I inhale a shaky breath. “I want to kiss you,” I admit, my voice barely audible over the constant churn of machinery.
His smirk widens, slow and wicked. He leans in, his words brushing hot against my neck. “We’re at my workplace, Ash,” he murmurs. “You’re so unprofessional.”
A soft laugh slips past my lips before I claim his mouth, kissing him with reckless abandon. He tastes like mint gum and cigarette smoke—a combination I’ve come to crave like my own personal nicotine. His beard scrapes warmly against my skin, his mustache prickly in the best possible way, sending a shiver straight down my spine.
Christ, I want to feel his facial hair against my crotch again—the way it rubbed me raw when he swallowed me down to the base.
Troy groans into my mouth and tightens his grip on my hips, tugging me flush against him. His body is warm and solid, a steady, grounding presence that eases the ache in my chest. I hum softlyagainst his lips, letting my worries dissolve until there’s nothing left in my head but Troy.
When we finally pull apart, his lips are red and swollen, his hair a wreck from where my hands tangled through it. We just stare at each other for a beat, both of us catching our breath.
Troy clears his throat. “So,” he says, voice still rough, “what’s the verdict? Glass or aluminum?”
A laugh rasps out of me before I lightly smack his chest, forcing a little distance between us. I need to cool down before I embarrass myself.
“Aluminum,” I reply, pointing at the can on the table.
He nods. “Great minds think alike. I’ll contact our distributor and place a shipment. We’ll need some artwork, though.”
I lift a brow. “Artwork?”
“Yeah. A logo, a design. Alcohol’s a lot like books—sometimes the cover’s what sells it.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “I could ask Olivia. She’s a graphic design major. She’s done all the logos and artwork for the orchard.”
Troy’s smile widens. “Yeah? That’d be sick.”
I glance at the clock, then back at him, reluctant. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
“Perfect.”
I step back, rolling my shoulders, trying to shake off the haze he’s left me in. “I should probably get going. I’ve got some work to do. My friend’s meeting me to help me repair some farm equipment.”
Troy nods, understanding flickering across his face. He leans in to press a soft kiss to my cheek. It’s delicate and sweet in a way that startles me, heat creeping up my neck.
“Drive safe, Ash.”
I mutter something that might be a goodbye and head for the door. As soon as I’m outside, I rub my jaw, smiling to myself, loving the faint burn where his beard scraped against me.
I hope it lingers—just a little while longer. A quiet reminder of him, etched into my skin like a brand. Somewhere deep inside, areckless spark flares, whispering the impossible hope that maybe, someday, I could truly belong to him.
The barn smells of dirt and gasoline, sunlight slanting through the warped metal siding in dusty ribbons. Phoebe’s leaning over the sprayer, balanced on her knees, a bolt clenched between her teeth as she wrestles a new part into place. She’s wearing stained denim overalls and a threadbare tank, grease smudged across her knuckles.
“Hold it steady,” she says around the bolt.
I angle the flashlight, trying not to blind her. “Like this?”
“Perfect.” She reaches out without looking. “Wrench.”
I pass it to her, and she slots it on, tightening with quick, confident turns. The ratchet clicks echo through the barn, sharp and rhythmic. A moment later, she gives the hose a firm tug, testing it, then spits the bolt into her palm and screws it in by hand before giving it one last crank.
She exhales hard and leans back against the tractor, wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist. “There. Brand new pressure valve.”
I turn off the flashlight and grin. “You’re a lifesaver. Seriously. Thanks for coming over.”
Phoebe waves a dismissive hand, already brushing dirt off her overalls. “Please. No problem. My dad’s got the exact same sprayer on our farm. We’ve already had to replace the valve twice.” She sighs. “I could do it with my eyes closed.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I glance back at the sprayer. “Good to know I’ve got an expert on call.”
