I taste rain on her lips. Smell earth and wet wool and something green and alive that's just her.
She bites my lower lip. Not hard. Just enough to make me groan.
"Ivy—"
She kisses me again. Harder. One hand slides up to tangle in my hair, nails scraping my scalp in a way that makes my brain short-circuit.
I bracket her waist. Feel the shape of her ribs under thin cotton. The way she arches into me like she's been starving for this.
For me.
Thunder crashes overhead. The barn shakes.
We break apart. Breathing hard. Foreheads pressed together.
"That was—" I start.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Analyze it. Rationalize it. Just—" She pulls back far enough to meet my eyes. Hers are dark. Pupils blown wide. "Let it be what it is."
"What is it?"
"I don't know yet."
Her thumb brushes my jaw. Traces the scar there. The touch is gentle. Curious. Like she's memorizing the shape of me.
"We should probably talk about this," I say.
"Probably."
Neither of us moves.
The rain eases to a steady patter. Softer. Almost soothing.
Ivy leans her head against my shoulder. I wrap an arm around her. Pull her close. She fits there like she was designed for the space, her weight warm and solid against my side.
"I'm still mad at you," she murmurs.
"I know."
"About the catering money."
"I know."
"And I'm definitely going to lecture you about sustainable scaling once my brain works again."
I press a kiss to the top of her head. Breathe in the scent of rain and botanicals. "Looking forward to it."
She huffs a laugh. Her fingers trace idle patterns on my chest, following the seam of my shirt pocket.
"We're going to fight Webb," she says. Quiet but certain. "Together. You and me and this whole stubborn town."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She tilts her head up. Kisses me again. Slower this time. Deliberate. "Because I'm not losing this place. And neither are you."
