Chapter Nine
~ Harlow ~
My heart thumped so hard in my chest I could feel it in my throat as I slipped through the back gate of our property. Ma thought I was checking the west fence line.
I'd never lied to her before—not a real lie that mattered—and the words had stuck in my throat like honey gone hard.
But I'd managed it. For him. For Deputy Dan.
For the chance to figure out if these feelings that kept me awake at night were real like I thought they were or confused like Ma insisted.
The path through the woods was one I'd walked a thousand times since I was little. My feet knew every root and rock, even as the daylight faded and shadows stretched between the trees.
Ordinarily, I'd notice everything—which birds were singing their evening songs, what animals had recently crossed the trail, whether rain was coming in the air.
But tonight, all I could focus on was putting one foot in front of the other, moving toward the old oak tree where Deputy Dan would be waiting.
If he was waiting. If he'd meant what he said in that alley behind Rosie's Bakery.
My hands were shaking something terrible. I shoved them in my pockets to keep them still, but that just made the shaking move up my arms into my shoulders. Everything inside me felt like it was quivering, like those gelatin desserts Ma made for church potlucks.
"You're a grown man," I whispered to myself, the sound of my own voice startling a nearby squirrel. "Grown men don't shake like leaves just because they're meeting someone."
But it wasn't just someone. It was Deputy Dan Latham with his warm brown eyes and careful hands and the way he looked at me like I was worth seeing. Nobody had ever looked at me that way before—like I was a man instead of a problem to be managed or a child to be guided.
The closer I got to the river bend, the harder it was to breathe proper.
My lungs felt too small, like they couldn't hold enough air.
What if he wasn't there? What if this was all some kind of mistake or joke?
Or worse—what if he was there, but decided I wasn't worth the trouble once he really thought about it?
Ma's words echoed in my head: "You're different, Harlow. Special. You don't understand what those feelings really mean."
Maybe she was right. Maybe I didn't understand.
Maybe what I felt when I thought about Deputy Dan wasn't what other people felt when they fell in love.
How would I know the difference? But then I remembered how my hand had fit in his, despite mine being so much bigger.
How his touch had sent lightning up my arm and into my chest. How carrying him through that storm had felt right in a way few things ever had.
I stopped at the edge of the clearing, suddenly afraid to take those last few steps. The sun was setting, painting the sky in fiery colors that reflected off the river water.
And there he was, standing by the old oak, pacing back and forth like he couldn't keep still. Deputy Dan—no, just Dan now, because this wasn't about his job or my family's land. This was about us, whatever "us" might turn out to be.
He hadn't seen me yet. I could still turn around, go back to the farm, tell Ma I'd checked the fence and found it secure. No one would ever know I'd almost done this crazy, terrifying thing.
But then Dan turned, and our eyes met across the clearing.
Everything inside me went quiet. The shaking stopped. The fear ebbed away like river water around a stone. Because the look on his face when he saw me—relief and joy and something hungrier that made my face heat up—told me everything I needed to know. He'd been afraid too. Afraid I wouldn't come.
"You made it," he said, and his voice sounded different out here, away from my family's house and his sheriff's office. Lower. More his own.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, suddenly aware of how big I was, how much space I took up in this small clearing. My hands opened and closed at my sides, itching to reach for him but not knowing if I should.
"Said I would," I replied, the words coming out deeper than I meant them to.
I took a few steps closer, and Dan did the same, until we were standing just a few feet apart.
Close enough that I could smell that pine soap he used and something else that was just him.
Close enough that I could see his chest rising and falling with quick breaths, like he'd been running instead of waiting.
"I wasn't sure," he admitted, looking up at me with those eyes that saw too much. "Thought maybe your mother might have found a way to keep you home."
A shadow must have crossed my face because his expression changed, turning concerned. "She thinks I'm checking the west fence line," I explained. "Won't expect me back for a while."
Dan nodded, seeming to understand what it had cost me to tell that lie. "Thank you," he said softly, "for coming."
