Page 92 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
"Fair warning," he said as soft music began to fill the space—something classical and romantic that seemed perfect for the setting. "I'm much better at growing things than I am at dancing."
"That's okay," she said, extending her hand to him with a dancer's natural grace. "I'm pretty good at following a lead, even an unconventional one."
The moment he took her hand, she understood why he loved dancing in this space. Surrounded by living beauty and soft light, moving to music that seemed to emerge from the very air around them, it felt magical in a way that formal ballrooms never had. There was no audience to impress, no steps to perfect, no pressure to be anything other than present in the moment.
Gus proved to be a surprisingly capable dancer, if unconventional in his style. He moved with the same natural rhythm she'd observed in all his activities, turning their dance into something between a waltz and a celebration, spinning her among the flowering vines and laughing when she improvised ballet steps that turned their simple dance into something more elaborate.
"You're incredible," he said as he spun her around the fountain, her dress flaring out around her legs. "I've never seen anyone move like that."
"You're not bad yourself," she replied, breathless with laughter and exertion. "This is so much better than any formal dance I've ever attended."
They moved together through the greenhouse, sometimes following the music's rhythm, sometimes creating their own as they navigated around tables and through narrow paths between plant displays. When the song changed to something slower, more intimate, Gus pulled her closer, and she found herself swaying against him in the candlelit space, the scent of flowers and earth and his own warm smell creating an intoxicating atmosphere.
"Marigold," he said softly, his voice barely audible above the gentle music and the sound of trickling water.
"Yes?" she whispered, looking up into his face and seeing something there that made her breath catch—desire, yes, but also tenderness and the kind of careful hope that spoke to someone who understood the value of what he was asking for.
"Can I give you a kiss?" he asked, the question so polite and respectful that it made her chest tight with emotion. "I know things are complicated, and I don't want to presume, but being here with you like this... I can't stop thinking about how much I'd like to kiss you."
The honesty in his request, the way he asked for permission rather than simply taking what he wanted, made the decision easy. This was what respect looked like, what care felt like when it came from someone who truly understood consent.
"Yes," she said simply, her hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palms.
The kiss, when it came, was everything she'd expected from Gus—gentle and respectful, but with an underlying current of yearning that spoke to depths of feeling he'd been carefully containing. His lips were soft against hers, his hands cradling her face with the same delicate attention he showed his mostprecious plants. There was no demand in the contact, no attempt to take more than she offered, just a pure expression of affection that made her understand why his mother had been so determined to raise him differently from his father.
When they broke apart, both breathing slightly harder, he rested his forehead against hers and smiled—the kind of expression that seemed to light him up from within.
"Thank you," he said quietly, as if she'd given him a gift rather than simply shared a moment of connection.
"Thank you for asking," she replied, meaning it completely. "For making it feel special instead of expected."
They stood together in the soft light, surrounded by the fruits of his passion and creativity, and Marigold found herself wondering why all Alphas couldn't be like this—warm and considerate and secure enough in themselves to let her be exactly who she was without trying to change or improve her.
"We should probably head back," Gus said reluctantly, glancing at the time displayed on his phone. "I promised Meadow I'd help him with evening feeding, and I don't want to leave him handling everything alone."
She nodded, though part of her wanted to stay in this magical space forever, to exist in this bubble where everything felt possible and beautiful. As they began to extinguish the candles and secure the greenhouse for the night, she helped him with the familiar routine, their movements synchronized in a way that spoke to the easy compatibility they'd discovered.
"I had the most wonderful time," she told him as they prepared to leave, meaning it with every fiber of her being. "Thank you for sharing all of this with me, for letting me into your world."
"Thank you for appreciating it," he replied, his smile warm with satisfaction. "Most people don't understand why I spend so much time out here, but you... you get it. You see what I see."
As they stepped out of the greenhouse into the cool evening air, Marigold felt like she was returning from another realm entirely. The real world felt sharper, less magical, but she carried the warmth of their shared experience with her like a secret treasure.
They were walking back toward the main ranch buildings, discussing plans for her to return and learn more about his blending techniques, when they spotted a familiar figure near the greenhouse entrance. Cypress stood with his camera equipment, apparently having arrived while they were inside, his expression shifting from professional focus to something more complex when he saw them emerging together.
"Gus," he called out with a smile that seemed genuine but carried undercurrents she couldn't read. "I'm surprised to see you here. Haven't visited the greenhouse for years."
Gus's demeanor shifted subtly, his relaxed warmth becoming more guarded though still polite. "Cypress. Didn't expect to see you out this way either."
"I was doing research for the magazine piece," Cypress explained, gesturing with his camera. "Realized I hadn't been here in a while and figured I should check it off my list of photo collections. Plus, I'm helping a friend who wants to start a scent factory of sorts, and I need to collect information about local botanical resources."
The explanation seemed reasonable enough, but something in his tone suggested there was more to his presence than simple professional obligation. His gaze moved between Gus and Marigold with the kind of assessment that made her slightly uncomfortable, as if he was cataloging details for some purpose she couldn't fathom.
"Speaking of scents," Cypress continued, his attention focusing on her with an intensity that made her take a small step closer to Gus, "Marigold's would make a beautiful perfume.There's something unique about it—complex layers that would be fascinating to capture artificially."
The comment caught her completely off guard. She'd never given much thought to how she smelled to others, had always been focused on suppressing her scent rather than celebrating it. The idea that someone would want to replicate it felt both flattering and oddly invasive.
"What do I smell like?" she asked, genuinely curious despite her discomfort with being discussed as if she wasn't present.
