11 | Fourth Weekend Never Have I Ever
THEO
I was late.
Not intentionally. A client call had run over, then another issue with the Henderson portfolio that couldn’t wait until Monday, and by the time I looked at my clock it was already eight-fifteen.
Nate’s birthday party started at seven.
I grabbed my keys and headed for the door, still in my work clothes—slacks, white dress shirt, blazer. Corpo Theo. No time to change. No time to go home first.
I hadn’t talked to Tessa all week.
Not since the gym. Not since I’d said too much in the car and then spent the rest of the week trying not to think about the way she’d looked at me when I told her to stop.
We hadn’t even made plans for tonight. Hadn’t coordinated. But it was Nate’s birthday, and everyone would be there, which meant she’d be there, which meant I should be there.
Had to be there.
I pulled into Nate and Hailey’s driveway at eight-thirty. The party was in full swing when I came in. Cole arguing with Ryan about something by the kitchen, Melissa on the couch, Hailey making rounds with a bottle of wine.
And Tessa.
She was sitting in the corner of the living room, curled into the armchair like she was trying to avoid another conversation. Her shoulders were tight. Her smile was polite, not reaching her eyes.
She looked uncomfortable.
Then she saw me, and something in her expression changed for a second. Softened. She smiled at me and I felt it somewhere deep in my chest.
Maybe I didn’t completely blow it last time.
I’d almost closed a major case a few hours earlier, and somehow it didn’t feel like the best thing that had happened today.
I crossed the room toward her, and with every step I tried to solve a problem I had no business having: what to do when I got there. Kiss her. Hug her. Whether that was too much after last weekend. Whether it would make things easier or just make this worse.
By the time I reached her, I still didn’t know.
I stepped closer—close enough that I could have touched her.
I didn’t.
Just stopped in front of her like a fucking idiot.
“Hey,” I said quietly. “How’s the party?”
“Hey.” Her voice was quiet. She looked up at me and then somewhere into the middle distance over my shoulder. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”
“Of course I came.”
“Right.” She nodded, not quite agreeing.
A beat passed. I glanced around the room, suddenly aware I had no idea what to do with my hands.
“So how’s the party?” I asked again.
“Good.” A pause. “Fine.” Another pause, smaller. “I’ve been here for an hour talking to people I see every month about things that happened since the last time I saw them.”
“Sounds riveting.”
“It really is.” Her mouth curved, barely. “You look like you came straight from the office.”
“I did.”
The silence stretched between us—half a beat too long, the kind that wouldn’t have existed a week ago. She turned her beer slowly in both hands, and I watched her do it and couldn’t find a single natural thing to say to the person I’d been talking to easily before.
“You can sit,” she said finally, nodding toward the empty arm of the armchair. “You don’t have to stand there looking like you’re about to present quarterly earnings.”
“I don’t look like—”
“Theo.” She looked up at me. “Just sit down.”
I looked at the chair, at the narrow width of it, and spent approximately two seconds calculating whether I could fit on that armrest without crushing her before giving up and sitting down anyway—a few inches higher than her, which didn’t change the height difference between us all that much.
“I’m sorry,” she said, after a moment. “About last weekend. I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t.”
I didn’t let her finish.
“I pushed it too far.”
“Tessa.”
“I’m just saying—”
“It’s fine.” I kept my voice even. “I blew off some steam on Sunday. I’m good. We are fine.”
Her expression shifted in a way I couldn’t quite read.
“Oh.” She looked down at her hands.
And then I understood what she was thinking, and regretted opening my mouth at all.
“At the gym,” I said. “Weights. Heavy ones.”
A laugh escaped her—soft, surprised—and something in her shoulders loosened all at once, like a knot coming undone.
“Okay.”
“Yeah.”
She exhaled. “Good.”
We sat there for a moment in the noise of the party, both of us looking at the room, that careful inch still between us.
It wasn’t comfortable. Not exactly.
But it was better than nothing.
The party continued around us, people talking and laughing, the kind of easy chaos that came with this group. Melissa appeared with a bottle and a gleam in her eye that meant trouble.
“Okay, people!” she announced. “We’re playing Never Have I Ever.”
Groans came from around the room.
Usually I would have slipped out before a game like this even started. But Tessa was staying, so I stayed too.
We all shifted, found seats, filled glasses. The game started tame—never have I ever been skydiving, never have I ever broken a bone, the usual safe territory.
Then Melissa smiled.
“Never have I ever,” she said slowly, “had my first kiss in a limo before homecoming dance.”
A few people drank. Ryan. Hailey. Someone I didn’t know well.
Tessa didn’t move.
I knew why.
Melissa’s eyes landed on her. “Tessa? Hello?”
“My first kiss wasn’t in a limo,” she said to Melissa, but the corner of her mouth curved just slightly when she looked in my direction.
“Yes it was.” Melissa leaned forward. “I was there, remember? We were all in the back—you and Jake, me and Connor. Before we went to dinner.”
Tessa’s hand found mine under the table and squeezed.
I went still.
Then I turned my hand, lacing our fingers together.
“That wasn’t my first kiss,” she said quietly.
“But—” Melissa looked confused. “Then when—I’m not talking about when you were six or something,” she added.
“Just leave it alone,” she said quietly. “Please.”
Melissa’s eyes narrowed. “I’m talking about a real first kiss. And I know it was in the limo because I was literally sitting right there.”
“You saw a kiss,” Tessa said. “Not my first one.”
Melissa opened her mouth. Closed it.
The room had gone quiet, everyone watching.
“Leave it alone,” I said quietly.
She looked at me. Then at our hands, hidden beneath the table but somehow obvious anyway. Her expression shifted, understanding dawning.
“Oh my god,” she said slowly. “You two—”
“Drop it,” I said. My voice was calm but final.
Melissa stared at us for another long moment, then smiled like she’d just solved a puzzle.
“But you promised me—” she said. “Whatever.”
The game moved on.
I didn’t let go.
Her fingers stayed in mine—warm, steady, like she’d forgotten we were supposed to be pretending.
Like I had too.
I glanced at her. “This okay?” I said quietly.
She followed my gaze.
“Yeah,” she said. A small pause. “We said it should look believable.”
I let go of her hand.
She glanced down at the space where they’d been joined a second ago. Just for a moment. Then my arm slid around her back, my hand settling low against her waist, firm enough that she’d feel it, and whatever she’d been about to say didn’t happen.
She stilled—then leaned into me. Slowly at first. Then fully, like she’d made a decision somewhere in the middle of the movement and didn’t question it after that.
Her shoulder pressed into my chest. Her head tipped just slightly toward me.
“You didn’t text,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t want to make things complicated.”
“I get it.” A beat. “I just… missed it.”
My hand tightened on her side before I could stop it, pulling her a fraction closer.
“I missed it too.”
She didn’t move away.
If anything, she settled more firmly against me, like the conversation had made it easier instead of harder.
And then—
I caught it.
Faint.
Sweet.
Strawberry.
I stilled.
It shouldn’t have meant anything. Just a lip balm. Something small, forgettable.
But it wasn’t.
Because I knew that scent.
????
What do you think the strawberry scent means to Theo—and why did it stop him cold?
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