callsign-alpine

The room had gone dead silent. Satoru had blinked once, twice, before a massive, blinding grin broke across his face. He had sat up so fast his white hair went wild.

"An undercover mission? Domestic espionage? Oh, this is the best day of my life. I’m going to be the greatest boyfriend this world has ever seen. I'll make your exes weep. I'll make your ancestors proud."

"I don't have any exes attending, Satoru. And it’s just a game," you had warned him, pointing a finger at his chest. "Keep it simple. Don't go overboard."

You should have known right then. Gojo Satoru didn't do simple. He didn't do restraint. He treated the entire world like his personal sandbox, and you had just handed him a shovel.

Later, you stepped out of the Kyoto bullet train station.

You had expected Satoru to show up in his usual dark Jujutsu High uniform, maybe with a slightly cleaner jacket. Instead, he had materialized in a tailored, charcoal-gray three-piece suit that fit his towering, six-foot-three frame so perfectly it felt like a direct assault on your nervous system.

His hair was down, falling softly over his forehead, and he had swapped his dark blindfold for a pair of lightly tinted round sunglasses that allowed his lethal eyes to track every single movement you made.

"Well?" he had asked, spinning a silver car key around his long finger, a smug, devastating smirk playing on his lips. "Do I look like husband material?"

"We're dating, Satoru. Not engaged," you had muttered, your heart doing a violent, uncoordinated flip against your ribs. "And where did you get a car?"

"Borrowed it from Ichiji," he shrugged carelessly, opening the passenger door for you with an elaborate, sweeping bow. "Only the best for my darling."

By the time you arrived at the traditional garden estate where the reception was being held, Satoru had fully lost his mind to the bit.

The moment your mother approached us, her eyes wide as she took in the literal god of a man standing beside her child, Satoru didn't just polite shake her hand. He glided forward, wrapping his massive arms around her in a warm, enthusiastic hug.

"Grandma!" he had cheered, instantly spotting your elderly grandmother sitting in a wheelchair nearby, sweeping over to her before you could even open your mouth to correct him. He dropped to one knee on the gravel, taking her frail, wrinkled hand between both of his large, calloused ones.

"I've heard so much about you. Their childhood stories are my absolute favorite. Especially the one where they got their head stuck in the banister."

"Oh, what a handsome, polite young man!" your grandmother had beamed, her face flushing pink as she patted Satoru’s silver-white hair. "You must look after our little one."

"With my life," Satoru had murmured, looking back at you through those tinted lenses, his smile softening into something so warm, so terrifyingly tender that your lungs entirely forgot how to extract oxygen from the air.

He spent the next three hours systematically dismantling your family's defenses. He helped your uncles carry the heavy multi-tiered dessert trays; he took hundreds of group photos using his phone, his long arm wrapping naturally around your waist to pull you flush against his side for every single shot.

He was so charismatic, so seamlessly woven into the fabric of your family, that your cousins were already pulling you aside in the restroom to ask when the wedding bells were ringing for you.

"He keeps talking about our future," you muttered frantically to yourself in the mirror, splashing cold water on your face. "He told my uncle we were looking at properties in Sendai. He's insane. He’s taking this way too seriously."

It was the cocktail hour now.

Satoru had been dragged away by your father to discuss a specific brand of sake, leaving you standing near the koi pond with a glass of plum wine. Within minutes, a distant acquaintance of the groom, a wealthy, sharp-tongued young businessman from Tokyo, had slid into the space beside you.

"So," the man had said, his eyes scanning your form with a slow, predatory interest that made your stomach turn. "I see you're sitting alone. A beautiful person like you shouldn't be left unattended at a celebration like this. Let me get you something stronger to drink."

"I'm fine, thank you," you said politely, taking a step back. "My boyfriend is actually—"

"Oh, the tall guy with the flashy hair?" the businessman scoffed, stepping closer, effectively blocking your path back to the pavilion. "He looks like the type who likes to be the center of attention. Probably doesn't know how to appreciate what's right in front of him. Why don't you let a real adult take you out tonight?"

Before you could formulate a response that wouldn't cause a scene, the temperature around you dropped by ten degrees.

The air grew heavy, the faint, invisible hum of Infinity vibrating against the back of your neck a split second before a heavy, unyielding arm locked around your waist.

Satoru hauled you back against his chest with a single, effortless tug, his massive frame completely bracketing you from the stranger.

"Is there a problem here?" Satoru asked.

His voice wasn't carrying that cheerful, annoying pitch he used when he was playing a character. It was low, dangerous, and carried a jagged, Special Grade edge that made the businessman's smile instantly vanish.

Satoru didn't have his glasses on; they were tucked into his breast pocket, and his bare, sky-blue eyes were fixed on the man with a freezing, unblinking glare that felt like a death sentence.

"No, I was just... introducing myself," the businessman stammered, taking an involuntary step backward as his face went pale.

"Great. Now you've met us," Satoru rumbled, his grip tightening around your waist, his thumb anchoring itself against your hipbone with a possessive, territorial force. "My partner and I were right in the middle of an important conversation. Lose yourself."

The man practically ran away.

You stood there for a long beat, your back pressed against Satoru’s tailored vest, your heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm. You could feel the heavy, rapid thud of his own heart against your spine.

"Satoru," you whispered, your fingers clutching his forearm to loosen his grip. "The guy's gone. You can drop the act now. You're squeezing me."

He didn't release you. Instead, he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his white hair brushing against your ear as he let out a long, ragged exhale.

"I'm not acting," he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin, rough and entirely devoid of his usual playful theater. "I really hate when people look at you like that."

But it wasn't enough. Your emotional ruin arrived during the traditional reception events.

The bride had gathered all the unmarried guests in the center of the courtyard for the bouquet toss. You had tried to hide behind a pillar with a plate of crab cakes, but your mother had forcibly shoved you into the center of the crowd, right at the front lines.

"On three!" the bride called out, turning her back. "One... two... three!"

The flowers sailed through the air in a high, arc trajectory. You hadn't even intended to reach for them, but a sudden scramble among the cousins caused someone to bump into your shoulder, and your hands instinctively shot out to stabilize yourself.

Thud.

The tightly bound bundle of white roses and eucalyptus landed squarely in your palms.

The entire courtyard erupted into cheers and wild applause. Your mother was practically vibrating with delight, and your uncle let out a booming laugh from the bar, cupping his hands around his mouth to yell across the garden: "Looks like you're next, kid! Better start saving up for the venue!"

You felt your entire face turn a brilliant, agonizing shade of crimson. You opened your mouth, ready to laugh it off as a statistical anomaly, ready to say something self-deprecating to break the tension.

"Works for me," a clear, loud voice echoed from the stairs.

The courtyard went dead silent.

You froze, your fingers tightening around the flower stems until the thorns nipped at your skin. You turned your head slowly. Satoru was standing on the wooden veranda, a half-eaten skewer of dango in his hand. His sky-blue eyes were wide, fixed on you with an expression of profound, unadulterated shock.

He hadn't meant to say that out loud. For the first time in his entire life, Gojo Satoru had lost control of his filter because his subconscious had answered the universe before his brain could construct a joke.

Your mother looked at Satoru. Satoru looked at you. You looked at the bouquet.

"Well," your grandmother chirped into the suffocating silence, her wheelchair squeaking as she turned toward the buffet. "I always did want a autumn wedding."

The evening drew to a close, the traditional lanterns had been dimmed, casting the stone paths in long, indigo shadows. The older relatives had retired to their rooms, leaving only a few lingering guests drifting through the garden as a slow, melancholy jazz melody began to float from the speakers near the pavilion.

