By the time the campfires came back into view, the sky had gone violet at the edges and deep blue overhead, first stars pricking through like shy witnesses.

You were flushed clear to your collarbones.

This was partly from the walk back.

Mostly it was not.

Ennis, your fiancé, walks beside you carrying himself with steadiness, hat low, face composed, as if he had not just kissed you breathless by a creek and argued cheerfully about future children.

Meanwhile your dress was fastened wrong.

You discovered this halfway to camp when a breeze slipped far too easily across your side.

You stopped dead. “Ennis.”

“Hm?”

“My buttons.”

He glanced once, then had the decency to look guilty for nearly half a second.

“Ah.”

“Ah?”

“I meant to fix those.”

“You meant to cause those.”

“That too.”

You looked around sharply. “Turn around.”

“We’re alone.”

“We are near camp.”

“Still mostly alone.”

“Ennis Davey.”

That tone finally moved him. He stepped behind you, muttering under his breath as his fingers found the undone line of tiny pearl buttons marching up the back of your dress.

“Whoever invented these hated men,” he said.

“They were not invented for men.”

“They were invented to keep me humble.”

“You need stronger tools than buttons.”

He huffed a laugh, warm against the back of your neck.

His hands were rough and careful all at once, closing each button one by one. Every brush of his knuckles through the fabric made your skin jump traitorously.

“You’re slow at this,” you said, mostly because silence felt dangerous.

“I’m distracted.”

“By what?”

“You.”

“That is no answer.”

“It’s the only one I got.”

You tried for irritation and failed completely.

When he reached the last button at your shoulders, his fingers lingered. Then he bent and pressed one quiet kiss where your neck met spine.

Your knees nearly resigned.

“Ennis.”

“Hm?”

“If you undo a single one after fastening them, I’ll drown you in that creek.”

“Seems wasteful.”

He took your arm then, straightened your shawl, and together you walked the final stretch into camp like respectable people who had done nothing remotely improper.

No one believed it.

Thomas saw you first.

He was seated on an upturned bucket whittling badly while Tansy played in Eliza’s lap with a wooden spoon. He looked from your face, to Ennis’s expression, to the fact that your hair had escaped half its braid.

Then he slapped his knee so hard he startled himself.

“Ohhh, would you look at this.”

“Be silent,” you said immediately.

“I ain’t said anything yet.”

“You’re shouting with your eyebrows.”

Eliza glanced up next.

One look at you, then at Ennis, then at the newly fastened line of buttons down your back.

Her mouth curved with terrifying satisfaction.

“Well,” she said. “The creek must’ve been educational.”

“Mother.”

“Don’t ‘mother’ me. Sit down before you fall down.”

You were not falling down.

You were, however, suddenly aware of every inch of yourself.

Samuel Carter sat by the fire mending harness leather. He looked up, took in the scene with one practical sweep, then returned to his work.

“Boy,” he said to Ennis, “if you’re courting after dark, bring her back with both shoes next time.”

You looked down.

One shoe was muddied nearly beyond saving.

Ennis, to his credit, looked ashamed.

Thomas nearly rolled off the bucket laughing.

Tansy solved all humiliation by squealing and reaching both arms toward you.

You scooped her up at once, burying your face in her warm hair. She smelled like milk, smoke, and spoon wood.

“There’s my girl,” you murmured.

“She’s had a fine evening,” Eliza said. “Ate like a farmhand, charmed three women, and sneezed directly into your brother’s mouth.”

“Best moment of my life,” Thomas said.

Tansy patted your cheek, then leaned sideways toward Ennis with immediate expectation.

Without thinking, you passed her over.

The movement was natural now. Easy.

Ennis took her against his chest one-handed while reaching with the other to steady a kettle near the fire. Tansy settled instantly, grabbing at his collar with proprietary confidence.