She unscrews one lid and steam curls up, carrying thyme and beef and onion. She closes her eyes for a second when she smells it, and something in my chest shifts and settles.
"Thank you," she says, and the simple words land deeper than they should.
We eat at her desk with plastic spoons, me perched on the edge of the filing cabinet with one boot hooked on her chair. The office is quiet except for Christmas music playing softly from theradio out front and the scrape of our spoons. It feels domestic, comfortable in a way I haven't experienced in years.
"How's the foal?" she asks when her spoon scrapes the bottom.
"Standing stronger. She pushes at the gate now. Got opinions about her feed schedule."
Emmy laughs. "Good. I like a fighter."
"So do I."
The words carry more weight than they should, and from the way her cheeks flush, she knows I'm not just talking about the horse.
"I talked to the council this morning," she says after a beat, setting down her spoon. "Levi thinks he can keep them from breathing down your neck if we show progress this week. A walkthrough today, maybe a test run with the sleigh tomorrow."
My jaw tightens on instinct. I hate being managed, hate having deadlines imposed on my land. But the alternative is losing those grazing permits, and I can't afford that blow.
"We can do that," I say, forcing the words out.
She studies me like she's waiting for the argument. When it doesn't come, some of the tension in her shoulders unwinds.
"I put the keys you gave me on a lanyard," she says, fingers skimming the cord at her throat. "Felt silly wearing them around the clinic, but it helps. Makes the barn feel real."
"It is real." I lean forward, drawn by the movement of her fingers against the keys. "It's yours."
Her breath catches. The moment stretches, charged with all the things we're not saying. The office suddenly feels too small, the air too thick.
I slide off the cabinet and step closer. She doesn't move, just watches me with those hazel eyes that see too much. There's heat in her gaze now, and hope, and that stubborn light that makes me want to tear down every wall I've built.
"I'm not good at this," I admit, voice rough. "But I'm trying."
"I know." She says it like a truth she picked up and weighed before bringing it to me. "Trying is enough if we keep doing it."
My hand finds her jaw, thumb brushing across the soft skin of her cheek. She leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, and the trust in that simple gesture nearly undoes me.
I lean in and kiss her, slow this time. Not desperate like our previous encounters, but deliberate. The press of mouth to mouth, the soft catch of breath, the way her fingers curl into my shirt and hold on like she's afraid I'll disappear.
She tastes like thyme and peppermint, like winter and something I don't have words for. The kiss deepens naturally, her chair rolling back until she's pressed against the wall and I'm leaning over her, one hand braced on the desk.
The lanyard slips and taps against my wrist as she reaches up to tangle her fingers in my hair. When she tugs gently, I groan into her mouth, the sound swallowed by her lips.
"Wyatt," she breathes against my mouth, and hearing my name in that breathless tone makes my blood burn.
I want to lift her onto the desk, push that green sweater up, discover if her skin is as soft as I remember. But footsteps echo down the hall, followed by voices, and we break apart just as a light knock sounds on the door.
Emmy smooths her hair with shaking fingers, cheeks flushed and lips swollen from my kisses. I step back, running a hand over my face, trying to pull myself together.
Levi leans into the doorway, scarf dusted with snow and an official expression on his face. "Sorry to interrupt. Walkthrough at Dry Creek in an hour if that works. We'll keep it simple, just want to see the progress."
Emmy clears her throat. "We'll be there."
Levi's eyes flick between us, taking in Emmy's mussed hair and my guilty expression, but his poker face doesn't slip."Appreciate your cooperation, Wyatt. This'll go a long way with the council."
After he disappears, Emmy laughs once, low and embarrassed. "We really are cursed. Every time we..."
"Just busy," I say, though my voice comes out rougher than intended. The interruption leaves me aching, wanting to pull her back into my arms and finish what we started.
