Page 7 of Stuffed

It's not much, but it's more than I would have given anyone else. And judging by her response—a simple smiley face—she knows it too.

I toss my phone onto the coffee table, leaning back against the couch with a sigh. The snow is falling harder now, blanketing the city in white, making everything look softer, more forgiving. Maybe she's right. Maybe I don't have to keep everyone at a distance.

The thought settles in the back of my mind, stubborn and insistent. For the first time in years, I feel like there might be something worth changing for. And that terrifies me more than anything.

Because letting people in means being vulnerable. It means risking disappointment, heartbreak, loss. All the things I've spent the last decade building walls against. But watching Tessa tonight, seeing the way she moves through life with such openness, such hope… it makes me wonder if maybe I've been doing it wrong all this time.

Maybe the real risk isn't in letting people in. Maybe it's in keeping them out.

I get up and walk back to the window. The city stretches out below me, a maze of lights and shadows, and somewhere out there is a bakery that opens at seven a.m. Somewhere out there is a woman who looks at me and sees something worth saving.

My phone buzzes again, but I don't check it.

Instead, I pour one last drink, raising it to my reflection in the window. "Here's to taking chances," I murmur.

Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's just the lingering effect of seeing her again after all these years, but as I head to bed, I feel something I haven't felt in a long time: hope.

And even though part of me is still screaming that this is a mistake, that I should stick to what I know—numbers, deals, safe distances—I can't help but think about tomorrow morning. About cinnamon rolls and coffee and the possibility of something more.

Chapter 3

Tessa

The next few weeks pass in a flurry of emotions and bakery preparations. Once Asher’s investment offer came through, it was like dominos falling into place one after the other.

Every time I walk into Sugar & Spice, I'm hit with waves of both pride and anxiety. The walls are freshly painted in a warm cream color that perfectly complements the antique fixtures we've sourced. The display cases arrive tomorrow, and the vintage chandelier Ivy and I discovered at that tiny antique shop is finally hanging—though it took three men and about a dozen near heart attacks to install it.

Everything's coming together exactly as we dreamed during those late-night planning sessions. Well, almost everything. I can't quite get my mind off a certain brooding businessman who seems determined to push everyone away.

"Earth to Tessa," Ivy calls, waving her flour-covered hand in front of my face. "You're doing it again."

I blink, realizing I've been staring at the same wall for the past five minutes. "Doing what?"

"That thing where you zone out with this dreamy look on your face." She smirks knowingly. "Let me guess—tall, dark, and emotionally unavailable?"

"I was thinking about paint colors," I lie, though my cheeks heat up traitorously.

"Uh-huh. And does this paint color happen to have impossibly blue eyes and biceps that could crush a girl's heart?"

I throw a dish towel at her but can't help laughing. "Shut up. I'm just… processing."

"Processing what? The fact that he actually managed a real conversation at the party without spontaneously combusting from human contact?"

I think back to that night, analyzing every word, every microexpression. The way his voice softened when he mentioned remembering me from high school. That flash of vulnerability in his eyes before the walls slammed back up.

"There was something there, Ivy," I say softly, tediously measuring out ingredients for a test batch of scones. While I’m not the baker, Ivy lets me help with the prep… as long as she’s around to supervise. "Something real beneath all that gruffness. I know you think I'm crazy?—"

My phone buzzes, interrupting my analysis. It's Asher, calling about our final business plan review. While we managed to secure the loan ourselves, the down payment took almost every single spare cent we had. Now we have the chance for the Mercers to inject a cash flow into this dream of ours that would set up us for immediate success. My heart leaps into my throat when he mentions Zane will be joining.

"Tomorrow?" I try keeping my voice steady. "Here at the bakery?"

"Is that a problem?" Asher asks, amusement clear in his tone.

"No! No, not at all. We're still kind of… under construction, but?—"

"Tessa," he cuts me off gently. "Breathe. It's just a meeting."

But it's not just a meeting. It's a chance to show Zane what we're building here. To prove that I'm more than just thatcheerleader from high school who used to steal glances at him in the hallway or a charity case his brother wants to throw money at because of his interest in Ivy.

---