When Emerson had sat next to him on the couch, Luca had felt it immediately. The tension between them, the way the air seemed to thicken, like Luca could feel the heat of Emerson’s body even when they weren’t touching. And he knew, based on the way Emerson had kissed him yesterday, that Emerson felt it, too. Undeniable.
His rational brain knew Emerson was right, though, when he’d started the apology. Like he’d also been right to break off the kiss the day before. Emerson King was his boss. Emerson King was most likely still in love with his ex-husband.
But the viper in Luca’s throat just wanted to be fucking honest.
And so. Even though he’d come to Short King Farms for a new start, here he found himself. In practically the same fucking situation he’d been in with Dell McCleary. Making hisbody available for pleasure. Taking his own pleasure when he wanted it.
While someone else got all the rest.
Still a ghost, really. Just one who got to fuck more.
At least when he and Dell had started their arrangement, things had been clear. They’d liked fucking each other so they’d agreed to do it again. There had never been anything deeper to it than that, other than the inevitable soft places intimacy made bare, until time and familiarity made Luca start to wonderwhat if.
But when they’d started, anyway, it had been clear. The only thing Luca had really, truly known about Dell was what got him off. He hadn’t heard Dell sing Elton John songs to his daughter in the middle of the night. He hadn’t seen Dell cradle a basket of eggs or prepare a million bouquets of wildflowers like every inch of his world was precious. He had never eaten Dell’s homemade meals. He knew what kind of beer Dell liked, but he didn’t know how Dell preferred to spend his Sunday mornings, or the slant of his handwriting.
Fuck.
Any time Luca thought about how Emerson had laughed, though, after he came.
It made something glow inside his chest, made him feel inexplicably lighter. Happier. Like he’d done something important. He’d made Emerson King laugh.
The entire next day, working in the fields, Luca couldn’t stop thinking about doing it again.
When he and Jansel entered the kitchen at the end of their workday, Emerson stood at the sink, washing dishes. His and Luca’s eyes met, one quick flash of connection, before Emerson returned his gaze to the water.
“Shit’s looking good,” Jansel assessed, marking a few things off on the whiteboard. “Your best harvest yet, I think.”
“Our best harvest,” Emerson corrected.
“Yeah, sure. How’s the wildflower field looking?”
Emerson sighed. When Luca had last seen him, briefly this morning, he’d been on his way out in the truck to pick up, in his words, “a shit ton of woodchips” to work on the walkways up there.
“Okay, so far. My back’s killing me, though. Been a while since I’ve done this kind of work. Or this level of it, anyway.”
Luca could only imagine whatthis kind of workactually entailed, being that Emerson kept refusing help with it. Luca imagined it involved constant shoveling, though, of Emerson bending and lifting all day long.
“You know we could?—”
Emerson waved off Jansel’s sentence. “Nah, it’s good. I’ll let you know when I need help.”
Jansel snorted. It was, clearly, abullshit, but okaysnort. Emerson ignored it.
“All righty, then.” Jansel tipped the lid of his baseball cap before tucking it back again, his signaturegoodbyemove. “See you two tomorrow.”
The moment the door clicked shut, Luca strolled toward the sink.
“I made a big salad,” Emerson said as he approached. “There’s leftovers in the fridge. Some grilled chicken to go with it, if you’d like.”
Luca leaned his back against the counter. He’d eaten better, this last week or so, than he had in years. Nutrition on a fishing boat was pretty shitty, and even when he was back on land, he didn’t cook much. The only times he’d truly eaten well as an adult were family dinners back at his parents’ house.
Until he moved onto Short King Farms and started getting fed by Emerson King.
It was almost disturbing, how quickly he’d been able to feel it. The physical labor, the healthy, fresh food. Luca’s body feltbetter than it’d maybe ever felt, his energy high, his brain lucid, even with the aches, even with all the regular shit that was always part of his brain. Luca felt good. And he was hungry.
But now that he and Emerson were alone again?—
“Mm,” he said. “Maybe later.”