I looked at his face—at his mouth, specifically—then quickly away, feeling heat crawl up my neck into my cheeks.
I couldn't help remembering how I'd thought about kissing him, wondered what his lips would feel like against mine.
The wanting was so strong it was almost a physical ache, but the fear was just as powerful.
"Harlow," Dan said, my name in his mouth sounding better than it ever had before. "I need to ask you something important."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Do you want this?" he asked, gesturing between us. "Whatever this is between us? Because I need you to be sure. I don't want just friendship from you, Harlow. I want everything—all of you. But only if that's what you want too."
My throat went dry at his words. Everything. All of me. The magnitude of what he was offering—what he was asking for—made my head spin.
"I'm not..." I started, then had to swallow hard to continue. "I'm not scared of wanting you. I'm scared Ma's right that I don't understand what I'm feeling. That I can't...that someone like me can't..."
"Someone like you?" Dan took another step closer, close enough now that I could feel the warmth coming off his body.
"You mean someone with the biggest heart I've ever encountered?
Someone who can read the land and sky better than anyone I've met?
Someone who carried me through a storm without hesitation when I needed help? "
I blinked rapidly, surprised by the fierceness in his voice.
"Let me tell you what real feelings are like, Harlow," he continued, his eyes never leaving mine.
"They're like your heart might burst when you're with someone.
They're like an invisible thread pulling you toward another person no matter how many obstacles are in the way.
They're like carrying someone through a storm because you can't bear the thought of them being hurt. "
My breath caught in my throat. That was exactly how it felt—the bursting heart, the invisible thread, all of it. I nodded, unable to find words.
"That's real, Harlow," Dan said, reaching out slowly to take my hand. "What you feel is real. And no one—not your mother, not this town, not anyone—gets to tell you it isn't."
My free hand was trembling again, and my breathing had gone shallow. But it wasn't from fear anymore. It was from hope—bright and terrifying and more powerful than anything I'd felt before.
For the first time in my life, someone was telling me my feelings were real. That I wasn't confused or mistaken or "special" in a way that made me less than everyone else. I was just a man, standing in front of another man, wanting things I'd been told I shouldn't want.
And maybe, just maybe, that was okay.
Something broke loose inside me, like a branch finally giving way under the weight of too much snow.
I didn't think about it—couldn't think about it—because if I did, I might lose my nerve.
I just stepped forward, closing that last bit of space between us, and pressed my lips against Dan's.
The world went silent for a heartbeat, and then exploded into feeling.
His lips were softer than I'd imagined, a surprising contrast to the rough stubble that scratched against my chin.
For a moment, he went completely still, and I feared I'd done something wrong.
But then his hands came up to cradle my face, his touch gentle but sure as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss.
I'd never kissed anyone before. Never wanted to. But this—this felt like finding something I hadn't known was missing. His scent surrounded me—pine soap and something uniquely him that reminded me of the woods after rainfall.
When his tongue traced the seam of my lips, seeking entrance, I opened to him with a deep groan that came from somewhere I didn't recognize in myself. His hands moved from my face to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, holding me as if he was afraid I might disappear.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Dan's pupils were blown wide, just a thin ring of brown around the black. The sight made something warm unfurl in my chest—I'd done that to him. Me. Harlow McKenzie, the "slow" brother, the one who didn't understand grown-up feelings.
"I've been dreaming about doing that since the first moment I saw you," Dan confessed, his voice rough around the edges. His hands still rested against my neck, thumbs stroking along my jawline through my beard.
Uncertainty crept back in, making my shoulders tense. "Did I... did I do it right?" I asked, hating how childish the question sounded but needing to know anyway.
Dan's smile was the tenderest thing I'd ever seen, reaching all the way to his eyes and crinkling the corners. "Perfect," he assured me, brushing his thumb across my lower lip in a way that made me shiver. "You're perfect, Harlow."
Perfect. No one had ever called me that before. Plenty of other things—simple, slow, special, different—but never perfect.