Chapter Twenty-Five
Ashton
An old barn sits at the far west end of the orchard, built by my great-grandfather in the fifties.
It’s seen better days. A massive hole gapes in the roof where a fallen branch punched through it years ago—never fixed, just left open to the sky.
The wooden siding has long since surrendered its red paint, only a few brittle chips clinging stubbornly to the boards.
Now it mostly sits empty, collecting dust and shadows, storing rusted equipment and forgotten scraps.
The only other thing it’s good for?
A private makeout spot.
Which is why, when Troy decided to stop by the orchard to pick up more cherries for the next batch of cider, I didn’t hesitate. I hopped off the forklift, ignored the curious glances from a couple of the guys in the rows, and told them I’d be back in thirty.
Then I hopped on my four-wheeler and took off toward the west end, gravel spitting beneath the tires as I drove us far away from the agricultural workers.
We end up flat on our backs in the middle of the barn, dust puffing up around us as we land in a tangled heap. My shirt’s half-untucked, Troy’s hair a mess beneath my fingers, and our lips are swollen from kissing.
The dirt floor is cool beneath us, grounding. His arm is draped over my stomach, my hand resting lazily on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, slow and steady.
Above us, the rafters stretch like old ribs against the sky. Through the jagged hole in the roof, bright blue spills in, clouds drifting lazily overhead. A soft breeze slips through, carrying the scent of cherries and sun-warmed wood.
I stare absently at the ceiling, my mind wandering to faraway places. “You know… I always thought this place could make a great wedding venue,” I murmur.
Troy turns his head to look at me. “What?”
I shrug, suddenly aware of how absurd it sounds. “I mean—if I fixed it up. Replace the roof. Reinforce the beams. String up lights.” I gesture vaguely toward the rafters. “It’s not like I’m using it for anything else.”
He props himself up slightly on one elbow, watching me.
“I thought maybe we could convert it into an event space,” I continue, words coming faster now. “Have weddings out here. It’d be good for business. Rustic-chic or whatever.” I huff a small laugh. “People eat that stuff up.”
Troy just stares at me, blinking.
Heat crawls up my neck, bile rising in my stomach.
“Never mind,” I mutter quickly, rolling my eyes at myself. “It’s dumb. My dad already said it was stupid. Too much money. Too much risk.”
“Ash.”
I press my lips together, gaze drifting back up to the sky. “Forget I said anything.”
“Ash,” he repeats, firmer this time.
I look at him.
His fingers graze my cheek, his brown eyes softening. “It’s a great idea.”
I blink. “What?”
“It’s a great idea,” he says again, like it’s obvious. He pushes himself up onto his side fully now. “This place has so much potential. The bones are good. And with the orchard right there?” He gestures toward the open doors, where rows of trees stretch out in neat lines. “It’d be beautiful.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly.
“You really think so?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says without hesitation. “It’d be an incredible place to get married.”
Something about the way he says it makes my chest ache.
I swallow, suddenly very aware of the weight of his arm around me.
“Yeah,” I say, voice going softer, “I’d love to get married here.”
He goes very still next to me.
“Hypothetically,” I rush out, chuckling nervously. “Like, maybe someday. If—when. You know.”
Troy’s mouth curves slowly into a smirk.
“Well,” he says, leaning down until his forehead brushes mine, “I think I’d be honored to marry you here… hypothetically.”
Even though I know we’re both joking, his words still steal the breath from my lungs. In the sweltering heat of the old barn, surrounded by dust-covered potential, I fist his shirt and seal our lips together again.
My hands are stained a stubborn red from handling cherries all day, dried juice sticky against my fingers.
The summer heat presses down without mercy, sweat dripping between my shoulder blades and plastering my T-shirt to my chest. My baseball cap does almost nothing against the blinding sun.
I still have to squint as I scan the crowded street, the farmers market alive with overlapping chatter and the distant melody of a street performer strumming a guitar.
Olivia’s home sick with a cold, which means I’m running the stall alone.
I’ve been scrambling to keep up since dawn—restocking the display again and again as baskets empty faster than I can refill them.
My voice is going hoarse from answering the same questions on repeat, my lips aching from the strain of too many forced smiles.
I’m exhausted.
