Page 21 of Rescue in Misty Mountain

I glare at him. “Shut up.”

Jesse drains the last of his beer and pushes to his feet. “Come to poker night. You can lose to me and pretend you’re still aloof and mysterious.”

“I’m not mysterious.”

“Then come prove it.”

I don’t answer, and he doesn’t push. He just claps me on the shoulder on his way out.

The cabin door clicks shut behind him.

I’m alone again.

But it doesn’t feel like it used to.

I glance at the couch. Whiskey’s sprawled in a tight, smug circle on the flannel. The one that smells like me.

He cracks one eye, judging.

I shake my head and head outside, needing air.

The night is crisp. Quiet. The kind that hums just beneath the surface, like the woods themselves are holding their breath. I walk the edge of the tree line. Past the fence. Down to the pond.

And she’s there.

Tessa.

Sitting on the bench beside the old willow, arms wrapped around her knees, a blanket draped across her shoulders. Her hair is down, loose and wild, and she’s wearing my sweatshirt like it belongs to her.

Something in my chest pulls tight.

She looks up as I approach. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t smile either. Just watches me like she’s been expecting me.

“I just got home from work,” she says. “I thought I’d take a moment to catch my breath.”

I nod. “Me too.”

She studies me curiously. “Do you always walk the woods at night?”

“Only when I can’t sleep.”

“Same.”

I sit beside her, not touching but close enough to feel the heat of her body. The stars above are scattered and bold. The pond is still.

“I didn’t do a very good job of thanking you last night,” she says. “Thank you for being there and having my back.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I want to.”

I nod, but don’t speak. I can feel her looking at me, feel the air between us thicken with unsaid things.

“I didn’t mean to kiss you,” she says after a beat.

I glance at her.

She clarifies, softer: “I mean, I did, but... I didn’t plan to do it.”

---