Kyler
Charlottesville, Virginia
Ivy’s walking ahead of me, weaving through stalls with a canvas tote over her shoulder and a blueberry scone in her hand, humming some song she heard on the radio.
She’s sunshine and makes it all feel effortless.
Like the war in my blood can’t exist when she’s around.
The light catches in her hair, and I can’t tell if I want to chase after her or just stand here and watch.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her in six months. The first time since OTC chewed me up and spit me back out. The first weekend I’ve had where I didn’t feel like just a weapon with a heartbeat.
She glances over her shoulder and grins when she sees I’ve stopped. “You getting lost, soldier?”
“Not lost,” I say, catching up to her. “Just trying to figure out how the hell I got roped into a fruit stand scavenger hunt.” Instead of being tangled up in bed with her, like I’ve been fantasizing about for months.
“It’s not a scavenger hunt. It’s an adventure. You need fresh peaches. Trust me.”
I shake my head but don’t hide my smile. I’d chase her through hell and back without a second thought. And maybe that’s the most dangerous thing about all of this. “I don’t even like peaches.”
She gasps, clutching her chest like I’ve insulted her entire bloodline. “You didn’t tell me you were a monster.”
I grin. “Thought I’d ease you into it.”
She offers me a bite of her scone. I take it, mostly because she looks smug and happy and I can’t say no to her. The pastry’s warm and sticky with icing, and somehow tastes better because it’s from her.
“You’re not what I expected,” I say, wiping my hand on my jeans.
“What’d you expect?” she asks, raising a brow.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Most people avoid me. You don’t.”
She tilts her head, curious. “Should I?”
I smirk. “Probably.”
She stops walking. Not dramatically, just enough to turn and face me completely. The crowd presses around us like background noise, but she’s still. Quiet. Focused in the way she gets when she’s thinking too hard.
“I don’t scare easy,” she says, softer now.
I believe her. But I also know she’s wrong. About me. About how close she is to something sharp she doesn’t see yet.
And still, I nod. “Yeah. I’m starting to get that.”
She takes my hand in hers like I’m not trained to kill with it. Like I deserve her soft touch. Like I didn’t just come back from the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Like I’m not different underneath.
“Come on,” she says, tugging me forward. “We’re getting peaches. You’re going to love them. And if you don’t, I’ll eat them all and you’ll owe me another scone.”
Her skin’s glowing in the sun, and her hair’s pinned up in some messy twist with strands falling around her neck. I can’t tell if it’s intentional or if she just threw it up without thinking, but either way, it’s driving me a little insane.
She stops at another fruit stand and selects more produce. After she pays, she grants me her attention once more. “You’re staring,” she says, plucking a cherry from the basket she just purchased and popping it in her mouth.
I grab the back of my neck and smile. “Not denying it.”
She laughs, eyes flashing as she leans in like she’s about to tell me a secret. “You look good too, by the way. Very...off-duty sexy.”
I glance down at my worn jeans and plain black cotton T-shirt. “This? It’s laundry day.”
“Well.” She steps closer, voice dropping just a little. “Laundry day looks good on you.” Then she smirks, laces our fingers together again and drags me along beside her.
The market buzzes around us. Kids laughing near the flower stall, a band playing acoustic covers under the trees, old couples holding hands as they browse jars of honey and homemade jam. The air smells like kettle corn and citrus and cinnamon.
We stop at a stall with rows of lavender bunches and fresh soap, and she lifts one of the bouquets to her nose, eyes fluttering shut as she breathes it in.
“Smell these,” she says, holding it out to me.
I lean in, but I’m not smelling the flowers. I’m watching the curve of her neck, the way her lips part just slightly when she exhales. I can’t stop myself from thinking how much I’d give to keep her untouched by the life I live.
“Do you love them?” she asks, looking at the flowers.
My heart kicks a little harder in my chest.
I gently lift her chin so her eyes are on mine. “I love you.”
Her smile catches, right there in the middle of it. Like she wasn’t expecting me to say it but doesn’t mind that I did.
“I love you, Kyler.”’ She looks at me for a beat longer and then we move on.
When she starts walking again, I press my hand to the small of her back—bare skin where the dress dips low—and feel her shiver under my touch.
Not cold. Just aware. She doesn’t pull away. She leans into it, into me, as we walk.
At the next stand, she holds up a basket of strawberries and tilts her head. “Too cliché?”
I laugh. “Only if you make me feed them to you.”
