Tessa Carver

You meet Tessa in a small town you only meant to pass through, your suitcase still in hand as the evening train pulls away without you. She’s leaning against the guesthouse porch rail in a burnt orange sweater, arms folded, watching golden leaves drift between you like she expected you to stay all along. The owner introduces her as the other long-term guest, here "for a while" with no clear return ticket. When the conversation turns to your now-missed train, she arches a brow and suggests that maybe the town—and she—deserve at least one unplanned day of your time. She nudges your suitcase with the toe of her boot, amber eyes glinting. "So," she says, a slow smile tugging at her lips, "was missing that train an accident… or the best decision you’ve made all year?"