Page 86 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
"It'll never be a burden," he assured her, meaning it completely. "If anything, it'll be a fun break for all of us. We've gotten so focused on the ranch and our careers that we haven't really done much exploring lately either. It would be good for everyone."
She smiled then, the first completely unguarded, joyful expression he'd seen from her all evening. It transformed her face, making her look younger and lighter, and Meadow felt something shift in his chest at the sight of it.
"If you're sure it's not too much trouble," she said, "then yes. I'd love that. I'd love to try new things, to see what else is out there beyond what I've always known."
"It's settled then," he said, raising his wine glass in another toast. "To new experiences and the courage to pursue them."
"To finding joy again," she countered, her own glass meeting his with that same crystalline chime.
They drank to the promise of tomorrow's adventures, and Meadow watched as the wine and emotional exhaustion of the evening finally began to take their toll on her. Her eyelids grew heavy, her body relaxing more completely against his side with each passing minute.
He'd wanted to ask her about Cypress, about whether seeing him again had stirred up old feelings or if the closure they'd achieved was truly complete. The question nagged at him—not from jealousy exactly, but from a need to understand where he stood, what he was competing with or collaborating toward.
But as Marigold's breathing grew slower and more regular, as her weight settled more fully against him in the trust of approaching sleep, he found the question mattered less than he'd thought it would. Whatever she'd felt for Cypress, whatever she might still feel, it was part of her history. What mattered was what she chose to build moving forward.
The fire had burned down to glowing coals, casting the room in deep shadows punctuated by warm amber light. Outside, he could hear the soft sounds of night settling over the ranch—the distant lowing of cattle, the rustle of wind through leaves, the gentle creak of the house settling into evening's embrace.
Meadow let his own eyes drift closed, not sleeping but resting, enjoying the simple pleasure of having her trust him enough to let her guard down completely. Her hair tickled his chin where her head rested against his shoulder, and he could feel the gentle rise and fall of her breathing through the contact between their bodies.
He thought about Cypress, about the easy way he'd fit back into the evening despite the years of absence. There was something to be said for the photographer's maturity, his willingness to apologize without expecting forgiveness, his genuine happiness at seeing Marigold thriving. It spoke well of his character, even if it complicated Meadow's own feelings about the situation.
The fact that Cypress was an Omega added another layer of complexity that Meadow wasn't entirely sure how to process. He'd known about Cypress's designation since they were teenagers—their families' long friendship meant few secrets stayed hidden—but he'd never considered what it might mean for his own relationship with Marigold.
Most Alpha-Omega pairings followed traditional patterns, but Cypress's presence introduced possibilities that didn't fit neat categories. If Marigold wanted to explore a connection with another Omega while building something with him... it would be unconventional, certainly, but not impossible. He'd seen other complex relationship dynamics work when all parties approached them with honesty and mutual respect.
The thought stirred something in him that wasn't quite jealousy but wasn't indifference either. A curious mixture ofprotectiveness and intrigue, concern for Marigold's emotional wellbeing balanced against his own growing feelings for her.
But as he listened to her peaceful breathing, felt the complete trust in the way she'd allowed herself to fall asleep against him, those concerns faded into something more manageable. Cypress had probably moved on from whatever feelings he'd carried all those years ago. The apology he'd offered tonight felt like closure rather than opening, an ending rather than a beginning.
And even if it wasn't, even if complications arose from his extended stay in Willowbend, Meadow found himself surprisingly at peace with the uncertainty. He'd meant what he said about taking things one day at a time, about trusting the process rather than trying to control outcomes.
What he felt for Marigold was real and growing stronger every day. What she felt for him seemed equally genuine, if still tentative and healing. Whatever else happened, whatever other connections she might explore or rediscover, those feelings would be part of the equation.
The rest they'd figure out together, with the kind of honest communication that her previous relationships had clearly lacked. It was all any of them could do—show up authentically, treat each other with respect and care, and trust that love would find a way to flourish in whatever form it chose to take.
For now, it was enough to sit in the dying firelight with her warm weight against his side, listening to her peaceful breathing and feeling grateful for the unexpected turns that had brought them both to this moment.
Tomorrow would bring its own questions and possibilities, but tonight offered the simple gift of connection and the promise of more to come.
15
THE HOLLOW RIDE
~MARIGOLD~
The morning air carried the promise of adventure as Marigold made her way to the stables, dew still clinging to the grass beneath her boots and the sun painting the sky in watercolor washes of pink and gold.
She'd woken early in the guest room, sunlight streaming through the east-facing windows, with the memory of falling asleep against Meadow's shoulder the night before creating a warm flutter in her chest.
The wine-loosened conversation about new experiences and rediscovered joy felt less like promises made in the dark and more like possibilities waiting to be explored.
Meadow was already in the barn when she arrived, his movements efficient and practiced as he prepared two horses for their ride. The sight of him in his element—checking tack with careful attention, speaking in low, soothing tones to the animals—made something settle pleasantly in her stomach. There was competence in every gesture, a quiet mastery that spoke to years of partnership between man and beast.
"Morning," he called when he spotted her, his smile warm and genuine in the golden light filtering through the barn's high windows. "Sleep well?"
"Better than I have in weeks," she admitted, surprised by how true it was. The guest room had enveloped her in peace, the sounds of the countryside so different from the constant hum of city life that she'd slept deeper than she had since arriving in Willowbend. "Thank you for letting me stay over. And for... everything last night."
A slight flush colored his cheeks at the mention of their evening together, the intimacy of their conversations and the way she'd trusted him enough to fall asleep against him. "Anytime," he said simply, but the sincerity in his voice made it clear he meant it.
