The next week settled into a strange new normal.
They texted. A lot. Little things, mostly. Memes. Observations. Snarky commentary about corporate jargon and customer quirks.
> Caleb: Just sat through a 90-minute presentation on “synergistic experiential retail environments.”
> Tessa: that’s not a thing.
> Caleb: I know that. The PowerPoint did not.
> Tessa: I live in a synergistic experiential retail environment. it smells like Cinnabon and despair.
> Caleb: Sounds about right.
Sometimes, the texts were softer.
> Tessa: my mom’s scan came back clean.
> Caleb: That’s incredible.
> Caleb: I’m so happy for you. For her.
> Tessa: she celebrated by buying a new bingo dauber. purple. big day.
> Caleb: Please tell her I said congratulations on both counts.
They still saw each other for designated “events”—a charity luncheon Elise dragged them to, a board meeting dinner where Tessa’s presence as Caleb’s fiancée conveniently softened the image of “ruthless landlord.”
Each time, they played their parts.
Smile. Touch. Shared glances. In-jokes.
And each time, there were moments where the act felt less like an act and more like… reflex.
Like when he automatically reached for her hand in a crowded lobby, guiding her through without breaking conversation.
Or when she adjusted his crooked tie before a photo, fingers lingering a second too long at his throat.
Or when he, without thinking, brushed a crumb from the corner of her mouth, his thumb feeling more intimate than a kiss.
The boundaries they’d redrawn held—for the most part.
No more falling asleep on couches. No unsolicited visits in the middle of the night.
But the emotional closeness—the constant, low-key checking in, the little glimpses into each other’s lives—grew roots.
One Wednesday, during a slow hour, Tessa leaned against the back counter scrolling through her phone.
News headline: *Wardstone Announces New Community Initiative: Affordable Housing Partnership.*
She clicked, curious.
There, in the article, was a photo from a press conference she hadn’t known he’d had that morning. Caleb at a podium, sleeves rolled up, no tie, speaking into microphones.
She skimmed the quotes.
“…we’ve benefited from this city for decades. It’s past time we invested in ways that don’t just return profit to shareholders, but… dignity to residents.”
Her chest warmed.
She shot off a text.
> Tessa: look at you, being a good capitalist.
> Caleb: I prefer “reforming capitalist.”
> Tessa: next you’ll tell me you’re unionizing the mall cops.
> Caleb: One revolution at a time.
> Tessa: proud of you.
His reply took a minute.
> Caleb: That means more than it probably should.
She smiled at the glass case she was polishing.
“Why are you grinning at the diamond tennis bracelets?” Leah asked, appearing at her elbow. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“Just… reading about rent,” Tessa said quickly, tucking her phone away.
Leah narrowed her eyes. “Rent makes no one smile. You’re terrible at lying to me.”
Tessa stuck her tongue out. “You love me.”
“Unfortunately for both of us,” Leah said.
Yet, for all the small, good moments, the underlying tension didn’t dissipate. It… simmered.
Every time they got through an event without crossing a physical line, Tessa felt both relieved and oddly… dissatisfied.
Her body and heart were no longer entirely on the same page.
***
One Friday night, after a particularly soul-sucking “team-building” session that involved trust falls and a truly unfortunate icebreaker where everyone had to share their “spirit gemstone,” Tessa trudged home craving nothing but a shower and silence.
Her phone buzzed as she fumbled with her keys.
> Caleb: You free?
She sighed.
> Tessa: define free.
> Caleb: Not currently dodging clipboards or brunch invitations.
> Tessa: in that case, yes.
> Caleb: Come over.
She hesitated.
> Tessa: why?
> Caleb: I made lasagna.
She stopped mid-key-turn.
> Tessa: you MADE?
> Caleb: With my own hands. No assistants were harmed.
> Tessa: is this a cry for help?
> Caleb: Just come eat some before I start stress-eating it over quarterly reports.
Her stomach growled at the word lasagna.
Her brain chimed in: his apartment. Night. Couches.
She closed her eyes.
