The words hang between us, fragile and devastating.
I slide my hand from his cheek to the back of his neck and pull him gently toward me. He comes without resistance, forehead pressing to mine, breath warm and uneven against my lips.
“You deserve to be both,” I whisper.
He gives me a sad smile, the curve faint and fleeting. “I’m okay, Troy. I’ve dealt with his coldness my entire life. I’m used to it.” His head tilts into my palm, leaning into my touch like he’s starved for it. “But this warmth—how safe I feel with you…” His voice softens. “It’s new. It’s scary. But I like it. I like it so, so much.”
Emotion swells thick in my throat.
“I like it too.”
His hand tightens at my waist, fingers bunching in the fabric of my shirt. For a moment we just breathe the same air, noses brushing, the world outside the truck nonexistent.
Then I close the distance.
The kiss starts slowly. His lips are soft and warm, moving carefully against mine like he’s refamiliarizing himself with the shape of me. The tension that’s been coiled tight in my chest all night loosens in one steady exhale. I cup his jaw, deepening it just slightly, tasting beer and something uniquely Ashton.
When we finally part, it’s only because breathing becomes necessary. Our foreheads stay pressed together, both of us smiling now—real smiles this time.
Ashton exhales, a shaky little laugh slipping free. “We should go back to my place.”
“Yeah?” I murmur, thumb brushing along his jaw.
“Yeah.” His eyes darken, something heated and promising flickering there. “I’d really like to be able to touch my boyfriend without pretending he’s just my business partner.”
I laugh, the sound light and relieved, the heaviness from earlier dissolving into something sweeter. “That does sound appealing.”
He steals one more quick kiss before pulling back fully. He shifts the truck into gear and pulls out of the marina parking lot, headlights cutting through the dark.
The town falls away behind us. Fireflies blink through the tall grass bordering the road, flashing brightly. When we turn down the long stretch toward the orchard, the tires bump over the uneven dirt. Cherry trees rise along both sides of the road, their branches arching overhead like a tunnel. Moonlight filters through the leaves, casting a pale silver glow over the plump red fruit.
I rest my temple against the cool window glass and watch the rows blur past, staring at the orchard with a tangle of anger and admiration.
Ashton loves this place. He lives and breathes for it. The orchard is sewn into him, part of his flesh and blood, but it’s stitched tight.
When I look at these trees, I don’t see blossoms or fruit—I see the weight on Ashton’s shoulders. The unspoken rule that his life must bend around others’ expectations. Around a father who values harvests more than heart.
I just hope that one day I can make him see what I already do—that he’s wonderful even without the orchard, without his family’s last name, without the cherries.
He’s sweet enough, all on his own.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ashton
Lukedoesn’tbotherknockinganymore when he comes over. He has a spare key—intended foremergencies only—but he’s never been big on boundaries. We shared a bedroom growing up, and I guess that philosophy stuck. What’s mine is his. Privacy optional.
I’m halfway through pouring a mug of coffee when the front door flies open.
He stumbles in with wide eyes and chaotic energy. His dirty-blond hair sticks up in every direction, cowlicks rebelling against gravity. Dark circles bruise the skin beneath his eyes, and he looks visibly hungover.
Serves him right for getting shit-faced on the boat last night. His date practically had to carry him off the dock.
“Bro!” he shouts, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame. He barrels into the kitchen, sneakers squeaking across the tile, and tugs my sleeve with frantic urgency. “Did you hear what happened after the fireworks?”
I pause with my mug halfway to my mouth. “No. What?”
“You remember my buddy Mason? From high school?”
