Page 13 of Harvest Season in Kentbury
He goes quiet, and when I turn to look at him, his expression has shifted.His eyes have that faraway look, like he’s staring at something only he can see.And he seems ...sad.
“I’m not married,” he says softly, his brush still in his hand, unmoving.“Relationships don’t seem to stick for me.Fuck, this town is making me look like I’m a loser and have nothing to account for.No wife, children or even a fucking hobby.”
Oh no.I’ve just opened a can of worms, haven’t I?I feel a wave of sympathy for him, watching his face.There’s a heaviness there, one that tells me this isn’t just something he brushes off, no matter how much he tries.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, my voice softening as I meet his gaze.
He shrugs, like it doesn’t matter.But I know it does.I know a thing or two about failed relationships and how shitty it feels—a kind of feeling that doesn’t just go away.And now, after that confession, I’m stuck, unsure how to follow up on something so personal.
The room feels quieter, heavier, and I wonder how we went from painting pumpkins to discussing broken relationships.
We work in silence for a while, the weight of his words still lingering.At some point, Raffa clears his throat, breaking the quiet.“What about you?Are you married?Have a boyfriend?Seems like this town has a way of bringing people together.Worked for my siblings.”
A giggle escapes my lips, surprising even me.I’m not sure if I’m laughing because what he said was funny or if it’s my anxiety bubbling up at the mention of the topic.I hate talking about my ex—Bryce the Cheating Bastard—and all the baggage that came with that disaster.Clearing my throat, I try to find a way to answer him without opening that particular can of worms.
“No, I’m not married,” I say, keeping my tone light.“And I’m not really looking for a relationship at the moment.”
Raffa glances at me but doesn’t push further.Thank God.
We fall back into silence, working quietly for the next couple of hours.It’s odd how comfortable it feels—two people, barely speaking, but the air isn’t tense.It’s ...peaceful.Even with him sitting there, all grumpy and scowling, it feels different.In a good way.
Eventually, it’s time for him to leave, and we start cleaning up.Raffa wipes down the brushes, glancing around the studio with a frown.“This place could use a deep clean.Some tidying up at least.”
I laugh, shaking my head.“Yeah, well, I’d love a bigger place so I can add shelves to put my things away.That would make me happy.”
He gives a half-smile, the kind that’s more of a twitch than anything else, and we finish cleaning in silence.As I walk him to the door, I realize I don’t really want him to leave.The quiet we shared wasn’t awkward—it was comfortable.And that’s rare.
“Have a good night, Meadow.See you tomorrow,” he says, his gruff tone softened slightly.
“Goodnight, Raffa.See you later,” I reply as I watch him head out.
As I make my way to the cottage, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve opened up to someone I barely know.And what’s worse?It didn’t feel wrong.It felt ...safe.
But I remind myself to keep my heart firmly locked in the box it’s been in for years.I don’t need any more trauma.Not now.Not after everything.
Still, as I slip into bed, I can’t help but look forward to tomorrow.
ChapterTen
Raffa
Joggingaround this quiet town feels like the one thing keeping me sane these days.Thirty minutes of cardio, doctor’s orders.And yeah, I’m taking it slow.Real slow.I’ve been doing the responsible thing—reading, helping with the damn Pumpkin Festival.It’s not like I hate the thing anymore, but let’s not kid ourselves, I’m still not thrilled.Pumpkins.Who the fuck gets excited about pumpkins?But it’s keeping me busy, keeping me from losing my mind while I’m stuck here.
My breathing is steady as my feet pound the pavement.Kentbury’s so damn peaceful in the mornings.Too peaceful, maybe.It gives me too much time to think, and lately, there’s only one thing my brain’s been stuck on—Meadow.
Just as I’m turning the corner near the park, I spot her up ahead, standing by the coffee shop, looking down at her phone.And fuck me, she’s wearing this low-cut sweater that’s hugging every curve like a second skin.Her hips, her ass, and those perfect, full tits practically spilling out.My dick twitches at the sight of her, hardening before I can stop myself.
I try to play it cool, slowing down my jog, but all I can think about is how much I want her.How badly I need to get my hands on her, to feel those soft, full breasts in my palms, squeezing them as she moans.The way they’d fit perfectly in my hands, how they’d bounce when I fuck her.Jesus.I’m half-hard already just picturing it.
But it’s not just about getting her naked.No.I want to bury my face in her tits, suck on them until she’s squirming under me.And fuck, I want to wrap her breasts around my cock, thrust between them while she watches, her lips parted, her tongue teasing the tip of me as I slide in and out.I can practically see it—the way her tits would feel slick and tight around my shaft as I fuck them, harder and harder, until I’m groaning her name, marking her skin with my cum.
The thought of it alone has me rock hard, throbbing against my joggers, and all I can do is grit my teeth and try to get a grip.But it’s impossible when she’s standing there, looking like that, completely oblivious to how fucking desperate I am for her.
It’s embarrassing, really.A grown-ass man, walking around like a horny teenager.But damn if she doesn’t make it hard—literally—every time I see her.
It doesn’t help that we spend most evenings together now, working on the festival.The more time I spend with her, the worse it gets.And it’s not just about her body, even though, yeah, that’s a huge part of it.There’s something about the way she looks at me, the way she moves ...it’s driving me fucking crazy.
I shake my head, trying to get the image of her out of my mind, but then I’m closer, and it’s too late.She looks up, meeting my eyes, and that smile ...God, that smile.My cock twitches, and I inwardly curse.Great.Just what I needed.