You were sitting on the edge of the wooden deck, your heels discarded beside you, staring out at the dark water of the koi pond. The white bouquet was resting in your lap, its scent heavy in the cool night air.

A soft rustle of silk announced his presence before he even sat down.

Satoru slid onto the deck beside you, his long legs dangling over the edge. He had discarded his jacket and his tie, the top three buttons of his white shirt undone, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbones.

He looked smaller like this, less like the strongest sorcerer alive and more like a man who had spent the day carrying the weight of a secret he didn't know how to keep.

"We survived," you said softly, trying to inject some of your usual lighthearted banter into the space between you. "My mother already added you to the family group chat, by the way. You're stuck forever."

Satoru didn't laugh. He didn't even look at his phone. He just turned his head, his brilliant, bare eyes searching your face with a quiet, devastating intensity that made your breath hitch.

"Can I have this dance?" he asked.

His voice was a low, velvet whisper. There was no teasing edge, no smirk, no arrogant tilt of his chin. It was just Satoru.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before setting the bouquet down on the wood. You stood up, your bare feet cold against the smooth timber, and stepped into his space.

Satoru rose to his full height, his massive form instantly shielding you from the rest of the world. He didn't place his hand on your waist with that theatrical, exaggerated flourish from earlier.

Instead, his palm came down against the small of your back with a soft, reverent pressure, his other hand gently lacing his fingers through yours, locking them securely against his chest.

You leaned your forehead against his shoulder, letting the scent of his cologne and the steady, heavy rhythm of his heart wash over you as you swayed to the slow music.

"Satoru," you murmured into the fabric of his shirt. "The wedding is over. You don't have to keep the act up anymore. Nobody's looking at us."

The hand on your back tightened, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer until there was no space left between you, his chest rising and falling against yours in a ragged, uneven pattern.

"You know..." he whispered, his chin resting gently against the top of your hair, his long fingers pressing into your palm with a desperate, quiet certainty.

"What?"

"If you ever wanted to do that for real," Satoru murmured into the dark of the garden, his voice completely devoid of his usual armor. "I'd be available. Permanently."

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his face. For the first time since you had known him, the invincible Gojo Satoru looked entirely vulnerable, his blue eyes holding yours with a raw, terrifying honesty that left no room for doubt.

He wasn't playing a game anymore. The sandbox was gone, and he was standing before you, entirely unraveled by his own collateral damage.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your hand moving up to gently cup the side of his jaw, your thumb brushing against the smooth skin of his cheekbone. "You're an idiot, Satoru."

A small, breathtakingly beautiful smile touched his lips, his eyes softening into something eternal as he leaned down, closing the remaining distance between you. "Yeah," he whispered against your lips. "But I'm your idiot now."

..............................................................................................

You hadn't scrambled to fix your posture. You had just looked at him with an expression of profound boredom.

The attendants behind him had turned white as ghosts, bracing for the inevitable spray of blood. Sukuna’s jaw had set, a terrifying, low growl vibrating from his chest. But you hadn't trembled.

If he wanted to kill you, he would kill you. Fawning over him wasn't going to change his nature, so you simply refused to waste the energy.

He hadn't killed you. Instead, he had left, the doors slamming shut with enough force to rattle the shoji screens.

And that was the exact moment the nightmare began. Because from that night onward, Sukuna became an insufferable, permanent fixture in your life.

"You are eating that wrong."

You stopped your chopsticks halfway to your mouth, letting out a long, slow exhale through your nose. It was midnight.

You had been looking forward to a quiet, solitary meal of cold rice and pickled plums, but Sukuna had simply materialized in the corner of your room ten minutes ago, dripping wet from a thunderstorm, and had proceeded to sit directly on the edge of your bedding.

"I am eating it the way I have eaten it for more than twenty years," you said, not looking at him. "If my technique offends you, the door is exactly where you left it."

Sukuna scoffed, leaning back on his palms. His massive, tattooed frame took up half the space in your small room, his lower arms crossed over his chest while his upper right hand casually reached over and swiped a plum straight from your bowl.

"You have a wretched attitude," he remarked, popping the fruit into his mouth and chewing lazily. "The women in the east hall weep with gratitude if I so much as glance toward their courtyard. You look at me like I am a stray dog that ruined your garden."

"Stray dogs are quieter," you muttered, finally looking up to glare at him. "And they don't steal my food."

Sukuna’s lower mouth twitched into a sharp, jagged grin. He loved it. The realization turned your stomach, a strange, dizzying mixture of irritation and heat.

He didn't come to your room because he wanted a concubine; he came because he was a creature driven entirely by conflict, and you were the only person in the entire empire who refused to give him the satisfaction of a fight. You gave him nothing. You gave him a wall of pure, unbothered apathy, and it was driving him entirely insane.

He leaned forward suddenly, crowding your space. The smell of the storm, ozone and rain, rushed over you. Before you could pull back, his large, calloused hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around your jaw.

It wasn't the brutal, bone-crushing grip he used on his enemies. It was controlled, a heavy, unyielding restraint that forced your face up toward his.

"You should fear me," he murmured, his upper eyes tracking the movement of your throat as you swallowed. His thumb thumbed the soft skin right beneath your lower lip, a deliberate, electric friction that made your toes curl inside your robes. "A single flick of my finger, and this pretty little throat splits wide open."

You met his gaze evenly, refusing to let the wild, frantic thudding of your heart show on your face. "Then do it. I'm tired of your bragging."

Sukuna froze. For a second, the silence in the room was deadly. Then, a loud, booming laugh tore from his throat, the sound rough and genuine as he released your jaw, shifting his weight until he was practically draped over your lap, his heavy head resting casually against your thigh.

"Insufferable," he muttered, closing all four of his eyes as if he owned the space. "Utterly insufferable."

You stared down at the King of Curses currently using your legs as a pillow, your hand hovering over his unruly pink hair, entirely tempted to shove him off. But you didn't. You just sighed, picking up your chopsticks again, ignoring the way his subconscious weight felt entirely too natural against you.

The shift happened. In Sukuna’s dictionary, words like love or devotion were meaningless concepts invented by the weak to justify their dependency. He would never admit to favoring you. If anyone asked, he would simply say you were a minor amusement, a dull distraction from his boredom.

But the rest of the estate wasn't blind.

The servants noticed that the rare silks brought from the western raids, the ones Sukuna usually threw into the treasury to rot—somehow kept finding their way into your wardrobe because he had casually grumbled that your current robes looked "like rags."

The guards noticed that if Sukuna left your courtyard irritated, he was significantly less likely to execute someone in the main hall.

And then there was the incident with the lord of the northern clans.

During a formal banquet, the lord had made a passing, disparaging remark about your status, calling you an "eccentric, useless mouth to feed" who didn't know her place.

You hadn't even heard the comment; you had been across the pavilion, systematically ignoring Sukuna’s attempts to make you try a cup of sake.

But Sukuna had heard it.

He hadn't made a scene. He had simply stood up, walked over to the lord’s table, and dismantled the man’s entire lineage within three seconds, leaving the pavilion drenched in red before sitting back down next to you, casually picking up his chopsticks as if nothing had happened.

"You're exhausting when you're angry," you had murmured, wiping a stray drop of blood from the sleeve of your robe with a click of your tongue.

