Page 76 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
He lifted the camera slightly, a gesture that was both explanation and deflection. "Work, actually. I took a photography gig here." His smile was sheepish, familiar in a way that made her chest ache. "You know how I always carried a camera around in college? Well, people kept telling me I was actually pretty good at it. That maybe I should try doing it professionally instead of just as a hobby."
The revelation caught her off guard. She remembered his camera, of course—an older model he'd saved for months to afford, always slung over his shoulder as they explored the city together. He'd photograph everything: flowers in abandoned lots, morning light filtering through fire escapes, candid shots of people lost in their own worlds. She'd teased him about itsometimes, called him her personal paparazzi when he'd catch her in unguarded moments.
"So you're a photographer now?" she asked, genuinely curious despite the emotional turmoil of seeing him again.
"Trying to be." He shrugged, the gesture achingly familiar. "I've been doing some freelance work for the past year or so, building a portfolio. This is actually my first real contract—documenting rural life for a magazine spread. Willowbend was supposed to be just another small town to photograph, but now..."
He trailed off, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. The implication hung between them—now it had become something else entirely, a collision of past and present that neither of them saw coming.
Meadow shifted beside her, and Marigold was suddenly hyperaware of his presence, of the way his scent mingled with the evening air, of the recent intimacy that still lingered between them like an invisible thread. The contrast between the two men was stark—Meadow's solid, grounded presence versus Cypress's more ethereal energy, the steadiness of earth against the mobility of air.
"How long have you been here?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level, professional, as if this was simply a chance encounter between old acquaintances rather than a seismic shift in her carefully constructed new reality.
"Just arrived today, actually. I'm staying at the bed and breakfast in town." Cypress glanced toward the house, then back to her. "I had no idea you were here. When Meadow invited me to dinner, I thought I was just meeting the locals, getting a feel for the community for my project."
The casual mention of their connection made Marigold blink in surprise. "You two know each other?"
This time it was Cypress who answered, his tone carrying an easy familiarity that spoke to deeper connections. "Our families go way back. My grandmother and Meadow's were close friends. I spent summers here as a kid, running around this ranch like I owned the place." He grinned at Meadow, who returned it with a warmth that suggested genuine affection. "Though I haven't been back in... what, ten years?"
"Closer to twelve," Meadow corrected, his voice carrying the kind of easy affection reserved for old friends. "You were still in that awkward teenage phase, all legs and elbows."
"Hey, I grew into them eventually," Cypress protested with a laugh that sounded exactly like it did when they were twenty-two and the world felt full of endless possibility.
Watching their interaction, Marigold was struck by the easy camaraderie between them, the kind of friendship that could withstand years of separation and pick up as if no time had passed. It was beautiful and somewhat heartbreaking, this glimpse into Cypress's life outside their shared history, this reminder that he existed fully and completely beyond the boundaries of their relationship.
But there was something else lurking beneath the surface of this reunion, something she couldn't quite name. A tension in Cypress's posture, a careful quality to his smile that suggested he was as unsettled by this coincidence as she was. Perhaps more so.
"Marigold," he said suddenly, as if just remembering she was there. "I should probably mention..." He glanced at Meadow, then back to her, something shifting in his expression. "Do people here know? About what I really am?"
The question confused her at first, then understanding dawned with the force of a revelation. Of course. In the emotional shock of seeing him again, she'd almost forgotten one of the most significant things about Cypress Wolfe—somethingthat made their relationship both precious and complicated, something that likely contributed to its eventual end.
She leaned closer to him, her voice dropping to a whisper that barely carried over the evening breeze. "Do they know you're...?"
"A male Omega?" He laughed, the sound carrying a mixture of amusement and something else—relief, perhaps, or resignation. "Yeah, actually. Meadow and his pack know because our families have known each other forever. Small communities don't really do secrets very well."
The casual way he said it, the lack of shame or defensive posturing, caught her off guard. The Cypress she knew in college was careful about revealing his designation, hyperaware of the potential consequences in a world that didn't always know what to do with male Omegas. Seeing him now, confident and open about who he was, suggested a journey of self-acceptance that she found both admirable and slightly heartbreaking.
"Marigold knows you're a male Omega?" Meadow asked, his tone carefully neutral but his eyes sharp with interest.
Cypress nodded, his gaze finding hers again. "We were pretty serious, honestly. I thought we'd be official someday, maybe even mate." His smile was sweet and sad at the same time, carrying the weight of dreams that never materialized. "She was one of the first people I ever told about my designation. One of the few who didn't make me feel like it was something to be ashamed of."
The words hit Marigold like a physical blow, stealing her breath with their casual devastation. He thought they'd be official. He planned for them to mate. The revelation rewrote their entire history in her mind, transforming his abrupt departure from inexplicable cruelty to something far more complex and painful.
Meadow opened his mouth, clearly wanting to ask the obvious follow-up question—if they were so serious, if mating was on the table, what happened? Why did it end? But before he could voice the inquiry that was undoubtedly burning in his throat, the front door of the house banged open with characteristic force.
"Are we having the party out here?" Flint's voice carried across the yard, warm with amusement and tinged with the slight impatience of a man who took his dinner seriously. "Because the food is steaming hot inside, and I'm pretty sure Gus is about to start without us if we don't get moving."
Behind him, Gus appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel and wearing an expression of mock exasperation. "I've been keeping the bread warm for twenty minutes. Any longer and it's going to turn into hockey pucks."
The interruption broke the spell of their reunion, yanking them back to the present moment and the practical demands of an evening that suddenly felt far more complicated than any of them had anticipated. Marigold was grateful for the reprieve, for the chance to process what she'd learned without the weight of three male gazes measuring her every reaction.
"We should go inside," Meadow said, his voice carrying the kind of gentle authority that suggested he understood the emotional complexity of the situation without needing detailed explanations. "We can catch up over dinner."
Cypress adjusted his camera strap, the gesture nervous in a way that reminded Marigold forcibly of the boy she once knew. "That sounds perfect, actually. I'm starving, and I'd love to hear what Marigold's been up to all these years."
There was something in his tone—a wistfulness, perhaps, or a carefully contained hope—that made her chest tighten with emotion. Part of her wanted to demand answers immediately, to understand why he was here, why now, what cosmic force hadbrought their paths together again after so many years of silence. But another part of her, the part that was still processing the whiplash of going from intimate moments with Meadow to this unexpected confrontation with her past, craved the normalcy of dinner conversation and the buffer of other people's presence.
"Marigold looks absolutely beautiful, by the way," Cypress added, his voice carrying that familiar warmth that once made her feel like the most cherished person in any room. "Even more than when we last saw each other."
