His face lights up like I just offered him the world. “My hero.”
“Shut up.”
I bend and hook an arm behind his knees, the other around his back, and haul him up with a grunt. He’s all long limbs and solid weight, a six-foot-two furnace of smug delight.
He giggles—actuallygiggles—and pecks my cheek while I stagger forward. “You’re so strong.”
“I regret everything,” I wheeze, my body tensed with effort.
As expected, we only make it about two steps down the hallway before we collapse in a fit of laughter, tumbling to the floor in each other’s arms.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ashton
Anoldbarnsitsat the far west end of the orchard, built by my great-grandfather in the fifties. It’s seen better days. A massive hole gapes in the roof where a fallen branch punched through it years ago—never fixed, just left open to the sky. The wooden siding has long since surrendered its red paint, only a few brittle chips clinging stubbornly to the boards.
Now it mostly sits empty, collecting dust and shadows, storing rusted equipment and forgotten scraps.
The only other thing it’s good for?
A private makeout spot.
Which is why, when Troy decided to stop by the orchard to pick up more cherries for the next batch of cider, I didn’t hesitate. I hopped off the forklift, ignored the curious glances from a couple of the guys in the rows, and told them I’d be back in thirty.
Then I hopped on my four-wheeler and took off toward the west end, gravel spitting beneath the tires as I drove us far away from the agricultural workers.
We end up flat on our backs in the middle of the barn, dust puffing up around us as we land in a tangled heap. My shirt’s half-untucked, Troy’s hair a mess beneath my fingers, and our lips are swollen from kissing.
The dirt floor is cool beneath us, grounding. His arm is draped over my stomach, my hand resting lazily on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, slow and steady.
Above us, the rafters stretch like old ribs against the sky. Through the jagged hole in the roof, bright blue spills in, clouds drifting lazily overhead. A soft breeze slips through, carrying the scent of cherries and sun-warmed wood.
I stare absently at the ceiling, my mind wandering to faraway places. “You know… I always thought this place could make a great wedding venue,” I murmur.
Troy turns his head to look at me. “What?”
I shrug, suddenly aware of how absurd it sounds. “I mean—if I fixed it up. Replace the roof. Reinforce the beams. String up lights.” I gesture vaguely toward the rafters. “It’s not like I’m using it for anything else.”
He props himself up slightly on one elbow, watching me.
“I thought maybe we could convert it into an event space,” I continue, words coming faster now. “Have weddings out here. It’d be good for business. Rustic-chic or whatever.” I huff a small laugh. “People eat that stuff up.”
Troy just stares at me, blinking.
Heat crawls up my neck, bile rising in my stomach.
“Never mind,” I mutter quickly, rolling my eyes at myself. “It’s dumb. My dad already said it was stupid. Too much money. Too much risk.”
“Ash.”
I press my lips together, gaze drifting back up to the sky. “Forget I said anything.”
“Ash,” he repeats, firmer this time.
I look at him.
His fingers graze my cheek, his brown eyes softening. “It’s a great idea.”
