And me.
We’ve been circling the same wildfire all night, pretending we weren’t going to step into it.
No one moves.
No one speaks.
But the air between us shifts, sweetens, until it feels like heat rising from the earth itself.
I know exactly where we are, out in the open, under lantern light, with the road empty and the ranch finally quiet.
A bedroom would feel like hiding. Closed doors. Drawn curtains. The kind of secrecy that once cost me everything.
Out here, there’s nothing to sneak around or be ashamed of. No shadows to trap me in. Just the porch, the night air, and my own choice standing solid beneath my feet.
If this happens, it happens because I want it, because I’m done pretending desire is something I have to tuck away where no one can see.
Boone is the one still watching the road, big hands braced on his hips, chest rising and falling in a way that makes my belly clench. Caleb stands a little closer to me than he did a moment ago, not touching but near enough that the warmth of him grazes my arm. Silas remains at my other side, one shoulder against the porch beam, eyes dark, mouth curved like he already knows how the night will end.
I swallow.
It’s too quiet.
Too charged.
Like we’ve reached the part of a storm where everything goes still right before it breaks open.
Boone turns first.
His eyes find mine across the porch, and there’s no confusion this time, no hesitation, no careful boundary he’s trying to keep intact. Just hunger. Banked and controlled, yes, but unmistakable.
“Delaney,” he says softly.
Just my name, yet it feels like a hand closing around my waist.
Caleb’s breath hitches just slightly at the sound. Silas shifts forward, stepping into the space the night has carved out for us.
My pulse trips.
I should say something. A joke. A reminder about rules. A warning that this is a bad idea.
But the words dissolve on my tongue the moment Boone steps closer.
Then Caleb.
Then Silas.
And I realize…
I don’t want to stop it.
I don’t want to choose anymore.
I want them so much I could scream. Instead, a ferocious kind of bravery takes root in my chest, pushing away every last scrap of guilt and shame and good girl modesty.
Out here, under the moonlight, I grip hold of Boone’s shirt and tug him towards me to kiss him. His mouth crashes into mine. Hot, wet, urgent. The taste of whiskey and burnt wood fills my mouth. Boone kisses like a man who’s fought himself ragged, like he’s making up for every day he pretended not to want this.
I rake my hands into his hair, and Boone groans as he presses his whole body up against me so that I’m pinned between him and the porch rail. The railing creaks under our combined weight, but nothing short of hellfire could make me let go.
