"You made all of this?" I peered into the containers, my scent probably broadcasting my delight, my mouth already watering at the sight and smell of it.
"I like cooking." He admitted, a flush creeping up his neck as he ducked his head, avoiding my eyes, his big hands surprisingly deft as he set out plates and napkins. "It's like distilling. Following a process. Watching something transform." He pulled out one final item—a bottle of moonshine I recognized immediately, the hand-blown glass catching the candlelight.
"1958." I took the bottle when he offered it, turning it over in my hands, remembering the taste of it on my tongue, the story behind it—his grandmother's favorite year, the hope he'd given me at that first meeting. "Your grandmother's favorite year." I looked up at him, something soft unfurling in my chest.
"I thought... if this goes well..." He stumbled over the words, color rising in his cheeks, his dark eyes unable to quite meet mine. "I wanted to start with something that mattered." He ducked his head, exposing the vulnerable curve of his neck.
"Harper." I waited until he looked at me, those dark eyes uncertain and hopeful, his massive frame tense with nerves. "Look at me." I held his gaze, letting him see the truth in myexpression. "This is already going well." I smiled, soft and real, and watched the hope kindle brighter in his eyes.
We ate as the sun finished setting, the sky shifting through shades of gold and pink and purple until the stars began to emerge. He talked more than I'd ever heard him talk—about the distillery, his grandparents, the land that had been in his family for five generations. His voice was low and rough, his accent thick, and I found myself leaning closer, wanting to catch every word, wanting to know every piece of him.
"Can I ask you something?" I set down my plate and turned to face him fully, tucking my legs beneath me on the bench, the moonlight silvering the edges of everything, turning the bayou into something magical and otherworldly.
"Anything." His voice came out low and rough, his dark eyes fixed on my face with an intensity that should have been intimidating but just made me want to lean closer, his whole body angled toward me like I was magnetic north, like I was the only thing in the world worth looking at.
"Why were you alone for so long? You're kind. You're steady. You're..." I gestured at him, feeling heat rise in my cheeks, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the gentle strength of his scarred hands. "You're not hard to look at. Why wasn't there anyone before?" I held his gaze without flinching.
He stared out at the water for a long moment, the moonlight catching in his dark eyes, his jaw tight with old pain, his hands flexing against his thighs.
"I scared them." He said finally, his voice rough with wounds that had never quite healed, his gaze still fixed on the water. "The ones who showed interest. I'm too big. Too quiet. Too intense." He flexed his scarred hands, staring at them like he was seeing all the damage they'd done, all the ways they'd driven people away. "I don't know how to be casual. How to make small talk. How to be... easy." He swallowed hard, his Adam's applebobbing. "After a while, I stopped trying. It hurt less to be alone than to watch people realize I wasn't what they wanted." He wouldn't look at me, braced for rejection, his massive shoulders curving inward like he was trying to make himself smaller.
Something fierce and protective rose up in my chest. I moved closer, pressing myself against his side, threading my fingers through his and holding tight.
"You're not too much." I made my voice fierce, letting him hear the certainty in it, squeezing his hand hard enough to make him feel it. "You're exactly enough. Anyone who couldn't see that wasn't worth your time." My thumb traced circles on his calloused skin, mapping the texture of him.
"Artemis." My name came out of him broken, barely a whisper, and when I looked up, his dark eyes were bright with something I'd never seen there before—hope, maybe, or wonder, or the terrifying vulnerability of being truly seen.
"I'm here." I turned toward him, lifting my free hand to cup his stubbled jaw, feeling the warmth of him, the fine tremor running through his massive frame. "I see you, Harper. The real you. And I'm not going anywhere." I held his gaze in the moonlight, letting him see that I meant every word.
He kissed me. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't tentative. It was desperate and hungry, years of loneliness pouring out of him as his hand came up to cup the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. His mouth was hot and demanding against mine, and I gasped into the kiss, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
A growl rumbled up from his chest—low and possessive and utterly Alpha—and something primal in me responded, my scent spiking with want as I pressed closer, opening for him, taking everything he was offering. When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, his forehead rested against mine, his breath mingling with my own, his hand still tangled in my hair.
"I've wanted to do that since the first day." His voice came out wrecked, barely recognizable, and I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs where our chests pressed together. "When you walked into my distillery and looked at me like I was worth looking at." He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his expression raw and open.
"I know." I smiled against his lips, my hand still fisted in his shirt, feeling the heat of his body through the fabric. "I could smell it on you. Even then." I traced my thumb along his jaw, feeling the scrape of stubble, the clench of muscle beneath my touch. "You're not alone anymore, Harper. Not if you don't want to be." I searched his face, watching the way my words landed, the way his expression shifted from guarded to open.
"I don't want to be." The words came out raw and honest, stripped bare of any pretense, his dark eyes holding mine with desperate intensity. "I want this. Want you. Even if I have to share you." He swallowed hard, something complicated flickering across his features—jealousy, maybe, and acceptance, and hope all tangled together. "I never thought I'd say that. But if sharing you means having you at all..." He trailed off, jaw tight.
"One day at a time." I pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, letting my lips linger against his skin. "That's all any of us can do." I settled back against his side, my head finding the hollow of his shoulder, my hand still tangled with his.
We sat there in his grandparents' gazebo, watching the moon climb higher over the bayou, the jasmine perfuming the air around us. His arm came around my shoulders, heavy and warm, holding me close like I was something precious.
"Harper?" My voice came out soft, drowsy with contentment, my breath warm against his shoulder where I was pressed against his side, my fingers still intertwined with his massive calloused ones.
"Yeah?" He turned his head, his lips brushing my hair, his chest rumbling with the word, his arm tightening around my shoulders like he was afraid I might slip away.
"This was perfect. Exactly what I needed." I snuggled closer, letting out a sigh that carried away all the tension I'd been holding, my body relaxing into his warmth like I was made to fit there. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and held me tighter, his massive frame curving around me protectively, and I felt something shift between us—something settling into place, something that felt like the beginning of something real.
The drive back to my cabin was quiet, but it was a comfortable quiet now. Full. Warm. My hand stayed in his the whole way, his thumb tracing absent patterns on my knuckles. When he pulled up to my porch, he came around to open my door and helped me down, his hands lingering at my waist for just a moment before he stepped back, his dark eyes drinking me in like he was memorizing me.
"Goodnight, Harper." I stood on the first step, putting us almost at eye level, and reached out to straighten his collar even though it didn't need straightening, letting my fingers brush the warm skin of his neck.
"Goodnight, Artemis." He said my name like a prayer, his voice rough and low, his hands shoved in his pockets like he was fighting the urge to reach for me again. I leaned in and kissed him one more time—soft and sweet and full of promise—then pulled back with a smile.
"Thursday. The weekly meeting." I reminded him, stepping up another stair, my hand trailing along the porch railing, reluctant to put more distance between us. "Try not to start any fights before then." I teased gently, looking back at him over my shoulder with a smile.
"I'll do my best." He promised, his voice rough with emotion as he watched me climb the rest of the steps, his dark eyesfollowing my every movement like he was memorizing the way I moved. I paused at the door, looking back at him one more time—this massive, gentle, lonely man who'd given me something precious tonight.
