Chapter Five – Tessa
Tessa slipped her purse over her aching shoulder. One shift down. One promise kept. She had handled the lunch rush like a professional, and that was something to be proud of. Even if every muscle in her body seemed to be protesting.
Not that she blamed every ache on the restaurant shift. A fair few of them were probably from supporting Rachel on the hike back down the trail this morning.
What she needed was a long soak in a hot bath.
“Thanks for everything,” she said to Jenny, keeping her voice light as they both headed for the exit. “You were a lifesaver today.”
Jenny smiled, pulling on her coat. “Any time. You’re a quick study. See you tomorrow!”
Tomorrow. The word settled in Tessa’s chest with unexpected weight. She pushed it away, focusing instead on getting back to Rachel’s, checking her ankle, and helping with the girls. Normal things. Safe things.
But safe and normal were the last things on her mind when Matt appeared in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen just as she was reaching for the door.
He had a kind of primal energy that made her want to abandon normal and safe. But that wasn’t her.
Maybe that was it. What she felt was animal attraction, pure and simple. She was a woman whose biological clock was ticking away, and he was a man in his prime. Virile.
No, don’t think those thoughts while you still have to look him in the eye, Tessa warned herself.
Too late, heat crept across her cheeks as she looked up at him.
“Heading out?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
“Yes,” Tessa replied, aiming for the same professional tone. “Thanks for being so patient with me today.”
“You did well.” His eyes held hers for a moment. “We’re lucky Rachel has such capable friends.”
“Just doing what anyone would do,” she said with a small shrug.
This was the moment to leave—a clean, professional goodbye that would close the door on whatever strange intensity had been building between them all day. She even took a step toward the exit, her hand on the cool metal of the door handle.
But then Matt was moving, reaching for something on the counter behind him.
“Wait,” he said. “I packed some food for you to take back. For Rachel and the girls. And you, of course.”
He held out a large paper bag that smelled heavenly, his movements slightly awkward, as if he wasn’t used to such gestures. The contrast between his confident kitchen presence and this hesitant offering made something in Tessa’s chest squeeze tight.
“That’s... really thoughtful,” she said, taking the bag. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, and the brief contact sent a current up her arm. Not for the first time today, it was as if sparks flew between them. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture so endearingly uncomfortable that Tessa couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. “Just some of the chicken parmesan from the lunch menu. And garlic bread. And a little of the chocolate cake that was left.”
Tessa met his eyes again, intending just a quick glance of gratitude, but the moment caught and held. Something passed between them—something she couldn’t name but could definitely feel, like the air before a storm.
“Well,” she said finally, her voice rougher than she’d intended. “I should get going. Rachel will be wondering where I am.”
Matt nodded, taking a step back. “Of course. Drive safe.”
The door closed behind her with a gentle chime, and Tessa walked to the borrowed vehicle on unsteady legs, the weight of the food bag in her hands anchoring her to reality.
Inside the car, the quiet seemed to rush in on her.
After hours of restaurant noise—the clatter of dishes, the hum of conversation, the sizzle from the kitchen—the sudden silence felt almost oppressive.
She set the bag of food carefully on the passenger seat, then just sat for a moment, hands on the steering wheel, gathering herself.What a day!
She started the engine and drove away from the restaurant. By tomorrow, she’d be completely in control of her emotions.
Tessa drove to Rachel’s with the windows down, letting the mountain air wash over her, hoping it would clear her head.
It didn’t.
The scent of the food beside her kept pulling her thoughts back to the restaurant—to Matt’s kitchen, his hands carefully packaging these dishes, his thoughtfulness in sending enough for all of them.
Her mind replayed moments from the day in vivid detail: the way he’d moved through the kitchen with such easy confidence, how he’d added that dollop of whipped cream to her cracker face for the little boy, the intensity in his eyes when they’d met hers across the dining room.
“It’s just adrenaline,” she told herself aloud, her voice almost lost in the rush of air through the open window. “New place, new people, high-pressure situation.”
But that didn’t explain the way her skin had tingled when he was near, or how she’d somehow always known exactly where he was in the restaurant without looking.