> Tessa: fine. but if it’s bad, I reserve the right to mock you forever.
> Caleb: Deal.
She changed into jeans and a soft sweater, pulling her hair into a loose bun, and caught the bus downtown.
The penthouse lights were on when she arrived. He opened the door before she finished knocking.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she said.
Whatever she’d been expecting from “I made lasagna,” it was not… this.
The kitchen smelled amazing. Tomato and garlic and something her Puerto Rican grandmother would’ve grudgingly approved of.
On the island sat a bubbling baking dish, golden-brown cheese crisped at the edges.
“You… did this?” she asked, incredulous.
“I can read directions,” he said. “And Google.”
“You, sir, are a Renaissance man,” she said.
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t inflate my ego. Taste first.”
It was… good. Alarmingly good. The sauce rich and tangy, the pasta cooked just right, the cheese stringy in the best way.
She took a bite, chewed, swallowed, then stared at him.
“I hate you,” she said.
He looked genuinely taken aback. “What?”
“You’re not allowed to be this competent at everything,” she said. “It’s… rude. Makes the rest of us look bad.”
He laughed, relief flickering. “Trust me, there are things I can’t do.”
“Like relax,” she said.
He winced. “Low blow.”
“Honest,” she countered.
They ate at the island, side by side, plates between them. It felt… domestic in a way that made her both warm and itchy.
“So,” she said, twirling her fork. “What prompted this culinary adventure? Destroy a bakery in a fit of capitalist rage?”
“Rough board meeting,” he said. “We’re restructuring some leases. Trying to balance profit with not being… monsters.”
“Always a fun tightrope,” she said.
He nodded absently, then sighed.
“My father thinks I’m being naive,” he admitted. “That we can’t… afford to be soft.”
“You’re not being soft,” she said. “You’re being… less evil.”
He huffed a laugh. “High praise.”
“And since when does *he* get to talk?” she added. “He wasn’t at the mall when Mrs. Kline cried because her rent went up again. You were. You saw.”
His gaze dropped to his plate. “I keep thinking about her,” he admitted. “About how… small those increases are to us. And how… huge they are to her.”
“Welcome to the working class,” she said softly.
He glanced at her, something like guilt flickering.
“I lived in a different world,” he said. “Even when I went to public school for four years because my mom wanted me to ‘experience reality.’ It was still… insulated. We went home to this.” He gestured vaguely toward the view.
“You’re allowed to have grown up rich,” she said. “It’s not a crime.”
“Sometimes it feels like one,” he said, half-joking, half not.
“It *is* a crime if you acknowledge it and then do nothing,” she said. “Which… you’re not. So.”
“So my guilt is… moderately useful,” he said.
“Exactly,” she said. “Weaponize your guilt. Channel it.”
He gave her a look. “You should be a consultant.”
“I *am* a consultant,” she said. “You just pay me in pasta and emotional labor.”
He smiled wryly. “Cheap, at the price.”
They finished eating. He cleared the plates before she could protest, moving with an easy efficiency that spoke of practice.
“Who knew you had domestic skills,” she said, watching him rinse the baking dish.
“I lived alone for a while after college,” he said. “My mother refused to send food. Said if I wanted to be independent, I could figure out how not to starve.”
“I like her more every day,” Tessa said.
He dried his hands and leaned against the counter, looking at her.
“So,” he said slowly. “What was your ‘team-building’ today?”
She groaned. “We had to go around and say what gemstone we thought we were.”
He bit back a smile. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish,” she said. “Cynthia said she was a diamond because she’s ‘indestructible and timeless.’”
“Oof,” he said.
“I said I was an opal,” Tessa said. “Pretty, but fragile, and if you expose it to too much weird stuff it… cracks.”
He frowned. “That’s not funny.”
“It kind of was,” she said. “Leah said she was a garnet because she looks good in red and messes up people’s insides.”
He snorted. “I like Leah.”
“She likes you too,” Tessa said. “She’s already planning the dress she’ll wear to our fake wedding.”
