Relief crashed through me with such force that I nearly staggered, a physical sensation of tension draining from my body all at once. My vision tunneled until all I could see was him, standing there uncertain but present. He'd come. Despite his family's warnings, despite the town's gossip, despite his own fears—he'd come to me.
"You made it," I said, unable to keep the relief from my voice.
Harlow shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands opening and closing at his sides like he wasn't sure what to do with them. "Said I would," he replied, his deep voice carrying easily across the space between us.
I took a step toward him, then another, measuring my approach. His eyes tracked my movement, wariness and want warring in his expression. When I was close enough to see the rise and fall of his chest with each rapid breath, I stopped.
"I wasn't sure," I admitted, finding honesty easier than I expected. "Thought maybe your mother might have found a way to keep you home."
A shadow crossed his face. "She thinks I'm checking the west fence line. Won't expect me back for a while."
I nodded, understanding the significance of his deception. Harlow McKenzie didn't lie—not to his family, not to anyone. That he'd done so to be here with me spoke volumes.
"Thank you," I said simply, "for coming."
His eyes met mine briefly, then dropped to my mouth before darting away again, a flush spreading across his cheekbones and disappearing into his beard. That one glance, filled with such naked longing, hit me like a physical touch.
I'd spent the past week thinking about this moment, imagining how it would unfold. But now that Harlow was standing before me, all my carefully planned words seemed inadequate. What mattered wasn't what I said, but what I did. How I showed him that he was seen and wanted exactly as he was.
The last rays of sunlight filtered through the trees, painting golden streaks across his face. In that light, I could see both his uncertainty and his determination—the courage it had taken for him to defy expectations and choose for himself, maybe for the first time.
I made a silent promise then, as the sun dipped below the horizon and cast us both in the gentle blue of twilight. No one—not Hetty McKenzie, not this town with its judgments and limitations, not even Harlow's own doubts—would stand between us again.
Chapter Nine
~ Harlow ~
My heart thumped so hard in my chest I could feel it in my throat as I slipped through the back gate of our property. Ma thought I was checking the west fence line.
I'd never lied to her before—not a real lie that mattered—and the words had stuck in my throat like honey gone hard. But I'd managed it. For him. For Deputy Dan. For the chance to figure out if these feelings that kept me awake at night were real like I thought they were or confused like Ma insisted.
The path through the woods was one I'd walked a thousand times since I was little. My feet knew every root and rock, even as the daylight faded and shadows stretched between the trees.
Ordinarily, I'd notice everything—which birds were singing their evening songs, what animals had recently crossed the trail, whether rain was coming in the air. But tonight, all I could focus on was putting one foot in front of the other, moving toward the old oak tree where Deputy Dan would be waiting. If he was waiting. If he'd meant what he said in that alley behind Rosie's Bakery.
My hands were shaking something terrible. I shoved them in my pockets to keep them still, but that just made the shaking move up my arms into my shoulders. Everything inside me felt like it was quivering, like those gelatin desserts Ma made for church potlucks.
"You're a grown man," I whispered to myself, the sound of my own voice startling a nearby squirrel. "Grown men don't shake like leaves just because they're meeting someone."
But it wasn't just someone. It was Deputy Dan Latham with his warm brown eyes and careful hands and the way he looked at me like I was worth seeing. Nobody had ever looked at methat way before—like I was a man instead of a problem to be managed or a child to be guided.
The closer I got to the river bend, the harder it was to breathe proper. My lungs felt too small, like they couldn't hold enough air. What if he wasn't there? What if this was all some kind of mistake or joke? Or worse—what if he was there, but decided I wasn't worth the trouble once he really thought about it?
Ma's words echoed in my head: "You're different, Harlow. Special. You don't understand what those feelings really mean."
Maybe she was right. Maybe I didn't understand. Maybe what I felt when I thought about Deputy Dan wasn't what other people felt when they fell in love. How would I know the difference? But then I remembered how my hand had fit in his, despite mine being so much bigger. How his touch had sent lightning up my arm and into my chest. How carrying him through that storm had felt right in a way few things ever had.
I stopped at the edge of the clearing, suddenly afraid to take those last few steps. The sun was setting, painting the sky in fiery colors that reflected off the river water.
And there he was, standing by the old oak, pacing back and forth like he couldn't keep still. Deputy Dan—no, just Dan now, because this wasn't about his job or my family's land. This was about us, whatever "us" might turn out to be.
He hadn't seen me yet. I could still turn around, go back to the farm, tell Ma I'd checked the fence and found it secure. No one would ever know I'd almost done this crazy, terrifying thing.
But then Dan turned, and our eyes met across the clearing.
Everything inside me went quiet. The shaking stopped. The fear ebbed away like river water around a stone. Because the look on his face when he saw me—relief and joy and something hungrier that made my face heat up—told me everything I needed to know. He'd been afraid too. Afraid I wouldn't come.
"You made it," he said, and his voice sounded different out here, away from my family's house and his sheriff's office. Lower. More his own.
