Page 48 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)

She took a long drink, grateful for the cool liquid, and when she lowered the cup, she found him watching her with an expression that made her pulse quicken.

There was something almost predatory in his attention—not threatening, but intensely focused in a way that made her feel like the most interesting thing in his world.

"You've got dirt on your cheek," he said quietly, setting down his own water and moving closer.

"Where?" she asked, raising her free hand to try to locate the smudge.

"Let me," he said, his thumb brushing gently across her cheekbone in a caress that was far more intimate than necessary for removing dirt.

The touch lingered, his hand cupping her face with careful tenderness, and she found herself leaning into the contact despite every rational thought telling her to maintain some distance.

His thumb traced the line of her cheek, the gesture so gentle and reverent that it made her chest tight with emotion.

"Marigold," he said softly, her name a question and a statement all at once.

She looked up into his face, seeing her own desire reflected in his eyes, and felt the last of her hesitation melt away. When he leaned down toward her, she rose on her toes to meet him halfway, their lips coming together in a kiss that was both inevitable and perfect.

This kiss was different from their first—deeper, more confident, carrying the weight of growing familiarity and trust. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer against him, and she could feel the solid strength of his body, the way he trembled slightly with the effort of maintaining control.

Her own hands found their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palms.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder, he rested his forehead against hers and smiled—an expression that was equal parts satisfied and rueful.

"If you wear this again," he said, his voice rough with barely contained desire, "I may have to have my way with you right here on my lap."

The bold declaration sent heat flooding through her system, pooling low in her belly in a way that made her thighs clench involuntarily. For a moment, she was too stunned to respond, caught between shock at his directness and arousal at the mental images his words conjured.

Then, surprising herself with her own boldness, she looked up at him through lowered lashes and smiled with deliberate innocence. "Is that a promise or a threat?" she asked quietly, her voice carrying just enough challenge to make his eyes darken with want.

The effect of her words was immediate and visible—a flush creeping up his neck, his jaw tightening with the effort of maintaining control, his hands flexing where they rested on her waist as if he was physically restraining himself from following through on his threat.

"Marigold," he said, her name a warning and a plea all at once.

Instead of backing down, she stepped away from him with fluid grace, putting just enough distance between them to be safe while maintaining eye contact that was purely defiant.

"We should probably get back to work," she said with false innocence, though the smile playing at the corners of her mouth betrayed her satisfaction at his reaction.

She turned and walked back toward the unfinished section of fence, swaying her hips just slightly more than necessary, acutely aware of his gaze following her movement.

When she glanced back over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the smirk spreading across his face—appreciation for her boldness mixed with promise of future retribution.

"You're playing with fire," he called after her, but there was laughter in his voice along with the heat.

"Maybe I like the warmth," she replied, picking up her tools and trying to look busy despite the way her hands were trembling with adrenaline and arousal.

They returned to work with an energy that crackled between them, every interaction charged with new awareness.

When their hands brushed as they reached for the same tool, the contact sent sparks through both of them.

When she had to squeeze past him in the narrow space between posts, the brief press of their bodies together made them both catch their breath.

The work itself became a form of foreplay—the shared rhythm, the way they moved around each other with increasing familiarity, the satisfaction of completing tasks together.

Marigold found herself stealing glances at the way his muscles moved under his shirt, the concentration on his face as he worked, the competent grace of his hands as they manipulated tools and materials.

By the time they finished the fence repairs, the sun was high overhead and they were both flushed with heat and exertion. The completed work stretched before them—straight and strong, a tangible result of their shared effort that felt like a metaphor for something larger.

"Good work," Meadow said, surveying their handiwork with satisfaction. "This should hold through anything winter throws at it."

"I can't believe how satisfying that was," Marigold admitted, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "There's something about building something together, making it better than it was before."

"Exactly," he agreed, and the way he looked at her suggested he was thinking about more than just fence construction.

They gathered their tools in companionable quiet, the ease between them now seasoned with anticipation and unspoken promise.

As they prepared to walk back toward the main ranch buildings, Marigold felt a sense of accomplishment that went beyond the completed fence—she'd pushed herself out of her comfort zone, both in terms of the clothes she'd worn and the way she'd responded to Meadow's attention, and discovered new aspects of herself she hadn't known existed.

The sound of an approaching vehicle broke the peaceful quiet, and they both looked up to see a pickup truck moving down the dirt road that ran parallel to the pasture.

The truck was moving faster than was typical for the area, throwing up a cloud of dust that made it initially difficult to identify the driver.

As the vehicle drew closer, Marigold recognized Cypress behind the wheel, his distinctive profile visible through the windshield. But instead of slowing down or stopping, he maintained his speed while rolling down the passenger window.

