Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
A ll the next day, Aaron was flying on the high that Beth’s kiss had given him.
It was more than just a kiss. It was a shift, a door cracked open into something he’d been hoping for but didn’t want to push too fast. Everything seemed sharper, lighter.
His morning coffee tasted better. His morning run seemed smoother and more rewarding.
Even the mundane routine of checking in with staff at River Camps carried an ease that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
The security firm told him that they were running a promotion on additional cameras, which was perfect timing. Having eyes on his place wasn’t just about convenience anymore, it was about peace of mind.
He had walked the technician down the gravel drive, boots crunching against the rocks, and paused at the old stone posts that he and his dad had built when he was still a teenager.
It had been one of their last projects together.
Standing there now, watching the guy mount the small camera to the weathered stone, Aaron felt the same mix of pride and nostalgia that always came with memories of his father.
Those posts had been meant to last, to stand guard over whoever came and went.
Adding a camera there felt almost symbolic, another layer of protection, a quiet promise that he would always be there to keep watch.
He used the security app on his cell phone later that afternoon, smiling when his phone pinged with the notification that the delivery driver had dropped a package at the house.
Simple, but effective. It wasn’t lost on him how quickly life could turn, one moment ordinary, the next spiraling out of control.
He’d gone through it with his folk’s death and had seen it may times as a cop.
Beth was still living it, thanks to Ian’s shadow.
As the sun dipped lower that evening, Aaron was leaning against the railing near the docks, scrolling through the live feed on his phone.
The sight of his empty driveway, quiet and secure, grounded him.
For once, he didn’t feel like he was just reacting to trouble.
He was a step ahead. And maybe that’s why Beth’s kiss lingered so strongly in his mind, because it wasn’t born out of fear or desperation but out of choice. Out of trust.
It made him want more. Not just of her lips, but of her laughter, her quiet resilience, the way she’d clutched her sweater more tightly around her shoulders last night but still walked towards the fire instead of hiding in her car. She was brave. Braver than she gave herself credit for.
And for him, that kiss had lit a fuse. A promise of a fire that he hadn’t known he’d needed.
The next morning, Aaron stood at his kitchen sink, rinsing the last of the breakfast dishes and setting them in the rack to dry.
The kitchen smelled faintly of bacon and coffee, warm and familiar, though his nerves were anything but calm.
He glanced out the window above the sink, the morning light spilling in across the green field.
His horses were out there, grazing lazily, enjoying the shade when they could, and he couldn’t help the half-smile that tugged at his mouth.
Today, Beth was coming over.
That thought alone had him running through the kitchen, as he was suddenly a man who cared about crumbs on the counter and streaks on the faucet.
He’d already straightened the living room, folded the throw blanket on the couch, even wiped down the oak table his mom used to insist stay polished.
It wasn’t about impressing Beth, not entirely.
It was about wanting her to feel comfortable here, to see this space as safe.
He was a tidy person. At one point, he’d even thought of hiring someone to come in and clean, but then he’d remembered his mother’s words. “If you pay someone else to do something you know how to do… then you’ll never really appreciate the work that goes into it.”
Aaron had carried that lesson with him for years.
Washing dishes, sweeping floors, wiping counters—it wasn’t glamorous, but it grounded him.
It was a rhythm, a quiet reminder that he could control the little things even when life outside felt messy or unpredictable.
And today, tidying up wasn’t just about the house.
It was about the picnic he’d planned, about making a space where Beth could feel safe and relaxed, even if only for a few hours.
He ran a hand over the polished oak counter one last time. He put the dry dishes away and made some fresh lemonade.
He stepped back, arms crossed, and exhaled slowly to calm his nerves.
He thought about how ordinary the morning might seem to anyone else, while for him it was charged with possibility.
Every detail, every small act of preparation, carried the hope that Beth would feel at home here.
That she would let herself breathe a little, maybe even laugh, maybe even lean on him.
He opened the cooler on the counter for the third time, checking the contents like he didn’t already know what he’d packed.
