It Was Always You

The Night Cap

…Lucas’ POV…

The door clicked shut behind me, and for a second, neither of us moved. Olive stood just a few feet in front of me, her hand still on the knob, the porch light spilling a warm glow across her features. She glanced over her shoulder at me.

“Beer?” she asked, a little breathless.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Beer sounds good.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, and I heard the familiar hiss of the fridge opening. I took a slow breath, trying to settle the electricity buzzing under my skin. I wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline from the long day or the way her eyes had looked under the market lights when she’d smiled at me earlier. Maybe both.

She came back with two bottles and handed me one. “Cheers,” she said softly, clinking hers against mine before settling onto the couch. I followed, leaving a little more space between us than I really wanted to.

We sat in silence for a moment, the soft ticking of the wall clock and hum of the air conditioning filling the quiet.

Then Olive spoke. “Why’d you do it?”

I glanced at her. “Do what?”

“Buy the farm with Owen. Leave the corporate world. I’ve heard his side of the story—he says it was the best decision he ever made. But what about you?”

Her voice wasn’t teasing or sarcastic like usual. It was open. Curious.

I took a sip, staring into the bottle for a second. “I was miserable,” I said honestly. “Every day felt the same. Meetings that didn’t matter. Numbers that only existed on paper. I was good at it, and I hated that.”

Her brows lifted. “Hated being good at something?”

“Hated that being good at it made me feel like I was supposed to stay,” I clarified. “Like success meant sticking it out even though I hated what I was doing. I wanted something real. Something I could touch and build. Something that didn’t make me dread Monday mornings.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes locked on mine. “So you just, left?”

“Not right away. I visited Owen here one summer, helped out for a few weeks. Something clicked. The quiet, the work, the simplicity of it—but it wasn’t boring. It was grounding. I knew he had talked about saving up for more land, but the farmer next door was willing to sell some acreage right then and I had enough in savings to make it happen, so I did.”

Olive looked down at her beer, swirling the bottle a little. “That’s really brave.”

I chuckled. “I think my parents still think I’m going through some kind of phase.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“What?”

She hesitated. “Nothing. It’s just, I guess I didn’t realize how much this place meant to you too.”

There was something about the way she said it that tugged at something in me. I leaned back, taking her in. “You’ve always seen me as the guy who never takes anything seriously.”

“You used to eat cold Pop-Tarts and microwave ramen for dinner and call it a balanced meal.”

I laughed. “Okay, fair. But I’ve changed.”

“Yeah, because Sofia cooks for you now.” She said with a smirk. She looked up at me. When our eyes met I couldn’t really tell what she was thinking, but in an honest voice she told me what was going through her mind. “You really have.”

We fell into reminiscing after that—talking about the ridiculous summer parties our friend group used to throw, her falling out of the canoe that one Fourth of July, and the time Owen and I tried to build a treehouse and ended up stuck on the roof of the garage until their parents got home and saved us with a ladder.

One beer turned into two. Then three.

The room felt warmer. Or maybe it was just her leg now brushing mine. Or the way she kept looking at me and then looking away.

When she leaned in, I didn’t stop her.

Our mouths met gently at first—almost hesitant. But it didn’t stay that way. Her hand came up to my jaw, and I felt the heat spark all the way down my spine.

God, I wanted her. My hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her in closer.

But somewhere between the pull of her mouth and the buzz of alcohol, something in my brain clicked. This wasn’t how it should happen. Not like this. Not after a long day, with drinks in our hands and emotions all over the place. She meant more to me than a rushed moment on a couch.

I pulled back slowly, resting my forehead against hers.

“Oli,” I said quietly.

Her eyes fluttered open, a little dazed. “What’s wrong?”

“I want this. I want you,” I said, heart pounding. “But not like this. Not when we’re not sober. Not when it’s late and we’re both tired and not thinking clearly.”

She stared at me for a beat, then nodded, pulling her hands back to her lap. “Okay.”

“I should go,” I said, even though it felt like tearing something out of me.

She nodded again but didn’t look at me. I stood slowly, setting the beer bottle on her coffee table.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, and her eyes flicked to mine.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

I hesitated for a second, then walked to the door and let myself out, closing it quietly behind me.

The night air was cooler than I expected, but it felt good on my flushed skin. I shoved my hands into my pockets as I walked back to my place, my mind racing and heavy all at once.

She wanted me. That kiss wasn’t one-sided.

And if she wanted more, if she felt like I did, then we’d have to talk to Owen. I wasn’t going to sneak around like some damn high schooler. He deserved more than that.

The porch light from my cabin spilled across the grass as I unlocked the door and stepped inside, kicking off my boots. I walked to the bathroom, turning on the light and catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror—flushed cheeks, wild hair, lips still tingling.

She wanted me. And hell, I wanted her so badly it hurt.

I pulled off my shirt and tossed it to the floor, then kicked off my jeans. The mirror was already fogging as I turned the water up hot and stepped into the shower. I stood there for a moment, letting it pour over my head and shoulders, trying to cool the fire crawling just under my skin. But it didn’t help. Nothing would, not tonight.

My hands braced against the wall, and I let my head fall between my arms. All I could see was her sitting across from me on the couch, eyes soft and curious, her voice asking why I came here, why I gave everything up. That kiss. Her lips on mine, hungry and real.

The more I thought about her, the harder I got. I reached down, my hand moving over my stomach, trailing lower. I shouldn’t. I meant what I had told her. I didn’t want this to start with blurred lines or half-memories from too many beers. But I was human. And she was in every corner of my mind.

My fingers wrapped around myself, slow at first. I closed my eyes, imagining her hands instead. Her mouth. Her breath catching like it did when she leaned in. The thought pulled a low sound from my throat.

I kept going, chasing that edge. I wasn’t proud of it, but I wasn’t sorry either. She’d stirred something in me I hadn’t felt in a long time. It was so much deeper than lust. It was connection. Possibility.

When I came, it was quiet and rough, a sharp release that left my muscles trembling and my head clearer than it had been all night.

I rinsed off, dried my face with a towel, and dragged myself into bed. It wasn’t the night I’d imagined.

If she wanted this, we’d face Owen together. But only if it was something real.

And God, I hoped it was.