The only thing keeping me motivated is knowing I have plans with Troy tonight. The thought of stepping into his apartment, of finally cooling off in the dim quiet, of his hands on my waist and his mouth on mine—it’s a rewarding promise waiting at the end of the day.
From the corner of my vision, a tall figure snags my attention. I glance over to see no other than Mason Burke, strolling through the market beside a guy I don’t recognize.
Mason has always taken up space without trying.
Broad shoulders. Sharp angles. A jawline that looks carved from stone.
Defined pecs and thick biceps strain the sleeves of his T-shirt, but it’s the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose that soften him, giving him that small-town golden boy look.
His shiny caramel hair falls to his shoulders in loose, beachy curls.
His hazel eyes flick over the crowd as he walks, restless, almost nervous.
The guy next to him is shorter, light brown skin glowing in the sun, hooded eyes crinkling every time he glances up at Mason.
He wears round wire-frame glasses that slide down his nose when he smiles.
His frame is slim, half-swallowed by an oversized shirt, a canvas tote bumping against his hip, stuffed with fresh-cut flowers that spill out in bursts of color.
My brain goes a little numb as they angle toward my table.
The story Luke told me keeps looping in my head. What if that’s the guy Mason kissed? What if it wasn’t just a rumor?
What if I’m not so alone, after all?
Mason looks at me, brows knitting slightly, like he’s trying to recall where he recognizes me from. I can’t blame him. Back in high school, he was always more Luke’s friend than mine.
“Hey. You’re Mason Burke, right?” I ask, stretching my mouth into a tight smile.
His body stiffens. “Um. Yeah.”
“I’m Ashton, Luke Tremblay’s older brother.” I reach across the table to shake his hand, but he leans in at the same time, going for a half hug. We collide in a clumsy in-between, both of us tensing before awkwardly separating.
“We went to high school together,” I continue, dragging my sweaty palm down my jeans. “I was a senior when you were a sophomore, I think.”
Recognition flickers across his face, surprise softening into memory. His eyebrows lift. “Oh, right,” he says, laughing softly. “How’ve you been?”
“I’m great, man! Our dad retired this year, so I’m taking over the family orchard.” I wave a hand over the cherries piled high in neat rows. “You went off to college, didn’t you?”
Mason blinks, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Uh, yeah, but I moved back here a couple years ago.” He scratches the back of his neck, gaze skimming past me instead of meeting my eyes.
My attention drifts lower just as the guy beside him slides an arm around his waist, thumb brushing slow circles into the small of his back.
Up close, the man’s softness feels almost defiant for a place like Claremont Shores.
His nails are painted a glossy pastel pink, tiny sparkles catching the sunlight on his thumbs as his hand rests against Mason’s hip.
A rainbow beaded bracelet hangs around his dainty wrist, a Pride flag charm dangling there.
My pulse pounds in my ears.
“So… it’s true?” I ask, lowering my voice and leaning across the table. “The rumors?”
Mason’s jaw tightens. “What do you mean?”
“You’re… gay?” The word comes out clumsy. My eyes flick to the man at his side and back again. “I heard you kissed a guy on the Fourth of July.”
The second it leaves my mouth, I know I’ve botched it. Mason goes rigid, something shuttering behind his eyes—fear, anger, maybe both. I’ve never been good at vulnerability.
I probably got that from my dad.
“Mason, c’mon. Let’s just go,” the guy murmurs, tugging gently at his sleeve. Mason doesn’t move.
“Hey, I don’t judge,” I say quickly, lifting my hands in surrender. “It’s just… surprising. You were such a ladies’ man in high school. Luke swore the rumor was bullshit.”
Mason squares his shoulders, chin lifting. “Not that it’s any of your business—or Luke’s—but yeah, I’m gay.”
“Oh.” I blink, my mouth falling open before I can stop it. “Wow.”
Smooth, Ashton. Real smooth.
He shoves a wad of cash into my palm, hard enough to throw me off-balance. “Thanks for the cherries. Really great catching up,” he says, voice tight.
I shake my head frantically. “Mason, wait, I—”
He doesn’t let me finish. He laces his fingers through the other man’s and pulls him away from the table. They disappear into the crowd, shoulders brushing as they weave between people.
I stand there with cherries and crumpled bills in my hand, staring helplessly at their retreating backs.
