Page 24 of Max Bannon

So when I saw her Jeep parked outside the school that Thursday afternoon, something inside me just broke.

I grabbed my phone. I sent her a text.

Want to get dinner tonight?

The Mexican place in town. Seven? My treat.

I stared at the message for a solid minute before hitting send.

Three minutes later, the dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then came back.

I held my breath.

Tessa:

Okay. See you at seven.

Max

I pulled up to the curb outside her cabin and saw the porch light flick on. The door opened slowly, and Tessa stepped out, her long hair swept up in a loose twist, strands escaping and catching in the breeze. She wore a simple sundress, nothing flashy, but it still made my breath catch.

She gave me a small smile as I approached her cabin, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Evening,” I said, stepping out to open the door for her. “Hope you’re hungry. Their carnitas are life-changing.”

“Sounds good,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat. Her voice was softer than usual, guarded.

Something was off. It had been off for a while now. Ever since that day outside the lodge when Frasier and I were talking. The same day she started keeping me at arm’s length.

I didn’t bring it up. Just kept the conversation light on the drive down the mountain, pointing out the place with the goat that always escaped, teasing her about how Junior Duval still thought Windex cured everything. I even got a quiet laugh out of her when I told her about the time one of the SEALs tried to climb a tree to rescue a cat and got stuck himself.

But the more I talked, the more I noticed how quiet she stayed. Not cold, just... careful. Like she was waiting for something. Watching me out of the corner of her eye.

It wasn’t until we pulled into the parking lot of La Esquina Roja that I felt it. That shift. A loosening in her shoulders, a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Like she finally let herself sink into the moment.

That’s when I realized it wasn’t dinner she’d been uncertain about. It was me.

Inside, the warm scent of grilled onions and cumin wrapped around us, and the hostess led us to a booth by the window. I let her slide in first and tried not to overthink the way she angled herself just slightly, like she wasn’t quite sure she should be here.

“Do you always get nervous around tacos, or is it just my company?” I asked, trying for a grin.

That earned a smirk. “I just didn’t know if you were the kind of guy who talked during meals or stared at his phone the whole time.”

“Not much of a phone guy,” I said. “Unless someone’s bleeding or setting something on fire, I try to stay present.”

She nodded, her gaze lingering on me for a second longer than before.

I didn’t press. I didn’t ask what had shifted between us or why she seemed so distant now. But I saw the way she was trying to lower the walls she’d put up. Brick by careful brick.

And I had no idea what I'd done to make her build them in the first place.

The waiter droppedoff a basket of chips and two glasses of water. Tessa reached for a chip, broke it in half, then set both pieces back down like she’d changed her mind.

I leaned forward. “You know, it’s physically impossible to sit at this table and not eat the chips. It’s against the laws of the mountain.”

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