5. Tessa
TESSA
By mid-afternoon, I’m sweaty, tired, and dangerously close to losing my patience. The truck is still half full. The bookstore is still half a disaster. And I’m starting to think the slope of this street might actually be trying to kill me.
“Just a few more,” I mutter, climbing into the back of the truck again.
I grab a box, then another, stacking them carefully in my arms before stepping back down to the pavement. The incline is subtle. Too subtle. I didn’t think much of it when I parked. Now I’m thinking about it a lot. I shift my grip and step away from the truck—
And then I hear it. A soft click. Followed by movement. I turn just in time to see the truck roll. Slow at first. Then faster.
“Are you—are you kidding me?”
The boxes slip from my arms as I lunge forward, instinct taking over. I reach for the door handle, trying to grab hold, to stop it—
It doesn’t budge. The truck keeps moving. Toward me.
“Stop—!”
My foot slips slightly on the pavement as I try to get leverage. Panic spikes sharp and immediate—
And then something slams into the truck. Hard. The vehicle jerks, lurches—
Stops.
I stagger back, heart pounding, breath coming fast. Archer stands at the front of the truck, one hand braced against the hood, his entire body rigid with the effort. For a second, neither of us speaks. Then he shoves the truck fully into place and rounds on me.
“What were you thinking?” he snaps.
I blink, still catching my breath. “I—what?”
“That thing could’ve hit you.”
“I noticed!”
“Then why didn’t you set the brake?”
“I did!”
“Clearly not well enough.”
“Excuse me?” My irritation flares, cutting through the adrenaline. “Maybe the problem is your hill.”
“My hill?” he repeats, incredulous.
“Yes, your hill!”
He stares at me for a second like he can’t decide whether to be angry or something else entirely. Then he shakes his head sharply.
“Pop the hood.”
“What?”
“The hood,” he repeats. “Now.”
I hesitate, then move to do it, lifting it open. He leans in immediately, inspecting something near the engine with focused intensity.
“Brake line’s worn,” he mutters. “Shouldn’t have held in the first place.”
“So it’s not my fault.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“I implied you should check things like this before trusting them on an incline.”
I cross my arms. “I just drove this thing across two states. It was fine.”
“It’s not fine now.”
“Clearly.”
He shoots me a look. I shoot one right back. For a moment, the tension between us crackles, sharp and undeniable. Then he exhales roughly and goes back to work.
“I’ll fix it,” he says.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“No, but you need it.”
“I can call someone—”
“You don’t have signal,” he cuts in.
I stop.
“…how do you know that?”
He doesn’t answer. Just keeps working. That should bother me more than it does. Instead, I watch him. The way he moves—precise, efficient. Like every motion is deliberate, controlled. There’s no hesitation, no wasted effort.
It’s… impressive. Annoying. But impressive.
“You do this for everyone?” I ask after a minute.
“No.”
“Lucky me, then.”
When he finally steps back, wiping his hands on a rag, the truck looks exactly the same. But somehow, I know it’s different.
“Try it now,” he says.
I climb into the driver’s seat, press the brake, shift gears slightly. It holds. Solid.
I exhale. “Okay. That’s… good.”
“Don’t park it without checking again,” he says. “Especially here.”
“I will.”
A pause.
“Thank you,” I add, quieter this time.
He looks at me. Really looks. And for a second, everything else falls away. There’s something in his gaze—something intense and unreadable that sends a strange, unexpected heat curling low in my chest. I swallow.
“Still think I shouldn’t be in the building?” I ask lightly.
“Yes.”
“Good to know you’re consistent.”
His mouth tightens, like he’s holding back a response. Or something else. Then he steps back.
“Be careful, Tessa.”
The way he says my name—
It lingers.
He turns and walks away before I can respond. I watch him go, something unsettled and unfamiliar stirring beneath my ribs. And when I glance around, I realize—
We’re not alone. A few people stand further down the street, watching. Not openly. Not obviously. But enough. And the looks on their faces—
Knowing. Like they saw something I didn’t. I shift, suddenly aware of the space around me in a different way.
“Okay…” I murmur.
Because whatever just happened—
It didn’t go unnoticed. And I have a feeling…
It matters more than I understand yet.
I don’t go back inside right away. The air feels different now. Charged. Like something shifted during that argument—something I don’t fully understand but can’t ignore either.
I watch the space where Archer disappeared. He didn’t look back. Didn’t hesitate. Just… left. Again.
“That seems to be his thing,” I mutter.
Show up. Take over. Disappear. No explanations. No real conversation.
And somehow, that’s more frustrating than if he’d just stayed and argued with me longer.
I exhale slowly, pushing away from the truck and turning my attention back to the street.
The people who were watching are gone now. Or at least, they’re pretending to be. A curtain shifts in one of the nearby windows. A door closes a little too quickly further down the block. Subtle. But not invisible.
“They’re definitely watching,” I say.
The question is—
Why? Because I’m new? Because I almost got run over by my own moving truck? Or because of him?
My gaze drifts to the garage. Closed now. Dark. Like earlier. Like he was never there at all.
I shake my head, trying to clear the lingering tension from my thoughts.
“You’re overthinking it,” I tell myself.
Probably true. Still doesn’t explain the looks. Or the way the air felt when he said my name. I push that thought aside immediately. Nope. Not going there.
I’ve been here less than forty-eight hours. The last thing I need is to start reading into… whatever that was.
Focus.
I climb into the back again and grab another box. The familiar weight steadies me, gives me something concrete to focus on. Work. That’s what I understand. That’s what I can control.
I carry the box inside, setting it down with the others before pausing just inside the doorway. The bookstore feels slightly less hostile than it did yesterday. Still damaged. Still overwhelming. But not impossible. Not anymore.
I glance toward the repaired shelf again. Solid. Reliable. A quiet reminder that progress can happen faster than expected. Even if it comes from unexpected places.
I move further inside, setting to work again with a little more purpose this time. Each book placed, each box unpacked—it adds up. Slowly, but steadily. Something is taking shape here.
Not finished. Not even close. But real.
Outside, the last light of the day fades, the sky darkening beyond the dusty windows. The town settles into that same heavy quiet I noticed the night before. But this time, it doesn’t feel quite as isolating. Because now I know—
I’m not as alone here as I thought. Even if I don’t understand what that means yet.