Sukuna hadn't answered. He had just grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand toward him until you were forced to use your sleeve to wipe a smudge of gore from his cheek instead. He hadn't asked. He had just assumed your hands belonged on his skin.

Late one evening, weeks later, the heat of the summer had turned the air thick and oppressive. You were lying awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling, when the shoji screen slid open without a sound.

Sukuna stepped inside. He looked exhausted, the heavy marks of a curse battle still lingering in the tension of his shoulders. He didn't speak. He just shed his heavy outer robe, letting it hit the floor, before crawling directly onto your sleeping mat.

"Go away," you groaned, trying to roll over to the far edge. "It is too hot for this."

"Silence," he grunted, a large, heavy arm snaking around your waist from behind. He hauled you back against his chest with a single, effortless tug, his massive body completely enveloping yours.

His chest was blazing hot, a furnace of pure cursed energy, and his face buried itself directly into the crook of your neck.

"You cling too much," you muttered, though you didn't actually fight the hold. It was a useless endeavor anyway.

"What nonsense," Sukuna rumbled, his voice thick with sleep, his lower arms tightening around your hips, anchoring you so securely to him that you could feel the rhythmic, heavy thud of his heart against your spine. "You are small. You fit here. Stop complaining."

You lay there in the dark, his breath warm against your skin, his long, sharp fingernails absentmindedly tracing patterns into the fabric of your garment near your ribs.

He was completely unaware of how intimate the gesture was, how entirely possessive his body became the moment he was near you. He thought he was just resting. He thought he was just taking what was his.

You turned your head slightly, looking back at him. His eyes were closed, his expression unusually peaceful in the dim moonlight.

"You're an idiot, Ryomen Sukuna," you whispered softly.

A faint, arrogant smirk touched his lips, though he didn't open his eyes. His hand moved up, his fingers lacing through yours with a casual, unthinking pressure, locking your hands together against the bedding.

"And you are still breathing," he murmured into your skin, his grip tightening just a fraction more. "Be grateful I find your stupidity so entertaining."

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his terrifying, inescapable warmth, finally accepting that while the King of Curses would never say the words, his actions had already rewritten the entire world around you.

............................................................................

he takes a breath, then pushes harder. you cry out as he forces another inch in, the pain sharp and bright, mixed with a pleasure that makes your toes curl. he’s buried deep now, but still not all the way. you can feel the empty space inside you, the part of him still outside, and it drives you crazy.

satoru starts to move, shallow thrusts at first, pulling out just enough to let your body adjust before pressing back in. each time, the stretch is remade, your cunt screaming in protest and welcome. your moans turn into a steady stream of incoherent pleas—faster, more, harder, please—and he obliges, picking up the pace.

but his cock is too big. no matter how much you want it, no matter how wet you get, you can’t take him fully. your body tells you in little spasms, in the way you clench and release without rhythm, in the tear tracks that streak your cheeks. he sees them, slows down.

“too much?” he asks, and his thumb wipes at your cheek.

“don’t stop,” you choke out. “don’t stop.”

so he doesn’t. he fucks you with everything he’s got, hips snapping against yours, the wet sound of your pussy taking what it can filling the room. you can feel every ridge of his cock, every vein, the way he pulses inside you. your hands rake down his back, leaving red marks, and he growls, fucks you harder.

it’s not long before you come. the orgasm builds like a wave, cresting over you as he grinds against that spot inside you that makes your vision go white. your legs clamp around his waist, pulling him deeper, and you scream into his neck as you come undone, pussy clenching around him in violent pulsing waves.

but he doesn’t stop.

“s-satoru, wait, i’m still—” you gasp, overstimulated, sensitive, raw. the feeling of him still moving inside you after your orgasm is almost too much, a pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

“i know,” he says, and he’s not cruel, but he’s relentless. “one more. just one more for me, baby. you can do it.”

you’re shaking, trembling, your thighs quivering as he thrusts. the overstimulation amplifies everything—the stretch, the friction, the fullness. every brush of his cock against your walls sends jolts of electricity through your nerves. you’re crying now, a mix of ecstasy and exhaustion, but you don’t tell him to stop. you can’t. you need this, need him to use you until you’re nothing but a sobbing, cum-drunk mess.

he watches you fall apart, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. his hand snakes down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, swollen and oversensitive. he rubs circles, light and fast, and you arch off the bed again, a broken moan tearing from your throat.

“that’s it,” he murmurs. “come on. give me another one.”

your second orgasm is less explosive but longer, a drawn-out, messy affair. your entire body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve ending lit up, as you cum around his too-big cock, still buried inside you, still moving. you feel his rhythm stutter, feel his heat spill inside you, deep and hot and endless. he groans your name as he cums, and the feeling of being filled by him, even though he never fit completely, is the final push you needed.

he pulls out gently, careful not to hurt you, and you both collapse on the wet sheets. his cock is still hard, still slick with your combined fluids, and you can see the way your entrance gapes, the redness, the evidence of what you’ve done. he kisses your forehead.

“you okay?” he asks again, softer this time.

you don’t have the breath to answer, so you just nod, curling into his chest. you feel the soreness already settling in, the dull ache that will bloom into something more tomorrow. but right now, you still feel him inside you, even though he’s not. that phantom fullness.

he’s still hard, pressing against your thigh. you can feel his breath quicken, and you know he’s not done yet. “one more,” he whispers, and the words are a command and a plea, all at once. “please. i need—again. i need you to take it again.”

you should say no. you should tell him you need a break, that your body can’t handle another round. but the way he looks at you, desperate and hungry, and the way your pussy still clenches around nothing, aches for him despite the pain—it overrides any sense.

“okay,” you whisper. “okay. but go slow.”

“i will,” he says, and he’s already positioning himself, already pressing the head of his cock against your overworked entrance. you hiss at the immediate stretch, the burn returning with a vengeance. he pushes in, inch by inch, and you can feel every fold of your cunt being forced open, made to accommodate him even though it never will.

your cries turn into sobs as he bottoms out—or rather, as he reaches the point where you can’t take any more. he strokes inside you, slow and deep, and the overstimulation is a living thing now, a fire that consumes you from the inside out. every nerve is screaming. your clit is so sore you can’t bear the thought of touch, yet when he reaches down and pinches it, you scream, a mix of agony and bliss.

your boyfriend fucks you like that, slow but punishing, milking your oversensitive body for all it’s worth. you’re a mess of tears and sweat and cum, legs trembling, hands fisting the sheets. he doesn’t stop until you’re choking on another orgasm, this one weak and painful, barely a shudder before you’re done.

he follows close behind, spilling into you again, his cum mixing with his own before it leaks out around his cock. he stays buried for a long moment, breathing hard, before pulling out. you’re left lying there, empty and shattered, your cunt fluttering, trying to hold onto something that’s too big to stay.

satoru collapses beside you, pulling you close. “that was—fuck.” he laughs, a low, exhausted sound. “you’re amazing.”

you can’t find the words, so you just press a kiss to his chest and let the slick, messy aftermath settle around you both, the ache of being stretched beyond your limit a warm, persistent throb that promises to haunt you for days.

If someone had told you three years ago that the one guy on Bradley’s team – the one guy you rarely were able to hold a conversation with, without it turning into a fight – would be the one guy who would step up and come to your rescue in your hour of need…you wouldn’t have believed them. 

Jake Seresin wasn’t even the last person on the list of potential suitors to be your husband. Because he wasn’t on the list, full stop. 

Until a gazillion hours ago when Natasha, after suspiciously looking between you and Jake who had maintained your usual ten feet distance from one another, gave an extra idea to help save your ass. As well as your business, home and family legacy. 