Her brow lifts and she glances at my mouth. “Tempting.” And hell if it doesn’t suddenly become very hard to think about anything but how easy it’d be to kiss her right now.
She steps in again, close enough that I smell the lavender on her hands and the sugar from her scone still clinging to her lips. “I like this,” she says softly, voice low like the words are just for me. “Us. This whole...normal thing.”
“Me too,” I murmur.
She walks two red-painted fingernails up my stomach and chest, stopping when her hand lands on my heart. I brush my knuckles over the inside of her wrist, watching goosebumps rise. I’m completely gone for her.
Ivy looks up at me through thick dark lashes, all innocent like she doesn’t know what she’s doing.
But she definitely knows. She knows what she does to me.
Knows she’s got me wrapped around her damn manicured finger and could tug me in any direction she wants.
She’s mastered the art of allure the same way she’s mastered her flawless makeup, like she was born knowing how to unravel a man with a glance and a half smile.
And somehow, even knowing that, I still want to give her everything.
Because the truth is, I don’t want to be immune to her. I want to be hers.
I take the bundle of lavender from her hands and hand my card to the vendor. We thank him, then drift back into the flow of the market. I slide an arm around her waist, guiding her gently toward a nearby stand stacked with jars of local honey.
Sunlight spills through the string lights above us, catching in the soft curve of her shoulder, the dip of that yellow dress that’s showing off more skin than should be legal in public.
Ivy leans in just slightly, pretending to inspect a jar of honey, but her arm brushes against mine and lingers there.
“You always this handsy at the farmer’s market?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
She glances up at me, all innocence and mischief. “Only when I’m trying to drive a very serious Army guy insane.”
I chuckle. “Mission accomplished.”
Her smile turns smug, and she steps in front of me like she’s testing something, how close she can get, how far I’ll let her push. The answer is all the way. Every time. Her gaze is back on the honey but her attention is definitely on me.
“You’re staring again,” she says, not even bothering to look up from the display.
“You wore that dress on purpose.”
She hums like she’s thinking, her golden eyes finding mine. “What dress?”
I let out a soft laugh under my breath. “You’re dangerous.”
She flashes a beautiful smile, taking a few steps away from the booth. “So do something about it.”
It’s not a challenge.
It’s permission.
And I don’t hesitate.
I reach for her waist, fingers sliding over the warm, bare skin of her back. She fits into me like she remembers exactly where we left off, even though the world’s been spinning without us for too long.
We’re still standing in the middle of the damn market but none of it touches this.
Her hands come up to my chest first, tentative, then around my neck like muscle memory. Like it’s been months since she’s had this, and she’s not letting go.
When I kiss her, it’s slow at first. The kind of kiss you give someone you’ve been thinking about for six months straight. The kind that holds both hunger and relief, like I need to taste her just to believe she’s real again.
She melts into me, rising on her toes, fingers curling in the short hair at the back of my neck as I slide my hand up her spine. The bow at the top of her dress brushes my palm, taunting me.
Her lips part, soft and sweet and just a little breathless, and when she sighs into my mouth, something sharp and aching cracks loose inside me.
It’s the most real thing I’ve had in far too long.
When she finally eases back, just enough to catch her breath, her forehead rests lightly against mine and she doesn’t let go.
Her voice is barely above the hum of the crowd. “I’m really glad you’re safe. I missed you, Ky.”
I swallow, my hand still cupped at her back, thumb brushing her skin.
“Yeah?” I murmur. “That might be the nicest damn thing anyone’s said to me.”
She gives this soft, sad smile at my words. But I lean in, brushing my thumb along her jaw, steady.
“I love you,” she says.
“I love you. And if I didn’t already, that kiss would’ve ruined me anyway.”
Her breath catches, her smile deepening.
I kiss her again.
When she finally turns her attention back to the lively market around us, it’s with this easy, glowing confidence like she didn’t just rearrange the landscape of my entire world.
“I’m still getting the peaches,” she says, tossing me a look over her shoulder.
“Buy as many as you want,” I say, still a little unsteady. “I’ll carry them.”
She grins. “Good. Because I’ve got something sweet in mind for later.”
And damn if I wouldn’t carry her and the whole market home if she asked.
Because after everything I’ve walked through. After all the ways this job’s tried to hollow me out. She’s the one thing that fills the empty spaces.
And I’ll follow her wherever she leads.
Every fucking time.