“Is this okay?” I ask, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Touching you like this, in public?”
There’s hardly anyone around us, and it’s unlikely anyone would see, but I still want to be certain I’m not pushing his boundaries.
He bites his lip, then nods. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” I shift closer, angling my body toward his until our ankles knock together. “I forgive you, Ash. And I’m sorry too. I know how much it meant to you for last night to go smoothly—for me to impress your dad—and I totally blew it. But I promise, if I have to, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to get on his good side.”
His brows shoot up. “Really?”
“Of course.”
“But… why?” His nose scrunches, confusion softening his expression. “It doesn’t seem like you even like him.”
“I don’t like the way he treats you sometimes,” I admit. “But I know how important he is to you. That makes him important to metoo. I’m planning on sticking around for as long as you’ll have me, and I’d prefer it if your family didn’t hate me.”
His dimples press deep into his cheeks. “They don’t hate you. My siblings all like you,” he says quietly. “My mom told Luke you’re bi, and he doesn’t even care.”
I blink. “Wait—really?”
“Yeah. It surprised me too.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I mean, sure, he still has some ignorant beliefs, but he handled it better than I expected.” He hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip. “It made me think… maybe it’s possible to tell him the truth someday. That maybe he wouldn’t hate me. I’m sure it’d freak him out at first, but I think he’d be okay.”
I choose my next words carefully, not wanting to pressure him. “Is that something you want?” I ask gently. “To come out to them?”
His body tenses beneath the question, but he nods. “Yeah. I think so—at least to my siblings. Not until after harvest season, though.” His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. “I don’t need more stress weighing on me during the busiest time of the year, if things go sideways.”
“You can take as long as you need,” I insist, brushing my thumb across his knuckles.
He looks at me, searching. “Would you be okay with that? If I told my siblings about us?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Of course.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I huff out a quiet laugh. “I’d come out to the whole damn town right now if that’s what you wanted. If people have a problem with it and stop coming to my brewery afterward, then fuck ’em. I don’t want their money anyway.”
Ashton draws in a sharp breath. His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there, and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. I know that look.
“Can we go somewhere private?” he asks, voice low. “Because I’d really like to properly make up with my boyfriend after our first fight.”
Heat pools low in my belly, my dick twitching with interest. “God, yes.”
“Race you to the beach?” Ashton asks, jerking his chin toward the sand.
I smirk. “You’re on, blondie.”
We take off down the pier, shoes pounding against concrete, wind biting at our clothes and stealing our breath. Laughter rips out of both of us, wild and unfiltered. He pulls ahead almost immediately—those damn long legs eating up the distance—while I chase after him, already wheezing.
I never stood a chance. But the sight of him glancing back at me, hair tousled with a grin bright enough to rival the sun, is worth every ounce of humiliation.
Ashton drags his fingers lazily through my chest hair, his cheek pressed to my shoulder. Cryptid is wedged between us, forcing us into awkward angles to accommodate His Royal Highness. His loud purring rumbles through the quiet room, filling the comfortable silence that settles after a long evening spent making up.
I press a kiss to the crown of Ashton’s shower-damp hair, breathing in the faint scent of my shampoo clinging to it. My feet brush against his calves, which almost look bare because of how pale his body hair is, fine and soft as spun gold. He hums contentedly, his palm drifting over my nipple, idly toying with the barbell there.
“I’m looking forward to the end of cherry season,” Ashton says quietly.
I glance down at him, lifting a brow. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He sighs, the sound warm against my skin. “I learned a lot this summer, and it was a good harvest, but I’m… exhausted.”
