In a world ruled by fear, survival comes with a price.
When her brother's attempt to overthrow the Saviors fails, Tessa finds herself under Negan's watchful eye-protected, controlled, and dangerously close to the man she should hate. As violence, po...
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The smell of the house felt different now, warm from the oven, heavy with the scent of tomatoes and herbs. Olivia had darted out to "get things ready," her voice trembling. It left Tessa, Negan, and Carl alone in the kitchen.
Negan stood at the counter like he owned the place, sleeves pushed up, stirring the pot with lazy confidence.
"You know," he said, glancing over his shoulders, "this is some great hospitality. Fresh shave and a home cooked meal...Ricks house ain't half bad."
He tasted the sauce with a soon, smaked his lips, then pointed at Tessa.
"darlin, come taste this."
Tessa hesitated, Negans brows lifted amused.
"didn't ask you to bleed for me," he said lightly, "just taste the damn sauce."
Carl watched from the doorway, quiet, unreadable.
Tessa moved closer.
Negan held the spoon out, but before she could take it, he stepped in and lifted it toward her mouth himself.
"open," he tease, tilting the spoon slightly.
Tessa shot him a look, but Negan only grinned wider. She leaned in, tasting the sauce. their fingers brushed on the spoon handle, just barely, but enough to make her stomach flutter in a way she hated.
Negan watched her reaction carefully, eyes dropping to her lips, then lifting back to her eyes.
"Well?" he asked
"It's good," she said
Negans grin deepened, "see? I knew we made a good team."
he turned back to the stove, adding salt, humming like this was all normal
Tessa folded her arms, "you cook?"
Negan shrugged, "I dabble. World's gone to shit, but a man still deserves a good meal." He shot her a sideways smirk. "'Specially when he's got pretty company."
Her cheeks warmed. Negan caught it instantly.
His gaze held hers for one beat too long—slow, assessing, drinking her in like she was another piece of the kitchen he owned now.
Carl shifted slightly, but still said nothing.
Negan stirred the pot again, this time stepping close enough that his arm brushed Tessa's as he reached past her for the handle.
The touch was brief but intentional. Like he wanted to see how she reacted.
Tessa didn't move.
Negan's voice dropped low, almost playful.
"Y'know... you look real nice in a kitchen. Bet Rick misses seein' that."
She stiffened. Negan laughed under his breath—quiet, satisfied.
"Relax," he murmured. "Ain't teasin' to hurt your feelings. Just observin'."
He slid the pot off the heat, then leaned one hip against the counter, folding his arms.
His eyes settled on her again—heavy, unreadable, almost soft for half a second.
"You're different," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Not like your brother. Or anyone else in this damn town."
Tessa swallowed. The room felt tight again—warm, too warm.
Negan reached for a strand of spaghetti, twirling it around his finger before offering it to her.
"You trust me yet?"
"No."
Negan barked a laugh. "That's fair."
He placed the noodle between his teeth instead, biting it clean.
Tessa's stomach twisted.
Negan watched her with that same slow-burn heat—curious, amused, and just a little dangerous. Then footsteps sounded on the porch, Olivia returning.
Negan straightened instantly, grin snapping back into place.
"Showtime," he murmured, brushing past Tessa as he moved toward the living room—his hand grazing her lower back again like it was second nature.
He didn't look back. But she felt that touch long after he'd walked away.
