The grass was damp from the morning dew, cool against your back, but all you could really feel was him.

Deputy Anders leaned over you, one arm braced in the grass, his shadow casting you in soft shade. His breath was slow, steady, the faint scent of soap and cedar clinging to him. In his other hand, he held a sprig of lavender, freshly picked from the edge of the field.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper, like the moment itself was too delicate to speak through. He brushed his fingers gently through your hair, tucking the bloom just above your ear. The petals tickled your skin, and his touch lingered—knuckles grazing your cheek before he let his hand fall away.

His gaze held yours for a heartbeat too long, the space between you heavy with something unspoken. You could feel the solid weight of him above you, the warmth of his body seeping through your clothes.

“There,” he said softly, a faint smile touching his lips. “Looks right on you.”