"Found this in your old drawer!" he called out, his voice carrying clearly across the distance as he tossed something from the moving truck.

The object landed in the grass near their feet—a silk scarf in shades of blue and green that Marigold recognized with a jolt of surprise. She bent to pick it up, the fabric soft and familiar in her hands, bringing with it a flood of memories from her college years.

"I wore this all the time junior year," she said wonderingly, examining the scarf as if it might hold secrets. "But I thought I'd lost it when I moved out of the dorms. Why didn't he stop?"

Meadow's expression had grown carefully neutral as he watched the truck disappear around a bend in the road, leaving only settling dust to mark its passage.

There was tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there moments before, a guardedness that suggested he understood something about Cypress's action that she didn't.

"It's an old small town tradition," he explained, his voice carrying none of the warmth that had characterized their morning together. "Though not one that's practiced much anymore."

"What kind of tradition?" she asked, noting the way his jaw had tightened and wondering what she was missing.

Meadow was quiet for a long moment, seeming to weigh his words carefully before responding. "It's something you do to indicate interest in a single woman," he said finally. "Returning something personal, something that shows you've been thinking about her."

The explanation hit her like a physical blow, understanding dawning with uncomfortable clarity. "Oh," she said quietly, looking down at the scarf in her hands with new eyes. "So he's... he's actually pursuing me?"

The idea was both flattering and deeply unsettling.

She'd thought their reunion had provided closure, that the apology and explanation had allowed them both to move forward as friends.

To learn that Cypress might be viewing their renewed contact as an opportunity rather than resolution complicated everything.

"But he's an Omega though," she said, looking up at Meadow with confusion. "Wouldn't that be odd for our dynamic? I mean, I know relationships between Omegas exist, but typically there's an Alpha involved in the equation, right?"

Meadow's silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the truck had disappeared rather than on her face. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully controlled.

"Cypress being an Omega isn't the problem here," he said quietly.

The cryptic response only deepened her confusion. She studied his profile, noting the tension around his eyes, the way his hands had clenched into fists at his sides. There was clearly more to this situation than she understood, layers of meaning and history that she wasn't privy to.

"Then what is the problem?" she asked, though something in his demeanor suggested he wasn't going to provide the clarity she was seeking.

"We shouldn't worry about it," he said, turning back toward her but not quite meeting her eyes. "Are you going to keep the scarf?"

Marigold looked down at the silk in her hands, feeling its softness between her fingers while processing the complex emotions the morning had stirred up.

The scarf represented her past self—the young woman who'd believed in fairy tale endings and trusted people who ultimately betrayed that trust. The woman who'd shaped her identity around other people's expectations and approval.

For a moment, she considered keeping it.

It was beautiful, after all, and it held memories of a time when life felt full of possibility.

But as she stood there in her work clothes, skin flushed from honest labor and genuine connection, she realized that holding onto remnants of her former life would only weigh her down.

"We should donate it the next time we go to town," she said, folding the scarf carefully but definitively.

The answer clearly surprised Meadow, his eyebrows rising as he studied her face. "Why?"

"Because that part of me is different from who I am now," she said, the words emerging with more certainty than she'd expected. "Sometimes you have to let things go to invite new things that will benefit and prosper you."

The explanation felt true in a way that resonated through her entire body.

She'd spent too much of her life clinging to past versions of herself, trying to fit into molds that no longer served her.

The scarf was beautiful, but it belonged to a woman who no longer existed—a woman who'd needed external validation to feel worthy, who'd compromised her own desires to maintain relationships that were ultimately one-sided.

"New things," Meadow repeated thoughtfully, and when she looked at him, she saw something like pride in his expression.

"New things," she confirmed, extending her free hand toward him. "Should we head back home for dinner?"

The word 'home' slipped out naturally, and she felt a flutter of surprise at how right it sounded. When had the ranch stopped being Meadow's place and started being home? When had this community of people stopped being his friends and started being hers as well?

Meadow's smile was warm and genuine as he took her hand, their fingers intertwining with the easy familiarity that had developed between them. "Absolutely."

As they walked back toward the ranch buildings, Marigold felt a deep sense of satisfaction that went beyond their completed work or even their growing intimacy.

She'd made a choice—to let go of the past in favor of an uncertain but promising future, to prioritize her own growth over the comfort of familiar patterns.

The pride she felt in herself was matched only by the way Meadow's approval made her stomach flip with need and anticipation.

Whatever complications Cypress's presence might introduce or challenges lay ahead in navigating her feelings for multiple people, she was confident in her ability to handle them with grace and authenticity.