Apparently, when your Great-Aunt didn’t have any kids, nor did she get married, thought it was best to leave a stipulation in her will. 

In order to inherit the family business – the one you had been running for her since she retired – and the house – the one that the original bakery was built into – you had to be married. 

So, with the fear of losing everything you’d worked at for the last dozen years of your life – on your own, at least – you found yourself agreeing to the last thing you thought you would ever do. 

Marry Jake Seresin. 

With a quick exchange of vows, a swift (if a little awkward) kiss and papers being signed, you found yourself no longer carrying the same name as your Great Aunt, but rather Jake’s. 

“Okay, so,” Natasha started as she pushed you and your husband towards the covered doors of The Hard Deck. “We all kinda know this wedding is a sham, but that doesn’t mean it should be treated like one. And since this is our rare collective week off, we couldn’t let the opportunity go. So, welcome to your Reception. And yes, there will be a first dance.”

“Nat!”

Natasha just smiled and pushed you through the doors as Bob and Coyote held them open. 

“Holy shit,” Jake said, a little taken aback. 

“You can say that again.”

“Holy shit,” he repeated. 

You just looked at him, but only for a second since Bob opened up his mouth with a chuckle. 

“Cute. Their first married couple moment.”

Nat smiled as she pushed you both further inside. They’d gone all out. Wedding banners, childhood photos, a decorative dancefloor, a stacked bar, a wedding cake from your bakery, a DJ…it would take you at least six hours to take it all in. 

Then people started arriving. 

Your family, Jake’s family, the rest of the Dagger Squad, a couple of locals that had paid Penny a lot of money to be able to see the last two people they ever thought would get married do exactly that. 

Penny laughed as she took their money, saying she’ll set up a trust fund for your first born child. 

“Does your family know?” Jake asked you, quietly, as you looped your arm through his. 

You shook your head. “No. Do yours?”

Jake shook his head. “No. What did you tell your folks?”

“As far as they knew, my Great Aunt was leaving everything to me anyway. They have their own legacies they wanted to create, so they were happy for me. They didn’t know about the stipulation.”

Jake gave you a slightly confused look. “Okay, so what did you tell them about me?”

“Well,” you didn’t know why you were nervous admitting something like this to Jake. Especially considering the amount of times you hadn’t thought twice about telling him to fuck off to his face. “I’m not really open with my love life. I told them I’d been seeing someone for almost a year and that I was getting married. They…they were shocked. Very shocked. But…happy. Why, what did you tell your folks?”

“That…” Jake hesitated for a moment before looking back at you. Jesus, it was like his gaze bore into your soul as he spoke. “That I’d met this really great girl and that I was marrying her.”

“That’s it?”

Jake nodded. “That’s it.”

“Nothing else? No time line? Or stipulation? Nothing?”

Jake shook his head. “Figured I’d leave that up to you. Whatever you decide, I’ll back you.”

You took a breath before nodding. “Okay. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” You jumped as Bradley appeared beside you both. “The DJ is ready when you are. Mav had the mic so he’s gonna introduce you.”

“Intoduce us? For what?” You asked, but Bradley just smiled. 

“Your first dance.”

As if on cue, Mav’s voice rang out of the speakers before a spotlight moved around from the ceiling until it landed on both you and Jake. 

“Okay, can I get a big welcome for Mr and Mrs Seresin!”

Mrs Seresin. 

You were a Mrs. 

You were a Seresin.

“Jake.”

Seeing your panic, Jake simply took your hand and enveloped it in his before leading you towards the middle of the dancefloor as Mav’s voice continued talking over the speakers. 

“I-I don’t-I don’t know how to dance,” you quickly told him. “God, what song are they gonna play?”

“Natasha seems to have done a lot of this, so it shouldn’t be too bad. And, hey.” You looked at Jake as he took you in his arms as if it was second nature. “Just focus on me. Trust me. I won’t let you fall.”

“Promise?”

Jake smiled with a small nod as Mav announced the first dance. “I promise. Just trust me, okay?”

You no longer had a voice to use so you just nodded. 

As people sat down at booths and tables, clapping, the DJ started playing the music; A slow country ballad When I Said I Do by Clint Black. 

And, slowly swaying in the middle of the floor for the first half of the song, you tried not to concentrate too hard on the lyrics or the way it felt being held by Jake. After all, less than a month ago, you’d been having an argument in this very bar about being stuck on the same team for a game of pool. 

But, somewhere between the melody and the strangely comforting feeling of Jake’s palm resting against your back, you relaxed into him and felt yourself get lost in the feeling. 

Only for a moment. 

Because the moment the song faded away, Mav’s voice was whooping back over the speakers and congratulating both yourself and Jake. 

What followed, despite your internal warning alarm blaring for you to run away and hide for the rest of eternity, was the seven most heart-warming and heart-breaking hours of your life. 

Your family blended so well with Jake’s. His mom and dad loved you, saying as much more than once. And just as much as they were happy to finally have someone to call their daughter, your family was ecstatic over having someone to call their son. 

Unbeknownst to them, however, it was all fake. 

The moment the twelve month stipulation was over, you and Jake would be filing for divorce immediately. Obviously, the twelve months would be a lot shorter if the circumstances were different around the kind of man you’d chosen to marry. 

But Jake wasn’t like that. 

For as much as you never got along with him, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he wouldn’t hurt you. Never intentionally, at least. 

Annoyance, on the other hand? You and him competed with each other as if it was a goddamn sport. 

Finally, as the night drew to a close (at least for you and Jake), people whooped and whistled as Jake helped you into the car Penny had hired to drive you both back home. 

Supposedly the home you and Jake were meant to be living in together. 

So far, he had one box inside your home. 

“What time do you need to be up?” Jake asked you as you both walked up the back stairs of your bakery/home. 

“Around four.”

“Even after our wedding?”

“It’s not like we’re having an actual wedding night. I plan on digging out my comfiest pajamas and falling straight to sleep.”

Jake smiled, locking your front door as you walked inside ahead of him. “So, uh, I have something to ask you?”

“Considering you willingly married me to save basically my entire life, I don’t think I can say no.”

Jake chuckled. “I appreciate that, but like I said earlier, you don’t have to thank me. And, you might want to say no to this.”

Popping your head back around the corner from the short hallway to your bedroom, you looked at Jake. “Oh, no.”

Still in his suit, if he did look a little worn out from the day. Even more so as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. 

“My folks…they want to get to know you better. They asked if they could come and spend the day with us before we go on our honeymoon.”

“We’re having a honeymoon?”

Jake shrugged. “They think we are. I just didn’t tell them any different.”

“Well…” You paused for a moment. “I-I don’t really know what to do. I’ve never been a daughter-in-law before.”

“I could invite them to the bakery. They’d get to see you in action. Maybe find out more about you.”

You grimaced a little. “How badly do you think it’s gonna bite me in the ass when we get divorced in a year?”

Jake felt a little dejected but recovered quickly enough. “Not too much.”

“Then…okay.”

“Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay. But, shit, which day?”

“They said Tuesday.”

Today was Friday. 

You nodded and Jake could already see the cogs turning in your head. “Okay. So, we get your stuff moved in here over the weekend…maybe Natasha will have pictures.”

“Pictures?” Jake asked, following you as you moved throughout your apartment. 

In your bedroom you found a notepad and pen and started making a list as you ducked in and out of each room. 

