a habit. Cold lemonade and sandwiches, sitting so close that my leg was constantly brushing his. The quiet between us never felt empty; it felt safe.
“You always this quiet?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Not when I’ve got something to say.”
“And right now?”
He looked at me for a long moment. “Right now, I’m just enjoying this. Like I can just be here with you and it’s enough.”
The words hit low in my stomach and lingered there long after.
Evenings at the lake blurred soft and golden.
The guys raced into the water, yelling, shoving, laughing like kids.
Kenzie would sunbathe on the dock, pretending to read.
I’d sit with my feet in the shallows, trying and failing to pretend I wasn't watching Nate. He’d dive under, surface, grin at me with water dripping down his chest. Once, he climbed up between my legs on the dock, all warmth and mischief, droplets sliding from his hair down my thighs.
“You’re burning,” he murmured, thumb brushing over my shoulder where the sun had kissed me red.
“Maybe I like it hot,” I whispered.
He tilted his head, eyes dark. “You don’t say.”
Later that night, I found a bottle of aloe on my porch and a note that read: In case you need to cool down.
Sometimes, he’d show up mid-day. Tailgate down. Takeout spread out. Like he’d been waiting for me to look up.
“How do you always know where I am?” I asked once.
“Turned on location sharing,” he said easily.
I stared at him. “You’re serious?”
He just smirked. “I like knowing you’re safe.”
And that was it. Just that. No games. No grand gesture.
Just a man who wanted to make sure I came home every night.
And I think that’s when I started to really fall.
At night, we’d talk until one of us fell asleep mid-sentence.
Sometimes it was light, full of teasing and laughter.
Sometimes it was quiet, with shared breaths, dreams, moments, and stillness.
Once, he said, “You feel like home, Tessa.”
And I didn’t know what to do with that, so I whispered, “Goodnight, Nate,” and let his words sit between us like a promise.
The days slipped by in colour and heat, sunburns and ice drills, dirt and lake water, laughter and quiet that felt peaceful. And with each one, I felt myself pulled deeper.
When he kissed me, really kissed me, slow and certain, hands in my hair like he was memorizing the shape of me, I forgot to breathe. Forgot every reason why this might be temporary. All I knew was the warmth of his mouth and the ache of wanting it again.
The way his finger would find my belt loop when he wanted to pull me close. How he loved to pull my hair loose from my braid at the end of a long day. How the quiet moments with him never felt empty, they felt full.
Now, sitting on my porch swing, with rose coloured glasses, I think about all the little moments that led here.
The way his laughter sounds like my happy place.
The way my name sounds different from his mouth.
The way he looks at me like I’m something found.
The way our kisses all seem to mean something different, and yet all point to the same thing.
How soon is too soon to think you’re in love?
Because if this isn’t it...
Then I don’t know what else could be.