How the hell did I manage to screw that up so badly?
“I’m a fucking idiot,” I mutter, burying my face into Troy’s chest.
His laugh vibrates beneath my cheek, low and warm, and he presses a soft kiss to my temple. “So dramatic,” he teases.
I tighten my arms around his waist, squeezing him closer. The soft give of his belly presses against my stomach, squishy and comforting—my own personal teddy bear. He smells like citrus cleaner and hops, like the brewery clinging to his skin even after a shower.
We’re sprawled on his couch, the overhead lights off, only a lamp glowing in the corner. It’s quiet and safe, with Cryptid napping peacefully at our feet. Nothing like the chaos of the market.
He runs a hand up and down my back. “Okay,” he says more gently. “What happened? You’ve been weird since you walked in. Did something go down at the market today?”
I hesitate, then sigh. “Yeah. I saw someone. An old friend from high school.”
“Oh yeah?” He tips his head back to look at me. “Who?”
“Mason Burke.”
Recognition flashes across his face. “Wait—the lifeguard who kissed a guy at the Fourth of July?”
I pull back, blinking at him. “How do you know that?”
His mouth twitches. “Babe. I work at a brewery. People get chatty when they’re drunk.” He grins. “I’ve heard that story from, like, half a dozen different customers. It’s the hottest piece of entertainment this town’s had all summer.”
I groan and shove my face back into his chest. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. Small-town gossip pipeline. Comes free with every pint.” He threads his fingers through my hair. “So you saw him?”
“Yeah. He was with a guy, and they were all touchy together.” The memory makes my stomach twist. “I handled it so badly, Troy. I basically cornered him at my stall and asked if the rumor was true.”
Troy winces. “Oof.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I rush to explain. “I just—I panicked. I’ve been thinking about it ever since Luke told me last week. And when I saw him, I just blurted it out. Like an asshole.”
He hums thoughtfully, rubbing slow circles into my back. “Did you say anything awful?”
“I asked if he was gay. In public. At my table. Like I was interrogating him.” Shame burns hot in my chest. “He looked at me like I’d just punched him in the face.”
Troy’s teasing expression fades. “Okay. Yeah. That’s not great.”
“I know.” My voice cracks a little. “I wasn’t trying to out him or judge him. I just… I don’t know. I think I wanted to know if it was possible.”
He tilts my chin up gently. “Possible?”
“That someone like him could just… say it. Out loud.” I swallow. “That maybe I’m not the only one in this town feeling like this.”
Something soft settles over Troy’s features. “Oh,” he says quietly.
I scrub a hand over my face. “He ended up storming off. I probably confirmed every fear he had, thinking I’m ignorant like Luke.”
Troy squeezes me once more. “I’m sorry, baby.”
I sag further into his arms, nuzzling my face into the warm crook of his neck. “It’s fine. I just want to wallow in self-pity for a while.”
His lips curve against my hair, brushing a kiss over the crown of my head. “For what it’s worth,” he says gently, “you’re definitely not alone. I’m sure you were surrounded by tons of queer folks growing up. Even if we don’t always show it, we always exist.”
My throat tightens as I trace my fingers across his chest, grounding myself in the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “I love this town so damn much, Troy. It’s my home.” My voice wavers despite my best effort. “I just wish it loved me back.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands sliding up to cup my face. “Hey,” he says quietly. “This town doesn’t get to decide whether you belong here. You already do.”
I close my eyes and nod. “Yeah. I know.”
He drops another quick kiss to my cheek and drags his hand down my body in soothing circles, his palm slipping beneath the hem of my T-shirt.
I grimace as his hand slides over my tacky skin. “Ugh. I’m gross,” I complain, squirming away. “I was sweating all day at the farmers market.”
Troy leans in anyway, crowding closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I could make you even dirtier,” he murmurs.
I gape at him and shove his shoulder. “You’re disgusting.”
A laugh betrays me before I can stop it.
He grins down at me, teeth catching on his lip ring as his brown eyes go soft and pleased with himself. “Maybe,” he says, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “But I finally got you to smile.”
Heat floods my cheeks. God, he’s ridiculous. And adorable. And mine.
Before he can say anything else, I grab the front of his shirt and crash my mouth against his, grinning into the kiss just to shut him up.