“We need to make it believable, right? The lawyer just checked the legality of our marriage but my Aunt was thorough. And, I suspect, so will her lawyer. He’ll probably interview our families to see if they actually witnessed us getting married.”

Jake chuckled, catching you in the middle of the hallway. “Okay, we can worry about this tomorrow. Right now, we both need sleep. Decent sleep. Not pre-fake-wedding jitters sleep.”

“You couldn’t sleep either?”

“Okay,” Jake said as she took the notepad and pen from you and laid it on the desk before he turned your shoulders and pushed you towards your bathroom. “Get dressed, I’m gonna find some extra blankets and-”

“You can stay in my room,” you said quickly. “With me. We’ve both had shitty sleep and there’s no point in you sleeping on the sofa. I doubt you’ll have a comfortable sleep and, well, I owe you. Big time.”

Jake shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything. But if the offer stands, then I’ll accept. Your bed does look comfortable."

With a firm nod you agreed before shutting the door to get dressed. 

Despite the initial awkwardness of sleeping in the same bed as your new frenemie/husband, the tiredness took over pretty quickly. The next thing you knew, your body clock went off with your alarm and you were tiredly pulling yourself from your bed. 

After a quick shower and throwing on the most presentable and comfiest clothes you owned, you made your way downstairs, through the storage units of the bakery and landed inside the kitchen. 

With your headphones on, you started working. 

Cookies, brownies, cakes, flapjacks – all done in huge batches of different flavours. Your Great-Aunt had started a chain of bakeries and, although you’d try to visit the most local ones as often as you could, working in the original establishment kept you pretty busy. 

Beside the sweet treats, lunch was also served. As well as a lot of savoury pieces which, due to the lack of sleep before your wedding you had prepped already. 

Just as your wedding came back into your head, so did everything that happened afterwards. The quiet ride home with Jake, the congratulations texts as you walked through the door which you were yet to open, the question from Jake and- 

Jake. 

He was still asleep when you left him. At least, you thought he was. If not, he made a damn good impression. 

By the time your staff started entering, you’d already finished most of the morning batches. 

“Why the hell are you here? You should still be in bed!” Rosie told you as she spotted you in the back of the kitchen. 

You chuckled. “I’ve got a business to run. And he knew who he was marrying.”

“That I did.”

Rosie yelped and jumped out of the way as Jake appeared behind her in the doorway, looking (you had to admit) all different kinds of handsome in the early morning light of the bakery. 

“I’ll give you two some time,” Rosie smiled before taking her leave to set up the register and seating area. 

“Sleep well?”

Jake nodded. “Better than I have done in a while. You know, you could have stayed in bed longer.”

“I needed to do all of this.”

“And we’re also meant to be marketing our new found wedded-bliss.”

“God, you’re really taking this seriously.”

Jake shrugged with a happy but tired smile. “Like I said, it can be fun.”

“Well, my dear husband, fun will have to wait. I’ve already got orders coming in.”

“Want some help?”

Although you would have usually bitten his head off for asking, telling him it was fine and you would sort it, the ache and tiredness started to take over your body. 

Maybe you should have taken a day off. 

“Sure. Go and help Rosie in the front.”

What followed were the oddest three hours of your life; Jake felt like he was your friend and not some guy that drove you insane. Penny stopped by to drop off the wedding photos she’d gotten a rush order on just as your Great Aunt’s lawyer waltzed through the front door. 

You were sweating buckets as his eyes remained on you and Jake for the duration of his stay. He looked through your wedding photos with Jake – you prayed he was just as good of an actor as he was with you when he was swaying with you on the dancefloor. 

When you finally got a few minutes to take a break, you signed the official ownership documents to your entire world; your home, the bakery, the legacy left by your Great Aunt. 

And as Rosie locked up the bakery, you and Jake started shifting things from his home and into yours. Enough, at least, to make it seem natural that he lived with you. 

During which you both discussed what Jake would be doing with his place whilst he was living with you. Since he owned his property, he could rent it out. It seemed like the most logical plan. And, it wouldn’t look as suspicious to the lawyer that promised he’d come and visit the bakery more often – even if it was just for his favourite cookies in all of San Diego. 

All in all, the first few months of ‘married’ life ran smoother than you had expected. 

Jake’s parents came to visit when they could. They got to know you more, but it almost broke something in you when his mom started talking about how you had a forever home in the Seresin’s. 

Oddly, you and Jake found a nice friendship despite how you’d both come to know each other just over three years ago. At the time, you’d only known Bradley and Natasha. 

You’d known them for years, but never once had you met ‘Hangman’. The personal bane to Bradley’s life. And the moment you met him, you could see why. Which was how he became the bane of your existence. 

Until the day he agreed with Natasha that marrying you didn’t seem like such a bad idea. You’d get to secure your entire life, and you didn’t have to jump into anything with someone you didn’t know. He was also single and, since the last couple of dates he’d been on had resulted in him wishing he’d stuck to staying away from the dating apps, he was willing to stick up for you, it seemed like a good idea. 

Everyone else was either hitched or about to be, so they were a no go. There was no loophole. It was Jake or lose everything. 

And, even though you hadn’t expected it, marrying Jake was one of the best decisions you’d ever agreed to. Aside from the fact your Great Aunt believed you needed someone by your side as you ran your life (despite having done it all on your own for the last twelve years), Jake had become an actual friend. 

Someone who you couldn’t wait to see at the end of the day. Someone you could share the quiet moments with. Someone who, despite knowing you didn’t share much, often didn’t have to ask. 

You didn’t know how he knew. But somehow, Jake seemed to know you better than you knew yourself some days. 

But that only became a problem ten months into your fake marriage. 

After months of friendship, apologies for judging each other the way you did in the beginning and late nights of talking about anything and everything, you started to realise you were catching feelings. 

You wanted to say they were the last thing you expected to catch when around Jake Seresin all the live long day, but you…couldn’t. Not after the last ten months. 

Surprisingly, he was easy to open up to. And to let in. 

Despite the act he put on around his co-workers – although, you doubted it was all an act – Jake was a lot softer and calmer underneath his fighter pilot exterior. 

It probably didn’t help your case that you were also starting to enjoy calling him your husband. A small part of you always figured you’d end up just like your Aunt. Not lonely, per se. But definitely alone. 

Maybe a dog or two. 

Your work life kept you pretty busy. And even when you weren’t working, you were thinking of work. New recipes, new designs, expansions, updates, staff rotas, ingredients shipping, storage space, health and safety. The list seemed to never end. 

But Jake seemed to get it. 

Granted, the marriage was still fake. And so was your relationship. But…

Each time the doubt creeped in and you tried to set the reality for yourself that the only reason it was working out with Jake was because you weren’t really married, Jake would do or say something that made you yearn that it was all real. 

“I know you’ve only been married less than a year,” your mom said as she poured everyone a glass of lemonade each. “But-”

“We wanna know when you’re gonna start having our grandbabies,” Jake’s mom cut in. 

Apparently since your wedding, your parents had exchanged numbers and became practically attached at the hip. 

“Mom!” Jake scolded just as you did the same with your own mom. 

They both just looked at each other and smiled. “What?”

Looking at Jake, he seemed to be holding a similar expression to you. Shock. Maybe a little humor. 

It was nice to see your parents getting along. Even if your marriage was a sham, their friendship didn’t have to be. 

“Mom, can we please not? Just for today?” You asked, covering your face as you leaned in closer on the picnic bench. 

