Page 23 of Knot Your Sunshine (Snugverse Romcom #2)

Chapter twenty-two

Mia

"Clutch in, shift to second, now ease off—" Josh's voice stays calm even as the vintage Volkswagen Kombi protests with a grinding sound that makes me wince.

"This thing absolutely despises me." My knuckles go white on the steering wheel as we climb the mountain road.

"She's temperamental." Josh shifts closer, ostensibly to help with the gear shift. His thigh presses against mine, and I have to remind myself to breathe. "Here, let me—" His hand covers mine on the stick shift, guiding it into position.

The contact shouldn't affect me this much. It's just his hand. But his fingers are warm, and when his thumb brushes across my knuckles, heat shoots straight to my core.

"Try again." His voice has dropped lower. Is he affected too? "Less gas this time."

The engine catches. The van lurches but stays in gear, and I let out a victory whoop that makes him laugh.

"There you go." Josh's smile reaches his eyes, crinkling at the corners. "You two are becoming friends."

"Friends is generous, but I have to say learning to drive a stick is pretty cool." I smile as I navigate this teal-painted beast up the road, the lingering warmth from his touch making me hyperaware of his presence.

We crest a rise and the landscape opens up before us. My foot comes off the gas involuntarily.

"Oh my god, Josh."

Neat rows of glossy shrubs cascade down the hillside, dotted with flashes of red. Beyond them, mountains stretch toward the sky, their summits crowned with wisps of cloud, all bathed in warm golden light.

"What is this place?" I lean forward, taking it all in.

"You'll see." He grins, and there's something mischievous in it. "Pull over by that gate."

When I kill the engine, the world fills with sound. Birds call out in complex melodies, leaves rustle in the breeze, and somewhere water trickles over stones in a steady rhythm.

I step out of the van as Josh hops out and moves to open a simple wooden gate. When he turns back to me, something fundamental has shifted. His shoulders have dropped, his stance has widened. He looks... home.

"Welcome to my coffee plantation."

The words don't compute. "Your—what?"

"Every tree and every bean." He gestures with obvious pride. He starts walking and I follow, our shoulders occasionally brushing. The path is narrow enough that we can't help but stay close.

"How did this happen?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"After we sold the company five years ago, I finally had time for hobbies." His fingers flex as he talks. "I've always loved working with my hands, building, creating things."

"Not just code?"

"Definitely not just code." He stops, turns to face me fully.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm a tech nerd. But there's something about watching a seed become a tree, nurturing it through seasons, creating something that people can taste, can share.

.." He trails off, color rising in his cheeks. "Sorry. I get carried away."

"No." I touch his arm without thinking. "Don't apologize. It's beautiful. You're—" I catch myself. "This is beautiful."

We stand there for a moment, my hand on his arm, his eyes on mine. Then he clears his throat, gently takes my hand.

"Come on. Let me show you around."

His fingers interlace with mine so naturally I don't think either of us planned it. We walk deeper into the rows, and he points out different varieties with his free hand, explaining things like soil conditions and altitude effects.

"I apprenticed with a master roaster in Kona for six months," he tells me. "Learned everything from the ground up. Soil composition, processing methods, roasting curves."

"That's incredibly dedicated."

"When I commit to something, I commit fully ." The last word comes out low, and I look down, heat flooding my face at the way his eyes focus on me.

"These are Gesha trees," he says, voice rougher now as stop in front of the most pristine rows, their branches heavy with perfectly ripened fruit.

"Incredibly difficult to grow, but the flavor.

.." He reaches up with his free hand, plucks a red cherry, and splits it open with his thumbnail, revealing two pale seeds nestled inside.

"Those are coffee cherries. Here. Smell. "

I lean in, catching bright, almost citrus notes.

"Now." He moves behind me, and suddenly his chest is against my back, his arms coming around me to guide my hands to the leaves. "Feel for the ones that are ready."

His breath warms my ear as he shows me how to test for ripeness. "Gentle pressure here... see how it gives slightly? That means it's perfect."

His thumb strokes across my wrist as he adjusts my grip, and I shiver. I can feel his heartbeat against my back, definitely faster than normal. When I successfully pluck my first cherry, he doesn't move away.

"Perfect," he murmurs, close enough that I feel the word as much as hear it.

"Josh..." I turn in his arms, the cherry forgotten in my palm.

"Shall we..." His gaze flickers to my lips before returning to my eyes. "See how your cherry tastes?"

* * *

The processing station is built into the hillside, with natural stone basins carved to hold coffee at different stages. Water flows through channels between them in a gentle current.

"Josh, these are works of art."

"Local craftsmen." Pride colors his voice as he runs his hand along the smooth volcanic rock. "Each basin serves a different purpose: pulping, fermentation, washing."

He demonstrates each step, and his professor voice should not be this attractive. But watching him explain something he's passionate about, seeing his eyes light up when he talks about fermentation temperatures and processing times… it's intoxicating.

"Then roasting?" I ask, trying to focus on coffee instead of how his forearms flex when he scoops beans.

His eyes light up. "Yes, the best part."

We walk up to a copper drum roaster. Josh starts it up, and it rotates with a hypnotic rumble.

