Chapter Three — Tessa
Chapter Three
Tessa
Rhett Callahan arrived at six twenty-three.
I knew because I checked the clock twice.
Not because I cared whether he was late.
Because lateness mattered.
Especially when the person responsible for destroying six weeks of planning had promised to help rebuild it.
He pushed through the arena hospitality entrance carrying two cardboard trays of coffee and a brown paper bag tucked beneath one arm.
His hair was still damp.
His sweatshirt said LAKEVIEW HOCKEY across the chest.
And he looked offensively awake.
“You’re early,” I said.
He stopped.
“You sound disappointed.”
“I’m adjusting expectations.”
“Upward?”
“Temporarily.”
He held out one of the coffees.
I looked at it.
Then at him.
“I told you not to show up with coffee and a smile.”
“That was Paige.”
“She was right.”
“She usually is.”
The fact that he admitted that without argument surprised me.
I took the cup anyway.
Mostly because the label read:
Oat milk latte. Extra hot. No syrup.
Exactly right.
I narrowed my eyes.
“How did you know my order?”
“Research.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“I asked Paige.”
“That is slightly less alarming.”
He handed me the paper bag.
“What’s this?”
“Breakfast.”
“I already ate.”
“You had half a granola bar while walking across campus.”
I stared at him.
He lifted both hands.
“Paige again.”
“She talks too much.”
“She cares about you.”
“That doesn’t mean she gets to provide intelligence briefings.”
He smiled.
Not the full one.
The dangerous one.
The quieter version that made him look less like Lakeview’s favorite campus disaster and more like someone paying attention.
I opened the bag.
Inside was a blueberry muffin.
My favorite.
Of course it was.
“I don’t accept bribes.”
“It’s not a bribe.”
“What is it?”
“A peace offering.”
“You caused a fire.”
“A breakfast-related incident.”
“You flooded the student union.”
“Technically, the sprinklers did that.”
I gave him a look.
He nodded.
“Right. Fire.”
I set the bag on the nearest table.
The athletics hospitality suite was twice the size of the student union kitchen and three times as expensive-looking. Stainless-steel counters. Wide serving stations. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rink.
The Lakeview logo was embedded into everything.
The chairs.
The napkins.
Possibly the oxygen.
Rhett looked around.
“You’ve been busy.”
“I’ve been here since five forty-five.”
His expression changed.
“You said six-thirty.”
“I needed time before you arrived.”
“To prepare?”
“To hide the expensive equipment.”
He laughed.
I hated that I liked the sound.
“I’m serious,” I said.
“So am I. That was funny.”
I handed him a clipboard.
He looked down at it.
Then back at me.
“What am I looking at?”
“Your assignments.”
“Plural?”
“You offered to help.”
“I didn’t realize help had departments.”
“You have setup, supply inventory, table relocation, signage, cleanup, and volunteer coordination.”
He flipped the first page.
“This is color-coded.”
“Yes.”
“There are symbols.”
“Yes.”
“Is that a key?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me with something close to admiration.
“This is terrifying.”
“It’s organized.”
“It’s military.”
“Just follow it.”
“I like when you get bossy.”
I folded my arms.
His expression remained innocent.
Which was impressive, considering there was nothing innocent about the sentence.
“Coach told you not to flirt with me.”
“He told me not to distract you.”
“Same thing.”
“Not necessarily.”
“With you, yes.”
His mouth twitched.
I pointed toward the stack of folded tables along the wall.
“Start there.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am.”
“Yes, Tessa.”
That was worse.
He knew it.
I knew he knew it.
And judging by the satisfaction in his eyes, he knew I knew he knew it.
This was going to be a very long morning.
Rhett set down the coffee trays and crossed to the tables.
He lifted two at once.
Which was unnecessary.
He could have carried one.
A normal person would have carried one.
But Rhett apparently believed every task was an opportunity to demonstrate that hockey players had shoulders.
I looked away.
Immediately.
Mostly.
“Where do these go?”
“Against the east wall.”
“Which one is east?”
I pointed.
He followed my hand.
“Right. The wall with the giant windows.”
“The sun rises in the east.”
“I play indoor sports.”
“That’s not how directions work.”
“Agree to disagree.”
I picked up my schedule.
Behind me, metal legs snapped open.
One table.
Then another.
Then a crash.
I turned.
Rhett stood very still beside a collapsed table.
“I didn’t touch that.”
“You’re holding it.”
“I was trying to help it.”
“The table?”
“It looked unstable.”
“It was folded.”
“Exactly.”
I closed my eyes.
Counted to three.
Opened them again.
He had fixed it.
Quickly.
Without making a joke.
That was almost more unsettling than the flirting.
“See?” he said. “Growth.”
“Minimal.”
“But measurable.”
The hospitality doors swung open.
Three hockey players walked in.
The first was tall, broad, and carrying a box of extension cords.
The second had a backwards cap and the kind of grin that announced incoming trouble.
The third held six breakfast sandwiches.
Rhett looked at them.
Then at me.
“I didn’t invite them.”
Backwards Cap lifted one hand.
“Coach did.”
The broad one set down the box.
“Community restitution.”
The third held up the sandwiches.
“Also breakfast.”
Rhett glanced at me.
“See? Team support.”
“Your team caused the problem.”
“Collectively?”
“You represent them badly.”
Backwards Cap grinned.
“I like her.”
“You don’t know her,” Rhett said.
“Still.”
I stepped forward.
“Tessa Monroe. Event coordinator.”
“Eli Brooks,” the broad one said.
“Cam Dorsey,” Backwards Cap added.