It didn’t do much in the way of helping you escape from the comfortable hold Jake had with his arm wrapped around you. But part of you was relieved when he shuffled closer to you, his thumb absentmindedly brushing your side. 

“Mom,” Jake looked at his own mother. “It’s still early days, okay?”

Both your moms seemed to be more than a little dejected. “We know, honey. But…time flies by when you’re married.”

“Mom,” Jake warned again. 

“She’s right, honey,” your mom said to you. “Time’s a-tickin’”

“Mom!” 

“Relax, sweetie,” you dad said as he came back out from the house, closing his book and laying his reading glasses inside his pocket shirt. “Your mom’s ran out of things to make for her bookclub and someone told her baby clothes would be a good idea.”

“Sweetheart,” Jake’s dad said to his wife. “Leave the kids alone. They’ll have kids when they’re good and ready.”

“Thank you, dad.” 

“Oh, hush, you,” Jake’s mom said as her husband sat down beside her. “You’re just as bad. He’s so ready to be a granddaddy.”

You tried to keep the fear inside you as best as you could despite the small laugh that left you. 

As your parents leapt into discussing what your future children would look like before diverting off into stories from when you were kids, you took the small escape into the house. 

Only when he knew it was safe to do so – the moment both of your parents forgot you were both sitting right in front of them – did Jake make his escape, too. 

He walked around slowly, taking everything in. 

Since the businesses kept your family busy, and Jake’s family had their own lives back in Texas, your parents had come up with the idea of monthly dinners. 

The weather was starting to turn colder as the summer drew to a close and Fall fully took hold, so he hadn’t spent much time inside your childhood home. 

The walls were littered with different pictures, all of you at different ages. Some were from your family vacations, your graduation, your parents life together as a married couple, friends and extended family. 

Looking around, the furniture was worn but loved. It was almost like each creak of the floorboards, or scar on the sofa held a little story you were yet to tell him. 

They usually came late at night when you were too tired to keep your walls up. Those were some of Jake’s favourite moments with you. 

“Hey,” Jake found you in the kitchen. 

“Hey,” you managed to smile back. “Sorry for leaving you.”

Jake just shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry about my folks.”

“I’m sorry about mine, too.” 

“Guess they really love that their only children got married.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Pushing himself from the doorframe, Jake walked over to you. “I know this  marriage didn’t have its most conventional start, but we did swear vows together.”

You took a breath as you wrapped your arms around your just a little tighter. But with Jake’s hands running up and down the top of your arms, you let out a sigh. 

“Talk to me,” he said, softly. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Y/n.”

Looking at him, it struck you hard in your chest that you couldn’t lie to him. You didn’t want to lie to him. 

“Okay,” your voice broke, quietly. “It’s just…between our families, our friends and…us, I guess. It’s just…sometimes this feels too…” You let out another sigh and lowered your voice. “Jake, we’re meant to be getting divorced in two months.”

Jake felt his heart take another punch. “I know.”

“And it's just…all of it…” You shook your head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“C’mere,” Jake pulled you into him, and it didn’t take you a second thought to wrap your arms around him and hold him just a little tighter. 

“I know this feels like a lot right now,” he told you. “But we’ll get through it. Together.”

You swallowed a little before nodding and curling into him. 

A few hours later, good food had been eaten and good conversation had been shared. And, just as the stars settled over the sky and you and Jake should have been in bed, you were standing on the back porch of your home listening to the light whistle of the wind.

You didn’t jump as Jake’s hand settled across your back or winded around to your front. Instead, you relaxed into his chest as he held you gently against him. 

“Jake,” you said, his name leaving your lips like a whisper into the wind. 

“You feel it too?” He asked you, his lips by the shell of your ear. You closed your eyes. “That’s why you’re out here?”

“Two more months, Jake,” you told him. “It’s just meant to be two more months.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Jake.”

“I know you feel it, too. And I know that you’re scared. But you don’t have to be. We can take it as slow as you want.”

“We’re already married,” you pointed out. “And sleep in the same bed. And live in the same house.”

“So, we take it slower.”

“Jake-”

“I want you in my life, Y/n.” Jake told you as you turned around to face him. “I want you as my wife, too. I know we didn’t come together in the most conventional way, and we’re probably the last two people on this planet that expected to be what we are but I think we were brought together for a reason.”

“Because it was Natasha’s idea.”

Jake chuckled. “That too. Maybe we skipped the first couple of steps, but, you know, conventional can be boring.”

“Jake, my track record for dates isn’t great. I work too much. When I’m not working, I’m thinking about work-”

“You forget I’ve been married to you for the last ten months. And I’ve known you for four years. You work hard, Y/n. And that’s something to be proud of. And I’m proud of you, too.”

It struck you harder than you expected, hearing that Jake was proud of you. 

“I want to be there for you, Y/n. Through it all. The early mornings, the late nights, I want us to keep doing what we’re doing, together. I am madly in love with you. Kind of embarrassingly so.”

You chuckled a little as he held you closer to him. 

“And if you wanna take this slower than a snail’s pace, or you want to start building a nursery space right now, then I’m with you. No matter what.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “We can go a little faster than a snail’s pace.”

Fixing the hair beside your face, Jake cupped your cheek. “Does that mean I can kiss you now?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God.”

In ten months, you and Jake had shared exactly three kisses. The first on the altar, which was swift but awkward. The second was during the reception photos when your parents wanted one of you and Jake sharing a kiss just outside The Hard Deck. That one had felt odd, but not bad. Almost like faking a kiss was natural. And the third had been late at night, sitting out on the porch. You’d had a long day of dealing with extra shitty customers and Jake had been dealing with egotistical pilots that thought they were better than their several instructors. 

Neither of you had talked or mentioned the third kiss after it had happened. But you would never forget it. It was soft, if a little nervous. Two things you hadn’t expected in a kiss from Jake Seresin. 

But this kiss; the Fourth. 

It was like breathing a sigh of relief. 

Finally, 

Finally. 

Holding onto your face as he backed you against the railing, Jake stopped to catch his breath as he leaned his forehead against your own. 

“Wait here.”

“Where are you going?” 

Jake didn’t say much, but he did smile at you as he flicked on the radio you kept on the window cill. The familiar melody of The Keeper of the Stars by Tracy Byrd started to dance around the back porch. 

“What are you doing?”

Jake took your hand in his before he pulled you into him, both of you swaying gently to the melody. “Redoing our First Dance.”

“Why?”

“Because, as perfect as it was,” Jake smiled as he turned you around and pulled you back in. “That was for show. This. This right here. This is just for us.”

You smiled as he held you closer to him. “I love you, Jake Seresin.”

With your hand still enclosed in his, Jake ran a finger down the side of your face, his gaze gently leaning into your own before he closed his eyes and leaned against you and lightly sang along to the lyrics. 

“There really are no words to show my gratitude. So I tip my hat to the keeper of the stars, when he joined these two hearts.”

Closing your own eyes, you let the moment capture itself in your memory. The way his arms held you, a silent promise to never let you go or let you fall. The song, the lyrics, the moment. All of it. With Jake. 

Not that there was anything wrong with city men, but they couldn't compare to a man working on a farm. There was just something about a guy who knew how to work with nature and provide, wasn't intimidated by hard work or afraid to get his hands dirty, and had a strong body and character due to his work ethic. You liked to think you’d make a good wife and take care of him the way he’d take care of you. You also liked to imagine a handsome man walking inside after a long day and stripping down and wanting dessert before a hearty meal. And by dessert, you meant you.

For now, you were only a farmer’s wife in your dreams and journal.