He winced. “God.”
“Relax,” she said. “We’re not actually… doing that.”
“Right,” he said quietly. “We’re not.”
The air shifted.
He pushed off the counter. “Want dessert?” he asked, almost too brightly. “I have ice cream. Several flavors. Perks of feeling like I need to buy happiness in pint form.”
“Chocolate?” she asked.
“Obviously,” he said. “I’m not a monster.”
They ended up back on the couch with bowls of ice cream, feet up on the coffee table, watching some cooking show where home bakers cried over deflated soufflés.
“Why is all our shared entertainment food-based?” Caleb asked at one point, spoon in his mouth.
“Because food is safe,” Tessa said. “Unlike feelings.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “You make a solid argument.”
She watched the TV for a minute, then said, “Can I ask you something dumb?”
“Those are my favorite kind,” he said.
“Do you ever…” She hesitated. “Do you ever… wish we’d just… met? Like… normal people. No contracts. No mall power dynamics. No deadlines.”
He stared at the screen. “Every day,” he said quietly.
Her chest ached.
“What do you think would’ve happened?” she asked, surprising herself.
He smiled, small and crooked. “I’d have come into Radiance with some half-baked idea about a birthday gift. You’d have steered me toward something sensible, made fun of my indecisiveness. I’d have… asked you out.”
She laughed softly. “Confident.”
“I would’ve had to psych myself up in the car for ten minutes,” he admitted. “But yeah. I would’ve.”
“And I would’ve said no,” she said.
He flinched. “Oh.”
“At first,” she amended. “Because you would’ve been wearing a suit, and I would’ve assumed you were an investment banker with a condo and commitment issues.”
“Good read,” he said drily.
“Then you’d have said something self-deprecating about… zoning laws,” she continued. “And I’d have been intrigued.”
“Zoning laws as foreplay,” he said. “We’re really rewriting romance here.”
She smiled. “And eventually… maybe… I’d have said yes. To coffee. Or tacos. Or walking by the river.”
He exhaled, gaze distant. “That sounds… nice.”
“Too late,” she said lightly. “We went with the more chaotic route.”
He huffed. “We really did.”
Silence slipped in. Comfortable, but humming.
His foot brushed hers on the coffee table. Not enough to be an accident. Not quite enough to be deliberate.
She didn’t move away.
“Can I ask you something dumb?” he said after a while.
She dipped her spoon in melted chocolate. “We’re doing radical honesty, right? Go for it.”
“The no-sex rule,” he said slowly. “That’s… firm. Right?”
Her heart did a strange dive. “Very.”
He nodded. “I figured. I just… wanted that on the record. Again. In case I… forgot.”
“You’re not going to forget,” she said, voice thinner than she wanted.
“I might,” he said, looking at her. “If you… look at me a certain way. Or wear that red dress again. Or fall asleep on my couch.”
“Traitor,” she whispered to her nervous system.
“I don’t want to… pressure you,” he said, tone serious now. “Ever. About that. Or anything.”
“I know,” she said. “And… for the record… it’s not that I don’t… want to.”
His eyes darkened.
“It’s that…” She forced herself to keep going. “For me, that’s… not just… physical. It’s… a line. After which… there’s no pretending I didn’t… jump.”
He swallowed. “I get that.”
“And if this… blows up,” she said, “the last thing I want to… untangle… is that. On top of… everything else.”
He looked at her like he wanted to say a hundred things. Instead, he just nodded.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Then we hold that line. No matter what.”
She exhaled. “Promise?”
He met her gaze. “Promise.”
The word hung between them, heavy and binding.
They finished their ice cream. Another storm rolled in outside, lightning flashing faintly on the horizon.
“Deja vu,” she muttered.
“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I won’t… sleep here. Tonight. Or… ever. Not like that.”
Her chest squeezed with both relief and inexplicable loss.
“Okay,” she said. “Good.”
He walked her to the door.
“Thank you,” she said. “For… lasagna and existential dread.”
“Anytime,” he said. “Drive safe.”
