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.”
Back outside, Danny folded himself into one of the lawn chairs, knees drawn up slightly like he was trying to take up less space.
The evening had gone golden, that perfect hour before sunset when everything looked softer.
Crickets had started up somewhere in the tree line.
Lightning bugs drifted lazy paths across the yard, their glow flickering against the darkening sky.
“So what do you do?” Danny asked, picking at the beer label again. Another piece came free. “When you’re not inviting strangers over for Harry Potter marathons, I mean?”
“I own the Frothy Pine, actually. That tavern on Main Street.”
Danny’s eyebrows went up. “Really? I’ve walked past there a hundred times.”
“Never been in?”
“Not really my scene.” Danny caught himself. “I mean, not that taverns aren’t… I just don’t go out much.”
Ash wanted to reach over and still those restless fingers, tell his mate he had nothing to be nervous about, that he didn’t have to perform or pretend. Instead, Ash said, “Worst customer you’ve ever had. Go.”
Danny took another sip of his beer, thinking. “Last month, this guy came in at eleven p.m.—we close at midnight—and demanded we special order him a specific brand of anchovy paste. From Italy. For his cat.”
“For his cat.”
“For his cat. And when I told him we couldn’t do that, he asked to speak to the CEO of the entire grocery chain. Not the manager. The CEO.”
Ash laughed, the sound rumbling up from somewhere deep. “Did you give him the number?”
“I gave him the customer service line and watched him stand in the parking lot screaming at an automated menu for twenty minutes.”
“That’s beautiful. That’s art.” Ash checked the steaks again, satisfied with the char. He plated them with baked potatoes and grilled asparagus, setting everything on the small table between two lawn chairs.
Cutting into his steak, Danny made a sound that went straight to Ash’s gut. Low and pleased and completely unconscious.
“Oh my god.” His mate covered his mouth, still chewing. “This is incredible. What did you do to it?”
“Family secret.” Ash tried not to look too pleased, but Danny’s expression—eyes closed, savoring—made it impossible not to smile. “My dad would disown me if I told anyone about the dry rub.”
“Your turn.” Danny pointed his fork at him. “Worst bar customer.”