The gravel crunched under your tires as you turned down the road, the market coming into focus. You made good time and managed to snag a decent parking space. A little bit of walking wouldn’t hurt. Plus the day was nice enough that you wore one of your sundresses, the soft breeze pleasant against your skin once you got out of your car.

Lively chatter greeted you as you got closer to the stalls and booths and expertly weaved your way through the bustling crowd. The various produce and flowers created a kaleidoscope of colors, brightened more by the brilliant rays coming from the sun. The earthy fragrance that blended with the sweet and ripe aromas was one you only encountered here. There was nothing else quite like it.

Quick movement in front of you made you come to a stop, your heart jumping. Had you not been paying attention you would've collided with a little boy. “Mama, there's Dada! He’s getting honey!” He shouted as he ran past and threw his arms around a man’s legs.

“Walk, please, and watch where you're going!” His mother said after him, a both fond and exasperated look on her face as she gave you a tired smile. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“No apologies,” you smiled. He hadn't done anything wrong. “I wish I had that energy.”

“Same. I’d bottle and sell it,” she said over her shoulder.

Watching as the woman went to her son and husband, both of them looking at her like the sun rose today because of her, you felt a twinge of sadness. Your trips to the market were solo, always had been. You longed to have a partner to go with, someone to put his arm around you or hold your hand as you picked out items together. Even better if the two of you could make a family down the line.

With a wistful smile, you shook yourself from those thoughts. There was no reason to feel sorry for yourself. Just because you didn't have that in the present didn't mean it wouldn't happen in the future. You had to have faith that the right one would come along at the right time.

For now, you would find some berries and be on your way.

Walking a bit further, you spotted a booth you hadn't seen in your previous visits. The sign that read “Barnes’s Berries” complete with hand painted fruit pieces piqued your curiosity as you stopped in front of it. As the customers in front of you paid for their bundles and blocked the view of the person assisting them, you took a minute to admire the range of berries reflecting a spectrum from blues to reds. Your mouth watered from the sight. There were so many things you could do with these. Pies, jams, cakes-

A deep, husky voice asked, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

You made some sort of sound as you turned around, your heart pounding in your chest. The man in front of you was tall with thick thighs that deliciously filled out his jeans. The rolled up plaid shirt exposed part of his arms. The left was covered in tattoos and the ink couldn't hide the muscles or veins. If anything, it accentuated his strength. His chest and shoulders seemed to go on for miles, too. The chestnut hair that fell below his chin and stubble on his face gave the already handsome man a rugged look.

Sapphire eyes crinkled when you made eye contact and he smiled so softly that you couldn't help but smile in return. A man of his size and stature working a berry stand when he looked like he could easily chop wood or build his own home was otherworldly. He didn't just step out of your fantasy. He took your thoughts and made them better than you could've imagined.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” He asked again a bit hesitantly when you didn’t answer his question. “If you're still looking, please, take your time.”

“You’re real, right?” You asked, your face heating up as the words left your mouth. A giggle followed because you couldn’t believe you just said that. “What I meant to say is, yeah. Just looking for now,” you added to save face, smoothing out your dress for no reason.

Amusement filled his eyes, the soft smile still tugging at his lips. “I sure hope I’m real and not just a figment of your imagination.”

You wished you could reach out and touch him to “prove” he was real, but didn’t want to weird him out. “Not a figment of my imagination,” you said, but that wasn’t totally true. You very much imagined a man like him when you were alone at night. “But I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” It wasn't like you knew every single vendor, but you would've remembered him.

He sure as hell had a face worth remembering.

“I’m Bucky,” he introduced, offering you his hand. His grip was gentler than you expected, but there was no mistaking the roughness in his touch. The man worked with his hands and it showed. “This is actually my first week here.”

You said your name, proud that you remembered it with the way he was staring so intently at you. He stood a bit close, too. Close enough that you could smell his woodsy cologne. Subtle, yet enticing. “I hope everyone has been welcoming.”

“Most have been very friendly, which has made my job easy,” he said. You could imagine with his looks and friendly demeanor despite his size that he’d have a lot of repeat customers. “A couple of my friends recently started selling here, too, so it’s good to have some familiar faces close by.”

“That’s really nice. I’m sure they're glad you're close by, too,” you smiled. You wondered who his friends were. “Did you have to travel far to get here?”

“Yeah, they’re good guys,” he smiled back, your heart racing when he ran a hand through his hair. “Not too far since my farm is only a few miles away, which also makes things easier. Makes me wonder why I didn't do this sooner.”

You nearly swooned. Your dream man was becoming dreamier by the second. “You have a farm not too far from here?”

It would’ve been easy to assume he did since he had a stand here, but not everyone who worked the market had their own land. It was also easy to assume he wasn't married since you didn't see a ring on his left hand or any sort of tan line or indentation to indicate that he removed a ring. A man like that though probably had a partner. It wasn't worth getting your hopes up.

“Yeah. I have a few acres. Beautiful place. but if I’m being honest it gets a bit lonely since it’s just me out there with no one to share it with.” He scratched the back of his neck with a small chuckle and avoided your gaze. “I don't know why I said that. That’s kind of embarrassing.”

Your stomach did a funny flip. Not just because he pretty much let it slip that he wasn't with anyone when you assumed moments ago that he was, but from the urge to comfort him taking over. You wished you could wrap him in a hug.

“Well, I don't have a farm, but I understand feeling lonely some days,” you admitted. Being vulnerable with a complete stranger wasn't how you expected your day to go, but you wanted him to know he wasn't alone in that feeling. “And it’s not embarrassing,” you assured him. If anything, it was endearing.

He slowly met your gaze. “I appreciate that.” He rubbed the back of his neck again as your heart began to race. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but I find it hard to believe that someone as sweet and beautiful as you gets lonely.”

The compliment left you momentarily dazed before a shy smile graced your face. You could've said the same thing about him. Maybe the instant connection you felt wasn’t so one-sided. “Well, I do. Even coming here, I’m usually by my lonesome” you said, the words not at all bitter. Just honest. “And do you call all potential customers sweet and beautiful?”

“No, I don’t.” He continued to gaze at you before he cleared his throat. “But you said potential customer. If I made you uncomfortable…”

“You didn’t.” It was gentlemanly that he wanted to make sure that his comment didn’t put you off. “There’s a stand a little further down that I sometimes stop at, though your berries are extremely tempting.”

Bucky’s brows pinched before he snapped his fingers. “Jed, right? He’s actually not here this week. Had an accident recently. Broke his leg.”

You gasped. “Oh, my god. That’s awful.” Jed was a kind, older farmer who had been there for as long as you could remember. A hard worker who didn’t deserve any kind of pain. “I hope he heals quickly.”

Bucky nodded solemnly. “So, do I,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m no Jed, but is there anything I can do to get your business today?”

The hopeful look in his blue eyes had you smiling slightly. “Well, I-”

“Wait. Let me try to guess what you’re specifically looking for before you tell me.” He waited until you nodded. “Clearly berries, but not for anything like a fruit salad or an everyday snack,” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and you tried not to giggle when he grinned triumphantly. “Pies. You want berries to make pies. Blueberries, right? Maybe blackberries, too. And if I had to pick a third, raspberries.”

Your mouth fell open. Was he a mind reader? “Yeah, that’s exactly it. Blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries. I have this triple berry pie recipe that I love and I make the crust from scratch and…” You bit your lip to keep from rambling. He didn’t need to hear all that. “Sorry. I just like to bake.”

