Danny parked behind a truck that probably cost more than he made in a year. He cut the engine and gripped the steering wheel, counting to thirty while his legs remembered they were supposed to work.
Before his courage could desert him, he was out of the car and walking up the path toward the front door.
Chapter Two
Ash heard a car pull into his driveway. Then the engine cut and a car door opened and closed.
It had to be Danny.
Jabbing his tongs under a steak, Ash flipped it, watching fat drip and sizzle against the glowing coals. Smoke curled up through the evening air, carrying the smell of charred meat and hickory chips across the twilight backyard. “I’m out back! Come around the side!”
Soft footsteps rustled through grass, hesitant at first then steadier as Danny rounded the corner of the house, his frame small and slight compared to Ash’s own bulk. Ash’s breath hitched, his chest tightening. It wasn’t just attraction, not exactly. It was more. The kind of more that stripped the air from his lungs and left him standing there, stupid and frozen, caught in a moment he’d waited for his entire life.
Danny had traded the work polo for a black T-shirt that fit him perfectly, not too tight but close enough to hint at the lean lines underneath. His blue eyes darted from the string lights wrapped around the pergola to the vegetable garden along the fence then to the hammock strung between two oaks. Like he was memorizing everything, filing it away. When his gaze finally landed on Ash, a faint pink colored his cheekbones, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.
There was something unguarded in the way he looked at Ash, like he’d caught his mate mid-thought. The fact that he’d shown up in the first place told Ash his mate felt the bond. Danny might not know what that feeling was, but he felt it.
God, he’s beautiful.
The kind of beautiful a man only thinks once in his life, about one person, one moment, one lightning strike.
“Glad you made it.” Ash set the tongs on the grill’s side table and gestured toward the red cooler by the deck steps. “Help yourself to something to drink. Got beer, water, some sodas in there.”
His mate crouched by the cooler, his wallet chain catching the light as he dug through the ice. His fingers hovered over a water bottle then moved to a beer instead. The bottle cap gave a soft hiss when he twisted it off, and he took a quick sip before straightening. His thumb worried at the label’s corner, peeling it back in tiny increments.
“Your place is really nice.” His mate’s voice carried that same uncertain edge from the grocery store. He took a long pull from the beer then another. “Like, actually nice. Not serial-killer-cabin-in-the-woods nice.”
Ash laughed, low and easy. Danny was a gem. “That’s quite the compliment. Want the grand tour before we eat? Promise there are no bodies in the basement.”
“Do you have a basement?”
“No, which makes the promise easier to keep.”
Danny sank his teeth into his bottom lip, causing Ash’s gaze to drop to their plumpness, and for a moment, he was dying to know what they would taste like crushed against his own.
His mate smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes where that bit of eyeliner made the blue even brighter. “Yeah, okay.”
Leaving the steaks to rest, Ash guided Danny through the back door into the kitchen. Nothing fancy, just clean counters, mismatched dishes in open shelving, herbs growing in mason jars on the windowsill. Danny ran his fingers along the butcher block island, pausing at the knife block.
“You cook a lot?”
“When I can. Work means weird hours, but I like making real food when I’m home.” Ash watched Danny explore the space with those careful touches, like he was memorizing textures. “Bathroom’s down the hall if you need it. Bedroom’s upstairs, but nothing interesting in there unless you’re into unmade beds and laundry piles.”
Danny huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. “Relatable.”
“Living room’s through here.”
The tour continued through rooms that told the story of someone who’d settled in, made a life. A leather couch, stone fireplace, bookshelves stuffed with paperbacks and old vinyl records. Danny paused at the record collection, his head tilting.
“You actually use these?”
“Every Sunday morning. Coffee and Fleetwood Mac. It’s a whole ritual.”
Danny glanced at the paperbacks, his finger trailing along the spines. Fantasy mostly, some mystery, a whole row of Agatha Christie that made Danny’s mouth quirk up at one corner.
“You weren’t kidding about the Harry Potter thing.” He touched the worn spine of the first book. “You’ve got all of them.”
“Never joke about wizards.” Ash watched Danny take another sip of beer, noticing how his throat worked when he swallowed. His mate knew how to rearrange a man’s entire worldview. “Come on, food’s almost ready.”