“Gratitude, then,” she argued with herself. “He was kind. He was helpful. That’s all.”
The road curved sharply, and she gripped the steering wheel tighter, forcing her attention back to the drive.
“There’s nothing mystical about it,” she continued her self-lecture. “You met a nice guy who happens to be attractive. It happens.”
Except the pull wouldn’t let go. Even now, a mile from the restaurant, she could feel it—a gentle tug beneath her ribs, as if an invisible thread connected her to something back in Bear Creek. To someone.
The thought left her annoyed with herself. She’d come here to help Rachel, to work on her illustrations, to clear her head. Not to get tangled up in... whatever this was.
By the time she pulled into Rachel’s driveway, Tessa had almost convinced herself that tomorrow would be different. The novelty would wear off. The strange intensity would fade. She would do her job, help her friend, and focus on her real work.
Almost.
Rachel’s face lit up when Tessa walked in with the bag of food. “Please tell me that smells like Matt Thornberg’s chicken parmesan,” she said from her position on the sofa, her ankle propped on a pillow.
“It does,” Tessa confirmed, setting the bag on the coffee table. “How are you feeling?”
Just like that, she slid into caretaker mode—checking Rachel’s ankle (still swollen, but the bruising had faded from angry purple to a mottled blue-green), sorting the containers of food in the kitchen, wiping down already-clean counters, and making sure the girls were settled with their coloring books at the dining table.
It was automatic, this role. Comfortable in the way old habits were comfortable—proof she could be useful, proof she belonged. She’d been taking care of others for so long that the motions felt like muscle memory.
“The swelling’s going down,” she told Rachel as she returned from the kitchen with an ice pack. “But you should keep it elevated.”
Rachel nodded, accepting the ice pack with a grateful smile. “How was the restaurant? Was Matt nice to you?”
The question caught Tessa off guard, and she busied herself adjusting the pillow under Rachel’s foot to hide the heat she could feel rising to her cheeks. “Everyone was nice,” she said, aiming for casual. “Jenny was really helpful.”
“And Matt?” Rachel pressed, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Tessa glanced up to find Rachel watching her with curious eyes. “He was... professional,” she said finally. “Ran a tight ship in the kitchen.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Rachel hummed, clearly unconvinced by Tessa’s attempt at nonchalance.
Tessa escaped to the kitchen to heat the food, grateful for the distraction.
As she moved between the microwave and counter, setting the table and preparing drinks, she found herself pausing occasionally, listening.
Not for anything specific—just... listening.
As if she might hear the echo of the restaurant, the rhythm of service, the low rumble of Matt’s voice giving directions to his staff.
And beneath that, an undercurrent of anticipation that she couldn’t quite suppress—a quiet, insistent whisper that tomorrow would bring her back to that kitchen, back to those dark eyes that seemed to see something in her she hadn’t known was visible.
She hated how much she wanted tomorrow to come.
Dinner was a welcome distraction. The food was delicious; the flavors were deep and rich. The girls ate with enthusiasm, their faces lighting up at the chocolate cake that Matt had included.
“Can we start on the fairy garden later?” Aria asked between bites, her eyes hopeful. “We found the perfect spot by the big tree in the backyard.”
Tessa opened her mouth to agree—she’d promised, after all—but Rachel cut in gently.
“Maybe in the morning, sweetie. Tessa’s had a long day, and she’ll be working another shift tomorrow. She needs to rest.”
Tessa’s protest died on her lips as she registered the deep ache in her calves, the tightness across her shoulders. Rachel was right. She was tired, more tired than she’d realized.
“I’m sorry, girls,” she said, hating the disappointment on their small faces. “But your mom’s right. I’m pretty worn out.”
To her surprise, both girls nodded without argument. Lucy even slid from her chair and came to wrap small arms around Tessa’s waist in a gentle hug.
“It’s okay,” she said solemnly. “You helped Mommy down from the mountain and made us sandwiches.”
Aria joined the hug from the other side. “We can wait.”
The simple acceptance, the uncomplicated affection, made Tessa’s throat tighten unexpectedly. She hugged them back, breathing in the sweet scent of their shampoo, wishing she might one day have children of her own.
