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Ash made a strangled sound and bent forward, one hand immediately going to his ribs. My amusement disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, but before I could ask if he was all right, he lifted the other hand to stop me.

“Don't. I'm fine. It just hurts when your friends tell me what an idiot you are.”

“They're not my friends. They work for me.”

Claire reached across the table and patted my hand. “Of course we do, Maxim.”

Ash lost whatever control he'd managed to regain, and I couldn't even glare properly because I was too busy watching to make sure he didn't actually hurt himself.

It struck me then that I'd never heard him laugh this much.

Not the quick snort he sometimes gave when Keegan said something ridiculous, or the reluctant laugh I'd learned how to coax out of him when he was trying very hard not to give me the satisfaction. This was different. Ash was sitting at my kitchen table with his cheeks flushed from laughing, his wine beside his plate and people he'd met only hours ago treating him as though there was nothing remarkable about his presence.

For once, there was no shadow of his father hanging over him.

No video, no money, and no fear of what might happen tomorrow.

There was simply Ash, laughing in my home.

Claire caught me staring at him.

Her expression softened, and I immediately looked down at my plate before she could make anything of it aloud. Fortunately, she had known me long enough to value her life.

Under the table, Ash's knee nudged mine.

When I glanced over, he was still smiling.

I nudged him back.

Darkness had settled across the fields by the time Luc and Claire headed back to their own house on the far side of the property.

Ash took his coffee onto the back porch while I closed the kitchen door behind us, and leaned against the rail with his face turned toward the darkness.

The air was considerably colder than Vegas, enough that he'd pulled his sweatshirt tighter around himself. I nearly told him to go inside before remembering that Ash was an adult who had somehow survived approximately three decades without me personally supervising his body temperature.

I joined him instead.

The farm sounded different at night. It was quieter than Denver without ever being truly silent, because somewhere near the barn a horse shifted against a stall wall while insects had begun their evening chorus along the fields. Farther away, one of the dogs barked once before settling again.

Ash took a slow breath. “I understand why you come back here every summer.”

His smile lingered as he looked out over the fields.

I watched him instead.

Tomorrow had been sitting at the back of my mind since the moment we arrived.

I could've told him tonight. There was enough space beyond the north pasture for me to shift safely, and nobody would disturb us there. I'd chosen the property partly because of that privacy, long before Ash existed in my life.

But today had been good.

More than good.

For the first time since I'd met him, Ash had gone hours without looking as though he were waiting for somebody to take something away. I wasn't going to destroy that simply because I was afraid of losing my nerve.

Tomorrow would come soon enough, and when it did, I would keep the promise I'd made.

I wouldn't merely tell him.