“I’m not driving,” she said. “Bus safe.”
“Text safe,” he amended. “When you’re home.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dad.”
He grimaced. “Why do you do that to me?”
She laughed. “Because it’s funny.”
He smiled back. Then, gently, he reached up and tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
The touch was light. Barely there.
Her breath stopped.
“Goodnight, Tessa,” he said.
“Goodnight, Caleb,” she whispered.
She made it all the way to the elevator before her knees wobbled.
***
Two days later, Elise called.
“Tessa, dear,” she said in that deceptively mild tone. “Lunch.”
Tessa juggled her phone between her cheek and shoulder as she counted a stack of twenties.
“I’d love to,” she said. “When?”
“Now,” Elise said. “I’m downstairs.”
Tessa nearly dropped the money.
“Downtownstairs?” she sputtered. “At the mall?”
“Where else would I be?” Elise said. “I own the place. It’s good for morale to be seen.”
Tessa glanced up. Through the store entrance, past the racks of glittering earrings, she saw a familiar steel-gray bob glide past the fountain.
“Be there in five,” Tessa said weakly.
She found Elise at a small table in the nicer end of the food court, sipping tea from a paper cup like it offended her.
“Took you long enough,” Elise said without heat. “Sit.”
Tessa sat.
“Is this a… surprise inspection?” she asked. “Should I be… worried?”
Elise waved a hand. “Naomi sends me reports. I don’t need to lurk by the pretzel stand. I wanted to talk. Without… the others.”
Ooookay.
“About…?” Tessa asked carefully.
“My grandson,” Elise said.
Double oookay.
Tessa gripped her plastic cup of iced coffee. “Has he done something… stupid?”
“Nothing stupider than usual,” Elise said. “Yet.”
She studied Tessa over the rim of her cup.
“He’s… different,” Elise said finally. “Since you.”
Tessa’s heart thudded. “Different… how?”
“Less… brittle,” Elise said. “Less married to his calendar. More… alive, for lack of a less sentimental word.”
Heat crept up Tessa’s neck. “That’s… good? Right?”
“It is,” Elise said. “Unless it makes him… reckless.”
Ice slid down Tessa’s spine. “Reckless… how.”
“About… this,” Elise said, vaguely waving a hand. “You. Him. Whatever… arrangement you two think you’ve hidden from an old woman who’s seen every lie in the book.”
Tessa’s breath caught. “We’re not—”
“Don’t,” Elise said sharply. “I know you’re not just… a press release. I also know this started as… mutually beneficial fiction.”
Tessa’s stomach dropped. “How—”
“I may not know the exact terms,” Elise cut in. “But I’m not stupid. The timing was… convenient. The presentation… rehearsed. You both flinched when anyone mentioned dates. Or… feelings.”
Tessa’s skin prickled. “We… didn’t mean to… mislead you.”
“I think you meant to survive,” Elise said. “Which I… understand. I’m not here to scold.”
“That would be a first,” Tessa muttered.
Elise’s mouth twitched. “I’ve had time to… think,” she said. “About what matters. About how much meddling I can get away with before I start driving away the people I love.”
“High threshold,” Tessa murmured.
“Very,” Elise agreed. “So consider this… measured meddling.”
Tessa braced herself.
“I don’t care how this started,” Elise said. “I care how it… ends. Or doesn’t.”
Tessa swallowed. “We have… a plan.”
“Plans change,” Elise said. “Hearts… rarely consult them.”
Tessa’s throat burned. “We’re… trying to be careful.”
“I know,” Elise said. “I see it. You two are like… acrobats on a wire, insisting you don’t need a net.”
“We built a net,” Tessa said. “We have… rules.”
Elise’s brows rose. “Rules.”
“No sex,” Tessa blurted, then wanted to slam her head into the table.
Elise looked… faintly amused. “Good start.”
“No kissing when nobody’s watching,” Tessa went on, because at this point, why stop. “No sharing a bed. No… falling in love.”
The last one came out a whisper.