The third nodded. “Noah Price.”
I recognized all three names.
Not because I followed hockey.
Because Paige did.
And because Lakeview State put hockey players on banners large enough to be seen from orbit.
Cam looked around.
“So what are we doing?”
I handed him a stack of printed assignments.
His smile faded.
“Oh.”
Rhett leaned toward him.
“She has departments.”
“Of course she does.”
“Symbols too.”
Cam flipped the page.
“What’s the triangle?”
“Electrical access,” I said.
“The circle?”
“Food service.”
“The star?”
“Priority.”
Noah looked over his shoulder.
“What’s the skull?”
I met Rhett’s eyes.
“Callahan.”
The room went silent.
Then all three of them laughed.
Rhett pressed a hand to his chest.
“I’m being bullied in a university facility.”
“You’re being categorized.”
“Under hazard?”
“Accurately.”
He smiled at me.
Again.
But this time something else passed through it.
Approval.
Interest.
Maybe both.
I turned away first.
For the next hour, the suite became controlled chaos.
Tables moved.
Signs went up.
Extension cords got taped down.
Food stations were measured and remeasured.
The hockey players complained constantly.
They also worked.
Actually worked.
Eli carried anything heavy before I could ask.
Noah repaired one of the broken display frames with athletic tape and what looked like a skate tool.
Cam charmed two facilities employees into loaning us extra chairs.
And Rhett—
Rhett followed the list.
Mostly.
He still asked questions designed to irritate me.
He still stood too close whenever he needed clarification.
He still smiled every time I corrected him.
But he noticed things.
A crooked sign.
A missing box.
The fact that Paige’s volunteer spreadsheet had the wrong room number.
He caught problems before they became larger ones.
Which was inconvenient.
I preferred him incompetent.
Competence made people harder to dismiss.
By eight fifteen, half the setup was complete.
Paige arrived carrying more posters and stopped in the doorway.
She looked around.
Then at me.
Then at Rhett, who was standing on a chair attaching silver streamers to the wall.
“He’s useful?”
“Occasionally.”
Rhett glanced down.
“She means constantly.”
“I don’t.”
“She’s shy about praise.”
“I’m not shy.”
“See?”
Paige smiled at me.
I ignored her.
Rhett reached higher.
The chair shifted.
My stomach dropped.
“Careful.”
The word came out too fast.
His gaze snapped to mine.
For one second, neither of us moved.
Then he stepped down.
Slowly.
Safely.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“I know.”
“You sounded worried.”
“I was worried about the chair.”
“It’s university property.”
“Exactly.”
He came closer.
Not close enough to be inappropriate.
Just close enough to make me notice the faint scent of soap and coffee.
“You care about furniture now?”
“I care about avoiding additional disasters.”
“Good.”
His voice had changed.
Softer.
“You should.”
Before I could answer, Cam called from across the room.
“Callahan, your girlfriend wants to know where the tape is.”
Everything stopped.
Not the room.
Just me.
Rhett turned.
“My what?”
Cam pointed at Paige.
“She said Tessa needed you.”
“That’s not what girlfriend means,” Paige said.
Cam shrugged. “It got his attention.”
Rhett looked back at me.
There was amusement in his eyes.
And something else.
Something curious.
I felt heat climb my neck.
“Do not,” I said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was thinking.”
“That’s rarely helped.”
His smile widened.
Across the room, Cam called, “You two argue like you’re already married.”
“No,” I said immediately.
At the exact same time, Rhett said, “She hasn’t asked.”
The room erupted.
Eli laughed.
Noah choked on coffee.
Paige covered her face.
I stared at Rhett.
He had the decency to look mildly regretful.
For approximately half a second.
Then his grin returned.
I stepped closer.
“Do that again,” I said quietly, “and I’ll put the skull symbol beside every task you’re assigned.”
His eyes dropped briefly to my mouth.
Then lifted again.
“That sounded almost threatening.”
“It was completely threatening.”
“Good.”
“Why is that good?”
“Because you’re cute when you’re mad.”
I took a breath.
A careful one.
“You flirt when you’re nervous.”
His smile faltered.
Barely.
But I saw it.
That was new.
“What makes you think I’m nervous?”
“You joke whenever something gets too real.”
His eyes held mine.
The room blurred around us.
Not dramatically.
Not romantically.
Just enough that I became aware of how close we were.
And how quiet he had gone.
Then Cam yelled, “We found more tape!”
Rhett stepped back.
The moment disappeared.
He shoved both hands into his pockets.
“You think you’ve figured me out?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I think I’ve identified a pattern.”
“That sounds worse.”
“It usually is.”
He nodded slowly.
Then glanced toward the others.
“Speaking of patterns, you know half the campus is going to hear about that girlfriend comment by lunch.”
“I don’t care.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He watched me.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You answered too fast.”
I picked up the clipboard.
“Go hang the banners.”
“Yes, boss.”
“And Callahan?”
He turned.
“No more jokes about us being together.”
His expression shifted again.
Not disappointed.
Not exactly.
“Understood.”
He walked away.
I looked down at the schedule.
The words blurred.
Because the problem was not the joke.
The problem was that for one strange, humiliating second—
I had imagined it.
Not dating him.
That would have been ridiculous.
But standing beside him.
Laughing.
Being looked at the way he had looked at me just now.
Like I was not immune.
Like he was not either.
I tightened my grip on the clipboard.
This weekend was supposed to be about repairing an event.
Not testing my judgment.
And definitely not discovering that Rhett Callahan might be more dangerous when he stopped smiling.