"Temperature is everything," he explains, pouring green beans into the hopper. "Two degrees can change the entire flavor profile. Too hot and you burn away the subtle notes. Too cool and you don't develop the sugars properly."

"You really love this." It's not a question.

He looks at me. "I love creating something that brings people joy. You could argue I'm a… pleaser ."

I bite my lip, getting lost in his eyes.

Since when is Josh so forward? I like it a lot though…

The roaster clicks, snapping me back to the moment. Josh turns to remove the beans, and the aroma that fills the room is a perfect harmony of chocolate, caramel, and cherry. It smells absolutely divine.

"Try one." He picks up a still-warm bean and holds it toward my mouth.

I lean forward, taking it from his hand with my lips, letting them brush his fingertips. His pupils dilate instantly.

"Good?" The word comes out rough.

"Incredible." I lick my lips, watch his eyes track the movement. "What's next now, professor ?"

He clears his throat. "We should... brewing. The cupping room."

The cupping room feels more like a secret hideaway than part of a processing station.

A narrow counter runs along one wall, and every piece of brewing equipment lined up with precision.

Josh moves among them, setting out three different brewing methods as if arranging instruments before a symphony.

I can only watch, caught somewhere between fascination with the ritual and the man performing it.

"Pour over first." He slides a cup toward me, our fingers brushing. "Tell me what you taste."

I sip, closing my eyes to focus. "Bright. Almost like berries?"

"Good palate." His approval warms me more than the coffee. "Now French press."

With each taste, we stand closer. By the time we reach the espresso, we're hip to hip, sharing the small cup between us.

"How can it taste so different when it's the same beans?" I ask, setting down the cup.

"Extraction, temperature, time." His eyes hold mine. "All in all, chemistry ."

"I might know a thing or two about that." I bite my lip, closing the last gap between us.

"Is that so?" His hand comes up, tucking hair behind my ear with infinite care.

The gentle touch sends warmth spiraling through me. I find myself leaning into his palm, my eyes fluttering closed for just a moment before opening to meet his gaze again. The air between us feels charged, electric.

I reach up, my fingers sliding through his soft, wavy hair, and he leans down at the same time, our movements instinctive and synchronized.

Then, our lips meet.

The kiss starts tentative, exploring. He tilts his head, changing the angle, and I feel his breath warm against my cheek.

Our lips part and meet again, each touch a little braver than the last. Then I make a small sound against his mouth and his control fractures.

His hands find my waist, pulling me against him, and the kiss deepens into something that makes my knees weak.

His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him, tasting a touch of espresso.

When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.

"I—I should probably drive you back," he says, but his hands tighten on my waist, contradicting his words.

"Don't," I whisper against his mouth. "Please don't stop."

He groans and captures my lips again, backing me against the counter. I feel him hard against my stomach through his jeans, and slick pools between my thighs.

"Mia," he pants, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against mine. "Tell me if this is too fast—"

"It's not." I pull him back down. "I want this. Want you."

There's a worn leather couch in the corner. We stumble toward it, kissing desperately. He sits and I climb into his lap, my sundress riding up my thighs. His hard length presses exactly where I need it, and we both gasp.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes, hands spanning my waist. "Been thinking about this since you walked into that conference room."

I roll my hips experimentally and his head falls back. "Just thinking?"

"Dreaming. Fantasizing. Running probability calculations on whether you'd ever want—"

I silence him with another kiss, grinding down against him. The friction through our clothes is perfect torture. His hands slide under my dress, fingers tracing patterns on my thighs that make me shiver.

"Can I?" His fingers hover at the edge of my underwear.

I nod frantically, beyond words. He pushes the fabric aside and groans when he finds how wet I am.

"That's it, right there!" I gasp as his fingers find exactly the right spot to tease.

I rock against his hand while grinding against his hardness, chasing the building pressure. He watches my face with intense focus, adjusting his touch based on every sound I make, every shiver.

"That's it," he murmurs as I get close. "Let go for me."

The combination of his fingers, his voice, and the friction against him sends me over. I come hard, muffling my cry against his shoulder as waves of pleasure crash through me.

He holds me through it, pressing kisses to my temple, my cheek, murmuring how beautiful I am.

When I can think again, I reach between us, palming him through his jeans. He hisses.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to." I work his zipper down, freeing him. He's thick and hot in my hand, already leaking and his knot already swelling. "Want to make you feel good too."

I stroke him, using the moisture at the tip to ease the glide. He watches me with dark eyes, breath coming in harsh pants. I shift angle, grinding against him while working him with my hand, and the dual sensation makes us both moan.

"Mia, I'm—" His voice breaks. "Close."

I speed up, grinding harder, and he comes with a broken sound, spilling over my hand and his shirt.

We stay in this position, breathing hard, my hand feeling his knot fully inflated… making my omega very proud of her work.

"That was..." he starts.

"Amazing," I finish.

He laughs, soft and happy. "Thank god I keep spare clothes here for when I sleep over after late roasting sessions."

I giggle against his shoulder. "Any chance you have spare women's underwear lying around? Mine are completely soaked."

"I'll see what I can find for you." He chuckles and gives me a tender kiss. "Now, let me make you some more coffee. And then I'm going to try very hard not to jump you again on that couch."

I nuzzle his throat, smile against his skin. “No promises on my end.”