Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Troy
The barn looks so different now.
It used to lean, its roof half-collapsed, its wooden siding weathered and bleached pale from years under the sun. Now it stands tall against the gray Michigan sky, its repaired frame clean and solid. The bones are the same, but now it feels… cared for. Like Ashton nursed it back to health.
I huff out a quiet breath and push my van door open, the cold biting at my cheeks as I step out. Shoving my hands into my jacket pockets, I head up the path, my boots thudding against the frozen ground.
He told me yesterday—literally yesterday—when his cast came off that he couldn’t wait to get back to work.
I told him to take it easy.
He rolled his eyes at me.
So… here I am.
The new barn door glides open smoothly, and I step inside.
The smell hits me first—fresh lumber, sawdust, something clean layered over the old history of the place. It’s warmer here than outside, sunlight pouring through the newly installed windows and stretching in golden bands across the wide plank floors.
I pause just inside the doorway, taking it all in.
The roof beams arch overhead, sturdy and proud, strands of fairy lights wrapped around each one.
A narrow staircase climbs to the newly built loft along the far wall.
Wide, arched windows frame the orchard perfectly.
It’s nothing but bare skeletal branches now, but I can already picture it in bloom. The view will be spectacular.
My gaze finds Ashton.
He’s in the middle of the floor, kneeling over a stretch of unfinished boards, completely focused.
Headphones cover his ears, his head nodding faintly to whatever he’s listening to.
A measuring tape clips to his jeans, a pencil tucked behind his ear, his hands moving with careful precision as he lines up the next plank.
Despite the cold, he’s in just a T-shirt, the fabric clinging slightly to his skin, damp with sweat.
My eyes drift to his arm.
The cast is gone. In its place is a pink, raised scar stretching along his forearm. It catches the light when he moves, a quiet, permanent reminder of everything he’s endured.
Sawdust is smeared across his jeans, a faint streak on his cheek. His hair’s a mess, falling into his face as he leans forward, pressing the board into place. His brows pull together in concentration, tongue caught between his teeth as he adjusts it—once, then again—striving for perfection.
His posture is stiff as he works, his body rigid with tension. Despite how many times he’s assured me he’s okay, I know this day must be difficult for him.
Today was his first Thanksgiving estranged from his parents.
He wasn’t invited—of course he wasn’t. We both knew how that would go the second we made our relationship public. His parents made it clear, quick and cold, that they wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Like he’d become something disposable.
My jaw tightens.
He’s tried to brush it off. Shrugged, said it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t need them. Said he’d be fine staying home with me and eating take-out Chinese food.
But I know it’s not the same.
I can see the truth in the quiet moments. The way he goes a little distant when family gets brought up in conversations. The way his eyes become glassy whenever his younger siblings mention going home to them.
My gaze softens as I watch him adjust another plank.
I push off the beam.
Quietly, I cross the space, my boots barely making a sound against the new floor. He still doesn’t notice me, too locked into whatever song is playing in his ears. I crouch down behind him, close enough now to see the fine layer of sawdust clinging to his skin, the slow rise and fall of his back.
Then I reach forward and wrap my arms around his waist.
He jumps.
“Jesus—!”
His elbow flies back on pure instinct, catching me square in the stomach.
“Oof—fuck—” I wheeze, falling back onto the floor with a startled laugh.
He rips his headphones off, whipping around, eyes wide. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snaps, breath coming fast as he scrambles after me. Before I can even recover, he’s on top of me, pinning me down, glaring. “You scared the shit out of me!”
I’m still laughing, one hand coming up to my stomach. “Yeah, I gathered,” I manage, grinning up at him.
The light’s starting to shift, the late afternoon sun dipping lower, catching in his hair and turning it almost gold at the edges. There’s a flush high on his cheeks, his green eyes bright and alive.
God, I love him.
“Could’ve killed me,” I add, my hands settling on his hips to keep him right where I want him.
“Oh, please.” He scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it. “You deserved it.”
“Did I?”
He opens his mouth to argue—probably to keep scolding me—but I don’t give him the chance. My arms loop around his neck, pulling him down into a searing kiss.
He melts into it almost instantly, the tension bleeding out of him as his hands slide up into my jacket, gripping tight.
When I pull back, I don’t let him go far.
“Hey,” I say quietly, my thumb brushing along his jaw. “You doing alright?”
Something vulnerable flickers in his expression, but it’s gone just as fast. “Yeah. Fine.”
“You sure? I know today must be…” I pause, searching for the right word. “Difficult.”
His throat bobs. “It’s okay.” He inhales slowly, like he’s forcing it down. “Honestly, I’m mostly just bummed about missing out on my mom’s pumpkin pie. Store-bought just isn’t the same.”
I huff out a soft laugh, brushing his hair back from his face. “Yeah,” I say gently. “I think I might have something to help with that.”
His brows knit together. “What do you mean?”
I just grin. “You’ll see.”
Suspicion immediately takes over his face. “Troy—”
“Nope.” I tap his nose lightly. “Not telling you.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair. Now, get off me.”
He groans and pushes himself to his feet. He sways a little before steadying, dragging a hand through his hair. “Where are we even going?”
“My place,” I answer easily, standing and taking his hand.
An adorable, confused frown tugs at his mouth. “For…?”
I glance at him, taking in the sawdust, the sweat, the way his shirt’s sticking to him. “You smell like a lumber yard,” I tell him. “You’re showering first.”
