Page 39 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
He wants to believe it can be just that simple. He wants that ease of heart, that ability to stay unattached. But his track record says otherwise; every choice he's made has been a leap into complication, and every time his heart has come out a little more bruised.
The sedan slows to a crawl, and her hesitation is palpable even from this distance. It's like watching the playback of his own inner struggle, seeing her almost stop and reconsider.
Does she want this? Does she trust him? Does he have any right to care whether she does?
The self-doubt gnaws at him, a persistent shadow that refuses to be shrugged off.
And then, just as his mind loops back to its most defensive cynicism, the car accelerates, closing the final distance between them.
Whatever uncertainty she had, she pushed through it; those walls she wanted to build, she'd left them in the dust, at least for this morning.
Relief pours through him with shocking intensity, so tangible he could almost laugh at the ridiculous truth of it. He hadn't realized until this moment just how much he needed her to show up, how much he'd been bracing for the echo of one more goodbye.
The car rolls to a stop, and for a moment he hangs back, giving her the space he senses she'll need. The Alpha desire in him urges him to rush forward;to be a man and open the door, assuring her of safety and a place to belong.
But he reins it in with practiced restraint, aware of how easily that kind of forwardness could send her running.
She is here, and that's enough for this moment.
He'll take what he can get, even if it's just one cold morning in the heart of October.
Marigold steps out of the car, her movements cautious, as though she's afraid the ground might disappear beneath her feet.
Once again, he's struck by the fragile strength she embodies—an exquisite contradiction of confidence and vulnerability.
Her eyes dart around, taking in the ranch, the horizon, and finally settling on him with a mixture of trepidation and resolve. She looks ready to bolt and to stay, all at once.
It mirrors his own tangle of emotions so perfectly that he can't help but feel a rush of kinship.
For all the caution in her posture, there's a flicker of determination in her gaze that he recognizes, a spark that tells him she's here on her own terms, not out of obligation or desperation.
He hadn't noticed his pulse racing until it began to slow until the relief of her presence soothed the anxious thrum inside him.
He drags a hand through his hair, more to do something, anything, than because it needs fixing. She's here. The thought repeats itself like a drumbeat as he pushes away from the gate and starts toward her, his stride purposeful but unhurried.
All of the patience he's ever had to muster for an unbroken colt feels like training for this moment, for the delicate balance of not pushing too hard or holding too loosely.
They meet halfway, and he watches her gather herself, watches as she steels her nerves for whatever she imagines this day will bring.
The morning sun glints off Marigold's hair as she approaches, catching those emerald strands like a flame dancing on water. Meadow feels his breath catch, an involuntary reaction he quickly masters.
"Morning," he offers, his voice deliberately gentle.
He steps forward, boots crunching on the gravel, keeping a respectful distance between them.
"How did you sleep?"
Marigold's smile is tentative, like a butterfly unsure whether to land.
"Better than I expected, actually. The quiet out here... it's different from the city. Peaceful."
Her words carry a hint of surprise as if peace is something she's forgotten the taste of.
Meadow finds himself cataloging every nuance of her expression, the way her slender fingers tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, the slight tension in her shoulders that belies her casual tone.
"And you?" she asks, her eyes lifting to meet his. "Did you sleep well?"
The question is innocent enough, but Meadow feels heat crawl up his neck. Images from last night flooded his mind —his restless tossing, sheets tangled around his legs, her scent haunting him even through the darkness.