After dinner, the familiar routine took over—Tessa washing dishes while Rachel supervised the girls’ bedtime preparations from the sofa, then Tessa helping each girl brush her teeth, reading stories, and tucking them in with gentle kisses to their foreheads.
When she returned to the living room, Rachel was waiting with two glasses of wine and a knowing look.
“So,” she said, handing Tessa a glass as she settled onto the opposite end of the sofa. “Are you going to tell me what happened at the restaurant?”
Tessa took a sip of wine, buying time. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, Tess. I’ve known you for years. Something’s got you all...” Rachel waved her hand vaguely. “Distracted. Flushed. Like your mind is somewhere else.”
Was it that obvious? Tessa brought her hand to her cheek, feeling the warmth there, and glanced away. “I’m just tired,” she insisted. “It was a long shift.”
Rachel’s expression softened. “Okay,” she said, clearly not believing it but willing to let it go. “Thank you again for doing this. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“That’s what friends are for,” Tessa replied automatically, the familiar phrase rolling off her tongue with practiced ease.
Later, after helping Rachel to bed and making sure she had water and pain relievers within reach, Tessa finally retreated to the guest room.
The house settled around her, creaking softly as the mountain air cooled around it.
Through the window, she could see stars scattered across the dark sky like spilled salt—so many more than were visible in the city.
She pulled out her sketchbook and settled cross-legged on the bed.
This was why she’d really come to Bear Creek—not just to visit Rachel, but to work on her next project, which was so close to her heart.
A series of gentle, illustrative resources for caregivers and people navigating life changes.
Something useful, something that might help others find their way through difficult transitions.
Something Tessa was an expert at.
Her pencil moved across the paper, sketching a figure on the page.
The soft lead of her pencil traced light, flowing lines that captured the essence of gentle support—hands reaching out, not to take but to hold, to steady.
She added a slight curve to the shoulders, a sense of quiet strength in the stance.
It was exactly the feeling she wanted to convey: safety without smothering, support without dependence.
The drawings flowed from her pencil with unusual ease. Sometimes her work felt like a struggle, each line requiring deliberate thought. But tonight, the images seemed to pour directly from her mind to the page, as if the day had somehow unlocked something inside her.
She turned to a fresh page, intending to sketch a companion piece—perhaps something about finding moments of rest within caregiving. Her pencil hovered over the blank paper for just a moment before beginning to move.
But what emerged wasn’t what she’d planned at all.
Instead, her hand seemed to have a mind of its own, tracing the outline of broad shoulders, a straight spine, a particular way of standing—slightly turned, as if listening while doing something else.
She added details without conscious thought: the set of the jaw beneath a neatly trimmed beard, the focused intensity of the stance, the way the head tilted slightly when concentrating.
It was Matt. Standing in the kitchen doorway, watching the dining room with that quiet attentiveness that had made her so aware of him all day.
Tessa stared at the sketch, frozen, her pencil suspended above the page.
The likeness was unmistakable—she’d captured something essential about him, some quality that went beyond mere physical appearance.
The quiet strength, the attentiveness, the way he seemed to effortlessly command the space around him.
How had Matt Thornberg managed to get so firmly under her skin in a single day? She barely knew him, yet here he was, appearing in her art unbidden. Heat crept up her neck as she stared at the sketch, embarrassment mingling with something deeper, more unsettling.
Tessa snapped the sketchbook closed with such force that she startled herself. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room, and she held her breath, listening for any sign that she’d disturbed Rachel or the girls. Only silence answered her.
She set the sketchbook on the nightstand as if it might burn her and pressed her palms against her eyes. This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, not some teenager with a crush. And yet...
The memory of Matt’s eyes meeting hers across the restaurant flooded back with startling clarity. That moment of connection had felt like recognition. Like he’d seen something in her that no one else could see.
“Stop it,” she whispered to herself, dropping her hands to her lap. “This isn’t why you’re here.”
She was here for Rachel. To help her friend keep her job while she recovered. To give her the support she needed, just as Rachel had supported her after Mom’s death. She was not here to fall for Matt Thornberg.
But she suspected she already had.