A crescent moon spills pale light over the rolling hills, blanketing the distant cherry trees. Ashton’s backyard stretches wide and freshly mowed, the grass still carrying the sharp scent of a recent cut. Beyond the thick brush at the edge of the property, lightning bugs zip through the air, blinking like satellites.
I’ve never felt more at peace than I do at this moment, with Ashton by my side. I would move heaven and earth—bend the cosmos with my own two hands—just to keep him here with me.
We sit side by side on his porch in matching Adirondack chairs, the wood warm beneath us. Nearly an hour has passed, spent tossing ideas back and forth, struggling to choose a name for our cider. We need something bold and catchy that sticks in people’s minds long after the last sip.
Ashton smacks his lips thoughtfully, rolling the cider around his tongue. “What about something with… cats?” he says, glancing at me. “Like playing off the name of the brewery?”
I hum, slouching back in my chair. “Maybe…”
“Nah,” he says, shaking his head decisively. “That’s not it.”
He takes another slow sip, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. His gaze drifts upward to the sky, the white shimmer of moonlight catching in his emerald eyes. He looks comfortable, hisbody relaxed in a way it rarely seems to be. His golden hair is still damp from a shower, a few strands clinging to his forehead. He’s traded his usual flannel and battered jeans for a white tank top and gray sweatpants that sit low on his hips.
“What about… Cherry Moon?” he asks, brows scrunched together.
The moment the words leave his mouth, something clicks into place inside me. It’s perfect. I can already see the words printed across a sleek aluminum can, tangible proof that all our hard work has manifested into something real.
Instead of answering, I rise to my feet. His eyes follow me, wary and intrigued, as I cross the few steps between us. I gently take the cider from his hand and set it on the porch railing. Then I guide his hands to my waist, letting them rest there as I lower myself onto his lap.
He inhales sharply, a breath hissing through his teeth. He stares down at me with a mixture of bewilderment and desire, a tug-of-war raging inside him like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to want me.
“Do you… like the name?” he asks carefully.
I nod. “It’s perfect.”
Relief washes over him. His brow smooths, and a slow, dimpled smile breaks across his face. God, he’s dangerously sweet like this. I know it’s selfish, but I want to be the only one who ever gets to see that smile.
His fingers tighten at my waist as I press my lips to his. He melts into the kiss immediately, releasing a soft sigh that feels like a victory. I love that I can unravel him like this—strip away the armor he wears for the world. When it’s just us, he’s simply Ashton, free from expectations and untethered by the weight of his last name.
My tongue glides along his bottom lip, seeking entry. He lets me in without hesitation, always so pliant and willing to surrender. Even though this thing between us is still new, I don’t think I’ll ever tire of the way he yields to me, as if he’s grateful for the release from responsibility. He trusts me to give him exactly what he needs.
I fist his hair, pulling him closer as I devour him. The flavor of cider melts between us, sweet and tangy. It’s never tasted better than when it’s lingering on Ashton’s tongue.
When we finally pull apart, Ashton is breathing hard, his eyes glossed over, his lips red and swollen. He reaches up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his gaze lingering as if he’s searching for something in my face.
“What’s wrong, baby?” I ask softly.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just—I really like you.” His voice is quiet, nearly swallowed by the steady nighttime hum of chirping insects. “And I like when you call me baby.”
A smile curves my lips. “I like you too,” I tell him, my hands smoothing along his broad shoulders. “And I really like kissing you.”
Color blooms across his cheeks before he ducks his face into the crook of my neck. God, he’s so damn cute when he’s like this—so different from the hypermasculine farmer he shows the rest of the world. I love seeing this softer version of him, his defenses crumbling in my presence.
I hook my fingers beneath his chin, lifting his face just enough to steal another kiss. When I pull back, he’s smiling and looking down at me with a softened expression, sweet and attentive. The reverence in his gaze, the way he treats me like I’m worthy of his attention, eases the old ache in my chest.
Ashton makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time. And Christ, I’d do just about anything for him. If he asked me for the moon, I’d reach into the cosmos and pluck it from the sky without hesitation.
I’d do anything to keep him looking at me like this.
The thought barely settles before panic claws its way up my spine. Mel once looked at me the same way. We were truly in love, once. I know it wasn’t a lie; she told me as much. Said her feelings had simply faded, the spark dimming so gradually she hadn’t even noticed it going out.
I hadn’t noticed either. I never felt her slipping away.
I draw in a slow, steady breath, forcing the panic back where it belongs. This moment doesn’t deserve the ghosts of my past. I lift a hand and stroke my thumb along Ashton’s cheek, feeling the warmth there, the faint rasp of stubble beneath my skin.
He leans into the touch immediately, tension melting out of him like he’s been waiting for permission to relax. His eyes flutter closed, his shoulders dropping as he presses closer, fitting himself against me with an easy, unguarded trust.
“It’s getting late,” I murmur. “And I should probably get home and feed Cryptid his dinner before he tears my apartment to shreds.”
