We rolled to a stop in front of a stable door, where a hand-painted sign read: Apple Bloom Farm.
“We’re here,” Gunner said, turning off the engine. He gave a slow exhale, like this moment had weight for him, too. “I hope you like it.”
I peered through the windshield, absorbing the view, the unexpected softness of it. Even in the dark, it glowed.
“It’s a farm,” I whispered, more to myself than to him. “A real one.”
He nodded, rubbing his palms against his jeans like he was nervous. “It’s family-run. They grow their own stuff, raise their own meat, even churn their own butter or some such nonsense. There’s a restaurant in the back barn, kinda rustic, but…” He shrugged. “I figured, growing up on a farm, you might like it.”
I turned to him slowly, heart full in my chest. It wasn’t the place; it waswhat it meant. He hadn’t picked somewhere fancy to impress me. He’d picked something that whisperedI see you. I know you. This matters to you, so it matters to me.
“What are we doing here?” I asked, voice soft.
“Eating,” Gunner said, his smile a little sheepish now. “You didn’t eat already, did you?”
“No. You told me not to.”
“Good,” he said, chuckling. “I made a reservation. Apparently the pork chop changes lives.”
My laugh was too breathy to sound normal. I nodded, blinking hard. He remembered where I came from. He understood that dirt and work and animals weren’t beneath me, they were part of me.
“Is it okay?” he asked. And it was the way he asked it, not just casual but careful, cautious, like heneededit to be okay. That undid me.
“It’s perfect,” I whispered. My throat was tight. “Absolutely perfect.”
Before I could stop myself, I leaned across the console and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His stubble was warm, rough against my lips. The scent of him, earth, soap, and that subtle spice that was just Gunner, filled my head.
“Thank you,” I murmured, lingering a second longer than I meant to. “Thank you so much.”
Gunner let out a breath that trembled at the edges. His eyes searched mine, and for a second, the whole world stilled. No teasing. No sarcasm. Just quiet understanding.
“Okay,” he said, voice husky. “Let’s get in there and see what you’ve been missing since you left that farm of yours.”
As I stepped down from the truck, the cool air brushing my skin, I realized something with perfect clarity:
Gunner Miller hadn’t just planned a date. He’d given me a piece of home.
And somehow, I knew that he was going to be the hardest thing to walk away from.
Chapter 23
Better Days - OneRepublic
Gunner
Watching Cassidy eat that buttermilk-roasted chicken like it was a religious experience might’ve been the hottest thing I’d ever witnessed.
Every slow bite was a show. The gentle scrape of her fork against the plate. A moan here, a lip lick there, her eyes fluttering shut as she savored the jus like it was the secret to happiness itself. It was intimacy in its purest form and my jeans had officially become too damn tight, and I wasn’t sure if it was the food, the wine, or just her, glowing in the golden candlelight.
“You’re kind of enjoying that, huh?” I murmured, leaning my forearm on the table, trying not to picture that same mouth doing things that would land us in a different kind of room entirely.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know about this place,” she said, rubbing her stomach with this dreamy little hum that I felt straight in my spine. “It’s unbelievably good.”
Then she leaned in, conspiratorial and damn near lethal. “Do you mind if we have dessert?”
Mind? I’d watch her eat cake every night for the rest of my life if it meant I got to see her like this, unguarded, glowing, happy.
“They do a sharing plate,” I said. “Three different desserts. Want to try that?”
