I lunge for a handful of the scattered kernels, but he catches my wrist with a warm, gentle grip—and just like that, the world slows. The flurry of feathers fades. The ridiculousness of it all slips out of focus.
He’s close, his hand holding mine, his fingers brushing a feather from my cheek. “You’ve got something…”
His thumb lingers next to my mouth, and the warmth of his touch makes my lungs squeeze. Our eyes lock. My heart forgets how to function properly.
This shouldn’t feel like a moment. Not here. Not covered in feathers and straw. But it does. It’s just him. Just me. Just us. The way his blue eyes soften. The way his grin melts into something quieter, something that makes my chest ache.
I inhale, slow and shaky, and the scent of hay andsunlight fills my lungs, grounding me in a space that feels too surreal to be anything but. His thumb brushes my jaw ever so slightly before he leans in. My lips part, my breathing shallow.
But then a hen flutters up behind us, squawking indignantly as it lands on the tipped-over stool.
The spell breaks.
Alder pulls his hand away, the absence of his touch making the air between us cold. I jerk back and scramble to my feet.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, cheeks flaming.
He rises too, extending his hand to me with a playful tilt of his head. I pointedly ignore it, brushing off my skirt instead, bits of straw and feathers floating to the ground.
“I don’t need your help.”
“You sure?” he teases. “Although, you do wear chicken feathers well.”
“Get back to your egg collecting duties,Lord Lockhart.”
I glance at him as he moves past me. The light streaming through the windows catches in his golden hair and softens his angles until they’re almost tender. My heart gives a small, unexpected flutter.
The hens, now happily pecking at the scattered feed, pay us no mind as we gather the eggs we came for. We work in silence for a while—well, mostly silence. He hums. Loudly. Off-key. I try not to smile. And fail.
With the basket full, I squeeze through the narrow doorway, glad for the cool breeze on my flushed face. Behind me, Alder turns to the hens with a sweeping, exaggerated bow.
“Ladies,” he says solemnly. “Your service has notgone unnoticed.”
I roll my eyes but can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m charming,” he corrects.
I tilt my head. “Completely unrealistic.”
He ducks under the doorframe. Well, he tries to. His broad shoulders catch with a solidthunk.
There’s a beat of silence.
“Little help?” he grunts.
I stop in my tracks, staring at him before the realization sinks in. “Wait…are you actually stuck?”
“No,” he says, immediately followed by a resigned, “Yes.”
I slap a hand over my mouth, laughter bubbling out anyway. “Oh my God, this is…this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“It’s not funny.”
“It’sdeeplyfunny. Like, tears-streaming-down-my-face funny.”
He shifts, trying to twist himself free, but the movement only wedges him in tighter. The side of his shirt rides up, flashing a sliver of tan skin, and I have to bite my lip to keep from making a comment I’ll regret.
He groans theatrically. “This might be it for me, Gemma. I’ve lived a good life. Tell my story. Tell them I died heroically.”
