Page 79 of Written in Scent

We reach a section on fireflies and I get particularly animated. “Fireflies are my favorite for chemical ecology,” I tell him, pressing closer to the glowing display. “The light isn’t just pretty. It’s a love language written in chemicals and bioluminescence. Different species have completely unique flash patterns and pheromone combinations so they only attract the right mate. It’s incredibly specific.”

Adrian watches me with the softest smile I have ever seen on his face. His green eyes are warm and completely focused on me rather than the specimens. Every time I get excited and gesture at a new case, his fingers brush lightly against my spine affectionately. He looks utterly besotted.

We finally stop in front of one of the most impressive stag beetles I have ever seen. It’s massive, with mandibles that curve dramatically and a deep, polished chestnut color that gleams under the lights. I stare at it in awe for a long moment before an idea sparks.

I reach into my bag and pull out one of the spare specimen labels and a pin I always carry with me. Adrian raises an eyebrow, amused.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice full of laughter.

“Hold still,” I tell him, grinning. I carefully write on the label in my neatest handwriting: Adrian Sinclair – Perfect Match. Then I securely pin it to the front of his navy cardigan, right over his heart.

“There,” I say, stepping back to admire my work. “Now you are officially cataloged.”

Adrian looks down at the label and his entire face eases into something so sweet it makes my breath catch. He doesn’t take it off. Instead he touches it lightly with his fingertips, pride clear in his eyes.

“I am keeping this on for the rest of the date,” he says. “Maybe the rest of the day.”

I laugh, a blush flooding my cheeks, but I can’t deny how happy it makes me to see him wear my silly little label so proudly.

We continue through the hall slowly after that, my hand tucked into the crook of his arm. Adrian stays close, listening to every word I say with that same besotted look, occasionally asking another thoughtful question that shows exactly how much he likes this side of me.

I feel completely free to be my most passionate, bug obsessed self, in a way that I’m not sure that I really ever have before. And Adrian doesn’t just tolerate it… he adores it.

We wander away from the main insect hall without any real plan. The museum has so many smaller galleries tucked away like secrets, and Adrian seems happy to follow wherever my curiosity leads.

We turn down a less crowded corridor and step into a dimly lit side room dedicated to tropical butterflies and moths. The space feels almost empty. Only a few visitors drift through the far end, their footsteps muted on the carpet. Beautiful lighting glows from above, casting gentle shadows across the display cases. White sheets drape some of the walls like the ones we use for night trapping, and the effect makes the whole room feel hushed and magical.

I stop in front of a case holding several luna moths, their pale green wings spread wide and delicate. The sight pulls the words out of me before I can stop them.

“Luna moths are incredible for pheromone attraction,” I say, voice full of wonder. “The females release this specific chemical signal that can travel for miles. Males detect it with these feathery antennae that are basically chemical radars. They fly straight toward it, sometimes from kilometers away, and the whole thing is so precise that only the right species responds. It’s like nature wrote a love letter in molecules.”

I keep talking, tracing the air above the glass with my finger as I explain the molecular structure and how temperature affects the volatility of the scent trail. My cheeks feel warm with how much I love this, how alive it makes me feel to share it. I turn to see if Adrian is following along and realize he has gone very still beside me.

He stands only a step away, eyes fixed on my face instead of the moths. The longing in his gaze is so open and unguarded that it steals the rest of my sentence. His green eyes have gone dark behind his glasses, and the dim museum light catches on the faint flush across his cheekbones.

For a moment the entire world narrows to just us in this quiet gallery.

Adrian steps closer. The air between us feels charged, electric. He lifts both hands slowly and cups my face with such gentleness that my breath catches. His palms are hot against my skin, thumbs brushing lightly over my cheekbones. Then he leans in and kisses me.

The kiss starts thoughtful and deep, full of everything we have been holding back all day.

His mouth moves against mine with tender care, but I feel the restrained hunger underneath it in the way his fingers tremble slightly against my jaw. I fist my hands in the front of his navy cardigan and pull him closer, matching the kiss with the same intensity. It’s romantic and sweet, yet edged with real want that makes my pulse race.

The undercurrent of need is there, but there’s no rush, no escalation. Just this perfect, aching connection that feels like it could go on forever and still not be enough.

When we finally pull apart, both of us breathing harder, Adrian rests his forehead against mine. His eyes stay closed for a long second, like he’s savoring the moment.

Then he whispers, voice rough with emotion, “I couldn’t hold back anymore. Seeing you like this, completely in your element, you are so beautiful it hurts.”

I keep my hands curled in his cardigan, heart pounding against my ribs. The gallery around us feels even quieter now, the soft lighting wrapping us in our own private world. Adrian’s rain on stone and bergamot scent fills every breath I take, and I realize in this moment how deeply I am falling for the quiet, brilliant alpha who looks at me like my passion for bugs is the most precious thing in the world.

We stay in the gallery a little longer, the air between us still humming with the kiss we just shared. Adrian keeps one hand on the small of my back as we wander past the remaining cases, his touch tender now, more lingering.

Every time our eyes meet he smiles at me like we’re carrying a secret no one else in the museum knows. I feel the same smile on my own face, impossible to resist.

We drift into the gift shop on our way out. The shelves are full of tiny treasures, and Adrian pauses in front of a display of delicate glass ornaments shaped like insects. He picks up a small luna moth pendant, the wings etched in pale green glass that catches the light exactly like the real specimens we just saw. He turns it over in his hands, then glances at me with that shy, hopeful look.

“For you,” he says simply. “To remember today.”