The warm afternoon sunlight spilled through the cabin's windows, casting golden streaks across the wood-paneled floors. The air smelled of crackers, fruit, and wine, with soft music playing in the background.
Celeste sat curled in an armchair, half-listening to Rowan chat about their old university days. Her glass of wine rested lazily in her hand, the rim nudging her bottom lip now and then. Her focus, however, wasn't on Rowan.
It was on the couch across from her.
Ash sat at one end, back straight, legs crossed delicately—typical of his feminine, graceful manner. But what made Celeste's grip on her glass tighten was the woman seated beside him: Isadora.
Isadora laughed at something he said and leaned in. Her hand touched his arm. Not casually—deliberately. Her fingers lingered.
Celeste's brow twitched.
Ash didn't flinch. He didn't pull away. He offered one of his usual soft, polite smiles. "You've always had a loud laugh, Isadora."
"Oh please," she purred. "You liked it back then, too." She nudged him again. "Still so gentle and polite, huh? Hasn't anyone ever made you a little wild, Ash?"
He chuckled—awkwardly. "That's not really my style."
Celeste swirled her wine, watching with an unreadable expression.
"Oh, Ash," Isadora giggled again, fixing his hair like she had some right to it. "You're still the prettiest boy in the room."
Celeste's eyes narrowed faintly. She said nothing. But her smile? Sharp.
That's how you want to play it? Alright.
•
•
•
Later That Evening
The kitchen was quieter than usual, save for the soft clinking of plates.
Ash stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, apron snug at the waist, long silver hair tied loosely back. The soft kitchen light caught the gentle lines of his neck, his hands delicate as he arranged the last set of cutlery.
He looked peaceful.
Until Celeste walked in.
She didn't say a word at first.
Just leaned on the pantry door, arms folded under her chest, watching him move. Her gaze traced every line of his back, slow and deliberate.
Ash glanced over, blinking once. "Oh. You scared me."
Celeste approached, each step quiet and precise.
"You let her touch you like that now?" Her voice was calm. Dangerous.
Ash's hand froze above the last spoon. "It wasn't a big deal. She's just… friendly."
Celeste stepped closer—so close the air between them warmed. "Isadora's not being friendly. She's marking territory."
Ash stayed still, but his breath shifted—slower, shallow.
"You didn't stop her," Celeste said softly. "You let her touch you like she owned you."
Ash's throat bobbed. "I didn't want to make a scene."
"No," she said, voice like silk laced with steel. "You just didn't stop her."
He opened his mouth. No words came.
Celeste closed the distance.
One hand rose to his shoulder, grazing it lightly. Then it slid down. Over the sleeve. Down his arm. Soft. Possessive.
Ash sucked in a quiet breath.
"You don't get to tell me no…" she whispered near his ear, "and let her do everything I can't."
Her fingers trailed further—his forearm, the curve of his wrist, then hovered briefly at his waist. Her touch was feather-light, lingering.
Ash's eyes fluttered, his breath hitching in his throat.
Then—lower.
Just enough for her fingers to ghost down the fabric at the front of his apron, hovering at the edge of something forbidden.
His gasp was barely audible, like someone had cut off the oxygen in the room.
She didn't press. Didn't grab. Just let her fingertips brush the shape beneath the fabric—deliberate, dangerous.
Ash tensed—every muscle tight beneath her hand.
Celeste's voice was velvet when she leaned closer.
"She can smile at you all she wants...but at least I'm the one who gets to touch you like this."
His face turned scarlet. He looked away, biting his lip.
She stepped back just as smoothly as she'd come, the ghost of her touch still burning across his skin.
Then she walked away—slow, hips swaying, victorious.
Ash stood frozen in place, pulse pounding at his throat, fingers still wrapped tightly around the last fork like it might save him from himself.
•
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•
Meanwhile – On the Back Porch
Rowan and Isadora sat outside, wine glasses in hand, enjoying the quiet of the trees rustling around them.
"You're still cocky," Isadora said with a smile. "But I missed that."
Rowan smirked.
"You always did like it when I was an ass."
Isadora leaned her head back and laughed.
"Still not wrong."
They shared a look—intense, old, familiar.
"You think Ash is enjoying this trip?" she asked after a pause.
Rowan chuckled softly. "He's not the type to say, but… yeah. He's laughing more lately. You bring that out in him."
Isadora looked pleased. "Maybe I'll keep trying."
Rowan said nothing. He drank.
At Dinner
The four of them sat together—Rowan, Isadora, Ash, and Celeste.
But Celeste didn't sit beside Ash.
She didn't look at him.
She poured Isadora a drink. She complimented Rowan's grilled fish. She laughed at an old story about college pranks.
Ash kept his eyes down, only occasionally sneaking glances at Celeste when he thought she wasn't looking.
But she noticed.
And she never looked back.
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