“No apologies.” His light touch to your arm surprised you as he met your gaze. “You sound very passionate about it and I like that.”

You found yourself nodding, unable to tear your gaze away. It took everything within you to not blurt out how gorgeous he was. And on top of that, he was kind? Maybe he wasn’t real. “I am passionate about it. And not just pies. Other treats, too,” you said, nodding to the strawberries. “Those would be perfect for mini shortcakes or scones.”

He studied you with an appreciative smirk. The sundress was a good choice. “I have no doubt your treats are delicious and you are making me very hungry,” he said, your heart thudding. The smirk disappeared as quickly as it appeared when he gestured to his stand. “And I think they’ll be tastier with my berries.”

You blinked, stuck on the fact that he called your treats delicious. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like he called you delicious and he hadn’t tasted anything of yours, though you’d find a way to bake something and deliver it to him personally if he asked. “You sound very confident, Bucky.”

He puffed his chest out. “I take a lot of pride in all my crops. Tell you what,” he said, stepping away from you to grab a sample cup. “Why don’t you try some and see how you like them? If they aren't the best berries you’ve ever tasted, I’ll shut my stand down and let you on your way.”

“You’ll really shut your stand down? That’s a big wager,” you smiled, his fingers touching yours as he handed the cup over. It heated you up all over again. “The look of them alone is amazing,” you said, the vibrant berries beckoning for you to have a bite.

“Taste amazing, too, but I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

Bucky shot you a dazzling smile as you tried the blueberry first since that was the berry you were most interested in purchasing today. You didn’t care if it was mortifying, you outright moaned at the flavor when you bit down on the small and plump piece of fruit. Not overly sweet or acidic as the juice coated your tongue. It was the perfect balance. So much that you licked your lips and craved another.

Your eyes honed in on the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest before your gaze flickered to his face. His eyes were darker and you realized after a moment that he was staring at your mouth. A look like that could’ve made you choke on your breath, but it somehow gave you a burst of confidence. Testing the waters, you tried the blackberry next and made a show of licking your lips again at the sweet and succulent taste. The groan he let out shot a burst of heat between your legs.

God, he looked like he was ready to eat you whole.

“Delicious,” you said in a sultry voice you didn't recognize.

“You, um…” He brought a hand up and brushed his thumb along the corner of your mouth. You quivered when he showed you the drop of juice that you missed. Without breaking eye contact, he licked the drop away. It was a look that melted your insides when he said in a gruff tone, “You're right. Delicious.”

“Excuse me?” A woman spoke, making you jump back a bit from Bucky and pulling you both out of the moment. She might as well have dumped a bucket of cold water over your head. “I’d like to buy these.”

Your heart continued to race when you saw disappointment flash in his eyes. “Go ahead,” you smiled. He was there to do a job after all, not chat and flirt with you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky turned his head toward the customer. “Of course, ma’am,” he smiled, still glancing back at you momentarily as if was afraid you’d walk away if he didn’t keep an eye on you.

Biting your lip, you held in a giggle as you tossed the sample cup into the small wastebasket. You swore you felt him gazing at you as you gathered up the bundles. Maybe you didn’t need to bend so far over to get the last bundle, but was it wrong that you wanted him to look? It wasn’t every day that you had a kind, handsome farmer flirting with you. It would have you walking on cloud nine for the rest of the day.

Turning toward the table to pay, you gasped when you nearly collided with Bucky. He managed to grab your arms to keep you from falling and you somehow didn’t drop a single bundle as he stared into your eyes. “You know, I think you’re even sweeter than my berries,” he spoke in a low voice, swiftly taking everything from your hands and lining them in a box before your brain could process what he said. “This everything then?”

“Yeah.” You blinked and got your money out to pay. “Thanks. And keep the change.”

He shook his head when he saw the amount you gave him. “Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

“Please. I insist,” you smiled. He took a lot of pride in his work and any extra change could go toward that.

“I’ll keep it on two conditions,” he said, nodding to the box. “One, you let me be a gentleman and help you carry that to your car, that way you’re not stuck carrying it around.”

You nodded, butterflies in your stomach. “Okay, if you insist on being a gentleman.” He was nice enough that he wanted to step away from his stand and carry something for you. He really kept getting better and better. “And the second condition?” You asked with a coy smile. Maybe if you were lucky enough he’d ask for your number.

He reached behind him and presented you with another sample cup. “One more for the road? Please?”

You stamped down your disappointment that he didn’t ask for your number, which was more than okay. “How can I say no to that?” You popped the berries into your mouth without hesitation. They tasted ever sweeter than the first sample you had and you watched his eyes go to your neck as you swallowed. “Thanks. You really do have a gift,” you added to distract you from his heated gaze.

He looked humbled by the compliment. “I really do appreciate that,” he said, glancing over your shoulder to nod at someone. “Steve! You mind watching the stand until I get back? I’m gonna help her carry these to her car.”

You turned just in time to see a gorgeous blonde just as large as Bucky jog over from the stand across the way. “That’s nice of you, jerk. Real gentlemanly,” he smiled, giving you a small nod. “Ma’am.”

“Punk,” Bucky mumbled, but the affection was evident.

Another giggle worked its way out. Where did these men suddenly come from? Was there something in the water you didn’t know about? “You don’t need to call me ma’am, but thank you. And you’re right.” Your eyes went back to Bucky. “He is a gentleman.”

“And this is my cue to get you away from my friend before he says otherwise,” Bucky teased, steering you away with one hand while he balanced your fruit in the other.

“I don’t think I’ve seen him here either.”

“That was one of the friends I was talking about earlier. Has a farm, too, but his real passion is art,” he explained, his arm brushing against yours as he walked close. “He actually helped make my sign since I’m hopeless with that stuff.”

“That’s really nice,” you said, falling into a comfortable silence with him as you both maneuvered your way through the crowd. Once you got to the parking area, you pointed out your vehicle. “I’m just over there.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered over to you as you got your keys out. “I’m really glad you stopped at my stand today.”

Your heart fluttered when you caught the sun shining along his hair. “I’m glad I did, too,” you said softly, unlocking the car so he could set everything inside. Thank God it was clean. That would’ve been embarrassing. “But I should let you get back to work.”

He shifted on his feet, like he wasn’t quite ready to go. “Yeah, I should go.” He stepped forward and took a breath. “But I don’t think I can go back before I ask you to go on a date with me.”

You blinked. This wasn’t a drill. Bucky was asking you out. His tone was so gentle, his gaze so compelling. He was mesmerizing. He could’ve asked you to do anything and you likely would’ve done so without question.

“You want to take me out on a date?” You questioned, your mind screaming that your response was the wrong answer. This wasn’t a fantasy. It was really happening.

With an unsure chuckle, Bucky brushed a hand through his hair. “Too forward?” He smiled a little. “I’m sorry. I just thought that we…”

Your heart reacted to his uncertainty. It took a lot for anyone to put themselves out there and you wanted him to know it was worth the risk. “Not too forward at all, Bucky,” you smiled and placed your hand on his left arm, happy when he smiled back. “I'd love to go out with you.”

He took your hand in his when you went to pull your hand back. “I’m really glad you said yes,” he whispered.

“Me, too,” you sighed at his warm touch. It was the beginning of something special. You could tell. “So, when would you like to go on that date?”

And that is our intro! Now here is where it gets interesting: This story will go down two paths, one light and one dark. Be on the lookout for the continuation and choose your path (or choose both 😏). Love and thanks for reading! ❤️