Page 10 of The Miner's Miracle
Her gaze meets mine, and for a moment, the sharp edges between us blur. There’s something in her eyes—hurt, maybe, or hesitation—that makes my chest tighten.
“No,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t have.”
The words shouldn’t sting, but they do. I mask it with a shrug, forcing a smirk back onto my face. “Well, since you’re already here, might as well make the best of it. What do you say?”
Tessa hesitates, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. Finally, she sighs, looking at me with an expression that’s equal parts annoyance and intrigue.
“Fine,” she says. “But if you say one more thing about my rooster, I’m leaving.”
I chuckle, raising my pint in mock surrender. “Deal.”
The conversation shifts after that, moving from sharp barbs to something softer. We talk about the mountain, the work, the way Devil’s Peak changes with every season. Tessa tells me about her greenhouse, her patients, the way she’s trying to build a life here after moving from Breckenridge, a few hours away.
I tell her about the mine, the copper veins that keep me tied to this place, and the friends who’ve become my family.
It’s easy. Easier than I expected.
But the tension doesn’t go away.
Every time her lips curl into a smile, every time her eyes flash with that stubborn spark, it feels like the air between us gets heavier. Like the past few weeks of arguing were just building to this—this strange, charged moment where I can’t tell if I want to strangle her or kiss her.
By the time we leave the bar, the sun has long since set, and the cool mountain air is a welcome relief.
“Thanks for the eggs, by the way, they were delicious,” I say as we step onto the gravel lot.
Tessa glances at me, her expression wary. “You’re welcome, I guess.”
I smirk, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Don’t sound too grateful.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.
For a moment, we stand there in the quiet, the sounds of the bar fading behind us. The tension is still there, crackling like static electricity.
“Tessa,” I say finally, my voice low.
She looks at me, her brows furrowing slightly.
“Why’d you really answer that ad?” I ask, stepping closer.
Her eyes widen, and for a second, I think she’s going to deflect. But then she sighs, her shoulders slumping just slightly.
“Because I’m tired,” she admits, her voice soft. “Tired of trying to figure everything out on my own. Tired of hoping for something that never happens.”
Her words hit me harder than I expect. I take another step closer, closing the distance between us.
“Well,” I say, my voice rough, “you’ve got me now. Like it or not.”
Her gaze meets mine, and there’s something in her expression—something raw and vulnerable—that makes my chest ache.
“I’ll try to like it,” she says, her tone wry but her eyes soft.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“And you’re infuriating,” she shoots back, a small smile tugging at her lips.
We stand there for another moment, the tension between us thick enough to cut.
And then, without thinking, I reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