Elise stared at her for a long beat. Then laughed, short and sharp.
“Oh, my dear,” she said. “You poor things.”
Tessa’s face burned. “We… know it’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not ridiculous,” Elise said. “It’s… human. To think you can… outsmart your heart.”
She sipped her tea, eyes never leaving Tessa’s face.
“Let me tell you something unflattering about myself,” Elise said. “When I was your age, I married for money.”
Tessa blinked. “You… what?”
“Not entirely,” Elise amended. “I liked your grandfather well enough. He was handsome. Charming. Good with numbers. He made me laugh. But mostly, I married him because he offered… security. A way out of my father’s cramped house and his… expectations.”
Tessa swallowed. “Did you… regret it?”
“Sometimes,” Elise said frankly. “When he was being a selfish ass. When I realized I’d traded one set of expectations for another. But he… grew. We… grew. Into love. Real love. Messy and infuriating and… worth it.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“I don’t want that for you,” she said. “The… calculation. The… transaction. We did that so you wouldn’t have to.”
Tessa’s chest ached.
“But you’re also not… naïve,” Elise went on. “You know what survival looks like. You know what a ring can mean. Or… un-mean.”
“Yes,” Tessa whispered.
“So I am asking you,” Elise said, voice softening, “as a woman who has made these bargains and lived with them… be honest. With yourself. And with him. If this is just… a way out, say so. If it’s… more, say that too. Don’t… pretend it’s purely performance when your eyes… say otherwise.”
Tessa’s vision blurred. “You think I… feel something?”
“I think,” Elise said gently, “you’d be a fool not to.”
Tears pricked behind Tessa’s eyes. She blinked them back fiercely.
“And him?” she asked, hating herself for how small the question sounded.
Elise’s expression softened in a way Tessa had never seen.
“He is a very… careful man,” Elise said. “Too careful, sometimes. But he has never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Like you’re… a puzzle he wants to spend his life trying to solve.”
A laugh-sob escaped Tessa. “That’s the most math-nerd romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
Elise smiled faintly. “He is… his grandfather’s grandson.”
They sat in silence for a moment. The mall bustled around them—families, teens, old couples on mall-walking routes.
“Why are you telling me this?” Tessa asked finally. “Why not… him?”
“I will,” Elise said. “In my own terrifying way. But you… deserve to hear it without… my generational baggage.”
Tessa took a shaky breath. “What do you… want from me?”
Elise considered. “I want you to… stop pretending this is all… script. That there’s no improv. No… truth.”
She pointed a manicured finger. “And I want you to remember that you have… power. More than you think.”
Tessa laughed weakly. “I’m a mall employee from the east side. How much power can I possibly—”
“You have the power to break my grandson’s heart,” Elise cut in. “And your own. That is not… nothing.”
Tessa’s throat closed.
“I don’t want to hurt him,” she whispered.
“Then don’t,” Elise said. “But don’t… contort yourself into something you’re not to avoid it, either. Be… yourself. The woman who told off my store manager and my sister-in-law. The one who told me to my face she wasn’t sure she wanted to marry him. That woman… I trust.”
“I’m not sure I like her,” Tessa said.
“I do,” Elise said firmly. “And I’m rarely wrong.”
She finished her tea, stood, and smoothed her skirt.
“Think about what I’ve said,” she ordered. “Then call your mother. She’s frantic because you didn’t answer her text this morning.”
Tessa’s head snapped up. “How do you—”
“I’m on the family group chat now,” Elise said, eyes twinkling. “Don’t worry. I muted the minion memes.”
She swept away, leaving Tessa staring after her, heart pounding.
Her phone buzzed.
> Mom: did you eat?? reply or I’m calling the police
Tessa laughed, a little wild, a little teary.
She texted back.
> Tessa: yes. will call later. pls don’t arrest me.
Then she leaned back in the flimsy food court chair and exhaled.
Elise Ward had just told her, in no uncertain terms, to be honest.
With herself. With him.
Rule twelve, Tessa thought grimly.
No more hiding behind the script.
***