Fresh fruit, chilled drinks, a couple of sandwiches stacked neatly in wax paper, and the little tin of cookies he’d baked because, hell, he wanted her to smile when she saw them.
The final plan had come to him before dawn, as he lay awake replaying her kiss in his mind.
Out back, under the massive oak that stretched its mossy arms wide across his yard, there was a natural spot for a blanket, where the roots dipped just enough to cradle a person leaning back against them.
His parents used to take him there when he was a boy, a picnic basket between them, his mom reading while his dad dozed in the shade.
That tree had stood for over two centuries, weathering storms, lightning strikes, and droughts. It was strong. It endured.
And somehow, it felt right to take Beth there.
Aaron wiped his hands on a dish towel and glanced out the window towards the driveway, his phone resting on the counter within reach.
No alert yet. The camera hadn’t pinged. She wasn’t here.
But the anticipation hummed through him all the same, steady and grounding, like the quiet before a song begins.
He found himself pacing a little, glancing from the cooler to the clock, then out the window again.
For years, his mornings had been about discipline, about routine—exercise, coffee, and patrols.
Today, all he could think about was Beth pulling up his drive, stepping out of her car, tucking that wild strand of hair that always managed to get away behind her ear, like she always did when she was nervous.
He wanted to be the reason she stopped looking over her shoulder.
Then his phone pinged, a notification from the driveway camera, and he practically jumped in response.
Her car pulled up at the end of the drive and stopped, as if she was making sure she was in the right place. He should have been standing out on the porch. Damn.
Then it started moving again, slowly, as if she was taking in the entire place while she drove.
He felt a surge of warmth and something tighter in his chest. Time to stop pacing. Time to go welcome her.
Aaron grabbed a dish towel, wiped his hands one last time, and stepped out onto the porch from the kitchen door.
The sun was warm against his back as he rounded to the front part of the wraparound porch.
The air was fresh and held the lingering scent of cut grass and pine, and the faint sweetness of wildflowers lining the porch.
Beth’s car rolled to a stop at the end of the drive next to his truck. She stepped out, and for a second he forgot what he was about to say.
The soft blue and cream sundress she wore caught the late breeze, the fabric moving easy and light around her legs.
It wasn’t flashy, nothing that screamed for attention, but on her it was enough to twist something deep in his chest. Her dark hair was braided loosely over one shoulder, a few strands slipping free to brush her cheek.
The simple way she looked, like she’d walked out of some summer dream, hit him harder than he expected.
“You look beautiful,” he said, the words slipping out before he could think to hold them back.
Her eyes flicked up, surprised, then softened as the faintest smile curved her lips.
“Sorry,” he said with a shake of his head as he moved down the steps to stand beside her. “Did you find the place okay?”
“Yes, and may I say, wow?” She motioned to the house. “This place is… amazing.”
He nodded in agreement. “My parents inherited it from my mother’s grandfather. They put a lot of work into it before I came along, then a bunch more after.” He chuckled. “I’ve had my fair share of roof and plumbing repairs.”
“It’s like a park.” She motioned to the animals, who had all gathered at the edge of the fence to see who the newcomer was.
“Trust me,” he replied, grin widening, “it’s better than a park. This place has it all—animals, history, and food. Yes, food is involved.” He took her hand in his.
Beth tilted her head, curious, as he led her down the gravel path towards the barn. As they rounded the corner, a sleek, chestnut horse lifted his head from the paddock, ears pricked forward. Aaron smiled. “Beth, meet Pickles.”
Pickles nuzzled her hand gently, and she laughed, brushing along his mane. “Pickles? Really?”
Aaron grinned. “Absolutely. He’s a little dramatic sometimes, but he’s loyal, just like the rest of the crew.
I should warn you, everyone here is named after food,” Aaron explained, standing and leading her deeper into the barnyard.
“That’s Marmalade over there.” He pointed to the donkey.
“Here’s Pancake.” He scratched the other horse’s nose.
“He’s a little shy, but he warms up fast.” He turned around and motioned to the chicken coop.
“Then there’s Toast, our rooster, who thinks he owns the place. ”