Chapter 17 #3
Shame coils tight in my gut. “I figured if I ignored it long enough, it would go away. That maybe I’d meet the right girl and everything would just… click. Fix itself.”
Troy stays quiet, his thigh brushing against mine, steady and warm.
“But then you moved here,” I finish quietly, “and you ruined everything.”
He laughs, a little incredulous. “Wow. Do I really have that kind of power?”
I look down at him through half-hooded lashes. “You have no idea.”
Something shifts in his expression then, the teasing hardening into something more serious. His teeth worry his bottom lip, twirling the silver piercing.
“Ash,” he says quietly, “can I ask you something?”
My stomach sinks, but I nod.
“Would you let me take you out sometime?” His voice is light, but something close to fear flickers across his eyes. “Like… on an actual date.”
I blink at him. “A date?” I ask, stupidly. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah,” he says without hesitation. “Dead serious.”
My mouth opens and closes, and I’m unable to form coherent thoughts. “Troy…”
He squeezes my thigh. “We can think of it like a trial period,” he says calmly. “No pressure. No labels. Just… dinner, maybe a drink. A chance for you to see what you like. What you want. If you even want this.” He gestures loosely between us.
My pulse thrums in my ears. I stare down at the sand, dragging my boot through it. “And what if I decide I can’t?” I ask quietly. “What if I figure out I can’t do… this?”
Troy’s smile turns soft around the edges, a little sad.
“Then we stop,” he says simply. “We go back to being business partners. Strictly professional.” He meets my eyes again.
“I promise I won’t let it mess with the orchard.
Or the cider. We have a business contract, right? So you’re protected no matter what. ”
I hold his gaze for a long moment, my fear battling with the pull I feel toward him—the ease, the safety, the way the world feels quieter when he’s close to me.
“Okay,” I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “We can… try.”
His eyes brighten, relief flashing across his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He lifts my hand and presses a gentle kiss to the back of it.
I stare at him in quiet disbelief, still trying to process how this rugged man with countless tattoos and piercings could have such a soft, gooey center.
He touches me with unexpected tenderness, like I’m something fragile, something to be handled with utmost care.
“And for the record,” Troy adds, cradling my hand between his, “I wasn’t actually interested in the woman at the flower stand. I was just trying to make you jealous.”
My mouth falls open. “You’re kidding.”
“I am not.”
I smack his arm lightly, and he doubles over in laughter. When he laughs like that, his eyes crinkle at the corners—and damn it if it isn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Fuck you,” I mutter, shaking my head, even as a reluctant laugh slips free.
He straightens, still grinning, and squeezes my hand once more before letting go. “I’ll pick you up Friday,” he says. Then, softer, “If that’s okay.”
My body goes rigid, shoulders locking as reality comes rushing back in.
“Um—yeah. Friday works,” I say, my voice quiet.
“But, Troy… I’m not ready to, like… be public.
Not anything close to that.” I fumble for the right word, teeth worrying my lower lip.
“If we go on a date, it needs to be… discreet.”
He doesn’t hesitate. Just nods. “That’s fine. I won’t pressure you into anything.”
The tension in my body loosens, just a fraction. “Thank you.”
“And I’m not ready to be public either. When I moved here, I knew I’d have to keep part of myself hidden—that I wouldn’t get to be openly queer like I was in Chicago.
It was a sacrifice I told myself I could live with.
” He exhales softly. “I’d never deny it if someone asked me outright, but I’m not naive.
I know I have to be careful about who I come out to around here. ”
I nod slowly. “Okay,” I say, exhaling. “Thank you.”
He gives me a small smile. “We can keep it private.” His brow lifts. “How about dinner at my place?”
“Yeah. Dinner sounds nice.”
“It’s a date, then,” he says, rising to his feet.
He helps me up, his hand warm and steady in mine. Before letting go, he gives my fingers a gentle squeeze.
As we walk back toward the market, leaving a careful distance between us, reality starts to seep back in.
When I’m with Troy, it’s easy to feel untethered, like I’ve drifted into some quiet, suspended place where expectations and fear can’t reach me.
But now the weight of what I’ve agreed to coils tight in my stomach.
Troy notices. Of course he does. He glances over and offers a small, reassuring smile. It steadies me, slows the spiral before it can take hold.
Even though it terrifies me, I can’t resist the pull anymore. Ever since I met him, he’s been dragging me past the edges of my comfort zone, a strong current tugging me beyond the drop-off. I’ve fought it every step of the way—but I’m tired of swimming against it.
Maybe it’s time to stop fighting.
Maybe it’s time to let myself be carried somewhere new.