He pouts. “Rude.”
I lean in and kiss him, quick and soft, stealing the pout right off his mouth. “Love you, baby, but you stink.”
He scoffs quietly, but there’s a pink flush on his cheeks as we walk out of the barn. The cold air hits us sharp and biting, and he shivers immediately, his breath fogging up the air as he falls into step beside me.
“So,” he says after a second, his voice quieter now, “what are we doing after I shower?”
I squeeze his hand as we reach the van, a smile pulling at my mouth as I open the passenger door for him.
“Then,” I say, glancing at him, “I’ve got a surprise for you, blondie.”
Ashton steps out of my bathroom in a cloud of steam, rubbing a towel through his damp hair, dressed in a clean pair of jeans and one of the T-shirts he left here.
He’s got a drawer in my dresser now to store some of his clothes.
A toothbrush in the bathroom. A couple hoodies slung over the back of a chair.
Socks that never quite make it back to his home.
Little pieces of him, scattered everywhere.
He pads across the living room and drops onto the couch beside me with a quiet sigh, still scrubbing at his hair.
“Feel human again?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He sighs, curling into my side. His body heat seeps through my clothes, the citrus smell of my soap lingering on his skin.
Before I can say anything else, a familiar jingle cuts through the room. Cryptid trots down the hallway, trilling with excitement, and gracefully hops up onto Ashton’s lap.
“There he is,” Ashton murmurs, his voice going soft as he immediately starts petting him, fingers scratching behind his ears.
The cat answers with an indignant little chirp, curling into him like he’s claiming his rightful spot.
I lean back into the couch, watching him fondly.
His damp hair curls at the ends. His cheeks are flushed from the heat of the shower, his body relaxed for the first time all day. He’s got one hand buried in Cryptid’s fur, the other loosely gripping the towel draped over his shoulders.
“Y’know,” I say, keeping my tone light as I tilt my head toward him, “he misses you when you’re gone.”
He snorts. “Yeah, right.”
“He does,” I insist. “Spends half the day pacing the apartment, looking for you and crying. It’s sad, really. Pathetic.”
Ashton glances at me, shaking his head. “You sure you’re talking about Cryptid? Not you?”
I hum, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “I guess we both miss you when you’re not here.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Then you should bring him when you come to my place. That way you’re not always rushing home to feed him.”
I shake my head immediately. “Wouldn’t be a good idea.”
His brows pull together. “Why not?”
“He hates car rides,” I explain, reaching over to scratch under Cryptid’s chin. “I had to drug him just to get him here from Chicago. Going back and forth all the time would stress him out.”
Ashton frowns, his attention drifting back to the cat. His fingers slow against Cryptid’s fur, thoughtful now, like something’s working its way through his head.
A quiet beat stretches between us.
Then, a little too casually, he says, “Well… you could just move in with me.”
I freeze.
My brain stutters, replaying the words like I must’ve misheard them.
When I don’t respond right away, Ashton goes rigid, panic flickering across his face. “I mean—” He shakes his head. “You don’t have to, I just—I didn’t mean—forget I said anything—”
I cut him off by grabbing his face and kissing him.
He makes a small, surprised sound against my mouth, but then he melts into it, his hand coming up to grip my shirt.
When I pull back, I keep my hands braced on either side of his face.
“I’d love to move in with you,” I tell him, my voice quiet but certain.
He blinks at me. “Really?”
“Absolutely.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, warm and a little shy around the edges. “I’ve been… kind of working up the courage to ask,” he admits. “I just didn’t want you to feel pressured or anything.”
“I don’t feel pressured,” I say, brushing my thumb along his cheek. “I’m serious about you, Ash. About us. I want to share a home with you more than anything.”
His lip snags between his teeth, pink blooming across his cheeks. “I want that too.”
“And I’d love nothing more than to wake up next to you every day.” I glance down at the cat still curled in his lap. “Pretty sure Cryptid would too.”
Ashton laughs, the sound lighter than it’s been all day. “Oh, absolutely. He’s already picked me as his favorite.”
My nose scrunches. “Rude.”
He grins.
I kiss him again, deeper this time, refusing to hold myself back. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, steady and sure, and when he kisses me back, it’s with the same intensity I feel burning in my chest. No hesitation. No pulling away. Just him, meeting me exactly where I am.
Something in me settles and soars all at once. For the first time, it doesn’t feel like I’m too much, like I have to dull the edges of what I feel to make it easier for someone else to hold. He takes it, all of it, and gives it right back.
When I finally pull away, it’s slow, reluctant. Our lips brush once more before I lean back just enough to look at him. His eyes—bright, green, steady—are locked on mine, full of something so open and certain it makes my chest feel too tight to contain it.
For a second, I forget everything else.
Then reality creeps in at the edges, soft but insistent.
I huff out a quiet breath, my thumb brushing along his jaw as I ease back. “Alright,” I murmur, tapping his knee. “As much as I’d love to keep doing this…”
He groans, tipping his head back. “Such a tease.”
“We’re gonna be late.” I push to my feet, grabbing my keys before turning back and holding out my hand. “C’mon.”
He sighs dramatically, but there’s no real resistance as he takes my hand, letting me pull him up. Cryptid lets out a loud, offended meow as he’s displaced, hopping down with a flick of his tail.
“Alright,” Ashton says, reaching for his jacket, a lingering flush still warming his cheeks. “This better be worth it.”
I just grin, tugging him toward the door.
It will be.