I ran my thumb over the carved letters—MINE—and shivered every single time.
“Still real?” Knox asked, his voice a low rumble against my cheek.
I nodded. “You want to pinch me just to be sure?”
He grinned, showing teeth. “I could do worse.”
I closed my eyes and breathed, letting his scent—cedar, smoke, the faint metallic bite of sweat—chase away the last of the morning’s adrenaline.
The kitchen scene felt like another lifetime. Now it was just us, and the swing, and the kind of contentment that made you want to break your own rule and use words like “peaceful” without sarcasm.
“Why today?” I asked, finally. “You’ve had that ring for months. You could’ve ambushed me any time.”
He was quiet long enough that I almost thought he’d let the question drift away on the breeze, but then he reached up, hooked a finger under my chin, and turned my face to his.
“One year ago today,” he said, voice softer than I’d ever heard it, “you stood in that field and told me I could have you. Even after all the shit, even when you thought you didn’t belong anywhere, you gave yourself to me.”
I blinked, memory suddenly sharp—the exact angle of sunlight on the barley, the way my hands had trembled, the feel of Knox’s hands bracketing my face as if I was the only thing that could keep him standing.
“You became mine,” he finished. “Figured it was time you took my name, too.”
I didn’t bother wiping my eyes. I just kissed him, hard, full of every stupid, complicated, beautiful thing that had happened since that first day.
He pulled me closer, and the swing groaned in protest, but neither of us cared. I let myself sink into him, let his arms wrap around me until there was no space left for doubt, no room for the ghosts that still liked to whisper in my ear when I was alone.
The world shrank to the slow, rocking motion and the thud of his heart beneath my cheek. I could have stayed there forever, but eventually the sun slid lower, and my stomach reminded me we hadn’t actually eaten since breakfast.
When we finally went inside, the house was deserted except for Pa, who sat in his throne-like recliner by the window, feet up, a paperback splayed on his chest. He barely glanced at us as we passed, but then, without looking, he said, “Hey, Bridger.”
I paused, unsure if I was being summoned or threatened.
He nodded at the side table. “Take that,” he grunted.
A leather-bound journal sat next to his glass of iced tea, the cover worn smooth and the edges dog-eared. I picked it up, instantly recognizing the faded McKenzie crest on the front.
“What is it?” I asked, flipping it open.
He closed his eyes, head resting back. “Family recipes,” he said, tone clipped but not unkind. “History, too. That’s every batch of shine we ever made, every tweak, every disaster, every miracle. Goes to whoever’s running the books and keeping the fire going.”
I stared at the pages, at the spidery handwriting and the blotches of what was probably berry juice but could also have been blood.
“Can’t be a proper McKenzie,” he said, eyes still closed, “if you don’t know how to make the moonshine.”
My throat was tight as I clutched the book to my chest. “Thank you,” I whispered, and he waved a hand in dismissal, like it was no big deal, like he hadn’t just handed me a century of family trust.
Knox squeezed my shoulder as we headed up the stairs, but neither of us spoke until we were safe in the quiet of our room. The air was cool, the sheets still sun-warm, and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of what might happen when the lights went out.
As Knox and I peeled off our clothes, each slow movement held a weight of its own. It wasn't just the physical act of undressing but rather an intimate ritual that emphasized the reality of our union.
Our fingertips traced every curve and line of each other's body, savoring the texture and warmth, as if committing them to memory. We sank onto the bed together in a harmonious embrace, his lips claiming mine with a fierce tenderness that spoke volumes about our connection.
His large frame pressed against me, his hands roaming over my skin with tender care yet firm determination. He found every hidden scar and broken place within me, seemingly determined to heal them all through his touch.
And when he finally entered me, it was not just a physical penetration, but rather an emotional fusion that left us both breathless in unison. With each thrust he made inside me, I couldn't help but arch my back in ecstasy as we moved together like two halves finding their whole once more.
Our bodies slick with sweat and desire echoed throughout the room while shadows danced on the walls around us; creating an ethereal atmosphere that heightened our senses even further.
The scent of sex filled the air as we rocked against one another in unspoken rhythm; lost in each other's eyes which bore testament to years of longing fulfilled at last.
