Page 11

I came to the Motley Crewd Ranch hoping to shake some of the loneliness that’s been clinging to me like a second skin.

I told myself it was just a weekend away.

A break.

A chance to breathe.

To not look over my shoulder.

To pretend, for just a little while, that I wasn’t a woman with a past that could still find her if she stood still too long.

But deep down? I was aching for something more.

Avery’s been amazing. She's the kind of friend who doesn’t pry, but always shows up exactly when you need her.

And the other women— Penny, Jezebel, Arliss —they welcomed me like I belonged here from the second I stepped onto the place.

They’re smart, funny, strong as hell. They are also completely head-over-heels, fairy-tale in love.

And not the performative, Instagram-filter kind of love.

I mean real love.

Deep. Soul-level.

The kind that wraps around you like a safety net and never lets go.

It’s beautiful. And honestly? A little intimidating.

Each couple feels like their own little world.

Like a perfect island where no one else exists.

You can feel it in their glances, the brush of a hand, the way the men look at their women like they’re the center of gravity itself.

I’ve never seen anything like it.

And it makes me realize— painfully, sharply —how long it’s been since I’ve let someone look at me like I matter.

Of course, there’s one of them who isn’t paired off.

Like me.

Zeke Gordon.

And maybe it’s wishful thinking, or just the fantasy of a girl desperate to feel something, anything, but I feel his eyes on me when he thinks I’m not looking.

Oh, there’s been some playful banter and stolen kisses. And try as I might to ignore it, he’s just too—too big to pretend he doesn’t exist.

He’s got this presence to him.

Larger than life.

And I can’t say I’m immune to it.

He’s magnetic. Heavy in the air. When he walks into a space, everything shifts.

Like the room knows he’s here before anyone else does.

I’ve never seen a man like him.

Not in real life.

Honestly, Zeke Gordon could make a fortune modeling.

He’s got this rugged cowboy meets Viking god look.

All intense eyes and dark waves of hair you want to get lost in.

But something tells me that world isn’t for him.

Too staged. Too fake.

Zeke’s real. Raw edges and dangerous fire.

And even though I hardly know him, I feel him.

When he’s close, my skin prickles.

When he speaks, all of me listens.

And when he kisses me— God, when he kisses me —I swear something inside me cracks wide open.

Is it stupid that I feel possessive?

That I want him to look only at me, touch only me?

I hardly know him. And still, I don’t want to go to bed right now.

I don’t want to go inside. Don’t want to turn away from him.

I’m not particularly superstitious, but it’s like the night is doing something to me.

Stars erupt across the navy sky, and it’s magical. All of it is.

The soft firelight.

The laughter fading into embers.

The moon above us, so bright and unbothered.

It’s like the whole world softened its edges just enough to let me dream again.

And now, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve been foolish.

Foolish to run from every feeling that wasn’t fear.

Foolish to build walls so high I forgot how to climb out.

Foolish to think love was something I wasn’t built for.

Because here, in this strange, beautiful place— an honest to God working New Jersey ranch —with this man, I don’t feel foolish anymore.

I feel awake.

And maybe it’s not so foolish to want something real.

Maybe it's brave.

Maybe it's time.

The fire crackles low, casting flickering light over the patio stones, but the heat in my chest has nothing to do with the flames.

It’s him.

Zeke.

Still and watching, like a storm waiting for the right moment to break. His eyes are on me— have been on me —and every second that passes feels like a tether pulling tighter, a current building between us.

I should be afraid.

I’ve spent months living in fear.

Running. Hiding. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

My life has been one long string of caution tape and whispered warnings.

But not here.

Not now.

Here, sitting beside this fire, with Zeke looking at me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted, I don’t feel afraid or alone.

I feel wanted.

I feel alive.

He shifts forward, muscles taut beneath that worn cotton shirt, eyes like twin storms.

Wild and hungry.

But behind the hunger, I see something else.

Something deeper. Something real.

He doesn’t reach for me.

Not yet.

It’s like he’s giving me a choice.

And God, it’s been so long since someone let me choose.

My chest aches. My throat tightens.

I hear echoes of my ex in the back of my mind. Cold and calculating. The things he used to say when I flinched from his touch or wore a dress that showed too much skin.

“You’re not sexy. You’re convenient.”

“You’re lucky I want you at all.”

“You think any man wants a body like that?”

But Zeke’s gaze trails over me like a promise.

Like every inch of me is sacred.

Like he’s already memorized the landscape of my body in a dream.

“What is this?” I whisper, afraid to break the spell.

“This,” he replies, brushing his plump lips across my neck, kissing my ear, making me shiver. “Is something I can’t fight anymore.”

Holy. Shit.

“Come here,” he says, voice low and dark, gravel and silk. “Need you, Casey. I want you so damn bad.”

I press my body to his, closing the minimal space between us. My breath catches when his arms wrap around me, and then he just lifts me up.

Like I weigh nothing.

Like I belong right there.

And maybe I do.

He carries me across the yard, through the shadows, into a cabin I assume is his.

It smells good inside.

Masculine.

Just like him.

Wood and leather and fire and warmth.

The door shuts behind us with a heavy click, and my heart gallops like it finally remembers how to run free.

He sets me down in the center of the room, but he doesn’t let go.

His hands stay on my waist, large and steady, thumbs pressing into the soft curve of my hips like he needs to feel me there.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Casey,” he growls. “Every inch. Every curve. Every dimple. And tonight, I’m not stopping until you believe it, too.”

Heat flares down my spine.

I don’t know what to do with the words he’s saying. I only know my whole life, I’ve waited for someone to talk to me like that.

Only, this is even better than I imagined.

“I—” I start, but he silences me with a kiss.

It’s not sweet.

It’s not tentative.

It’s all heat and desperation and the kind of hunger that makes a woman forget who she used to be.

His mouth claims mine, demanding and reverent all at once, and I melt into him because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

When he peels my dress off my body, I brace myself for a flinch. For shame. But it doesn’t come.

Because Zeke looks at me like I’m divine.

Like he’s been starving, and I’m the only thing that can feed him.

And when his mouth finds my neck, my shoulder, the swell of my breast— when his hands map every inch of me with a worshipful hunger —I do exactly as he promised I would.

I believe him.

I believe I’m beautiful.

I believe I’m wanted.

And when he lays me down and shows me how it feels to be touched like I matter, I let go.

Of my fear.

Of the past.

Of every single lie I’ve ever been told about my body and my worth.

And in his arms, with his voice whispering how good I taste, how soft I feel, how right this is—he makes me believe I was made for this.

For him.

For this.

And for one perfect, breathless, moaning, melting night—I swear, I see heaven.