Luke’s phone glowed in the dark with texts from Charlie. I’m drunk. He twisted around in his seat at the cop bench and tried to look for her. As evening moved to nighttime, most of the crowd had changed and gotten increasingly more rowdy. Many were at the bonfire, gravitating towards light and warmth.

Luke [21:41] Where are you? I’ll find you.

As soon as he sent the text, he decided to call her instead. Straight to voicemail. He asked the table, “Has anyone seen Charlie?” All he got in response was some mumbles and shrugs.

Then he heard Anna softly say, “Found her.”

It was damn clear that she wasn’t walking by herself, and as she got closer, Luke realized that it was probably because she couldn’t. Something must’ve happened to his face because Anna and Mack started talking at the same time. It’s okay, man. Take it easy. Luke, it’s not a big deal. He had a hard time taking it easy in general, and while someone else’s hand basically down Charlie’s shorts when she was drunk wasn’t apocalyptic, it wasn’t just fine either.

He didn’t know if he’d ever seen her like this before. Drunk, sure, but she could always do things on her own. The cynical voice in the back of his head told him that she wanted this guy’s arm around her, and that’s why it was happening. The reasonable voice told him that if it was against her will, she would’ve broken his hand off. Then there was the last voice. The one that came out of his mouth. “Come sit with me, Charlie.” Worried eyes moved over her face. “Please.”

The man with her was giving Luke a weird look, like he was a felon, and only at Anna’s insistence (“we’re cops, Noah, nothing bad is going to happen to her”) did he say something in Charlie’s ear and go back off into the crowd.

Luke held out his hand to Charlie so she could sit next to him on the bench. He gave her a can of club soda that he’d found and wrapped his fingers around her knee. Had she eaten? How many beers did she have? Did she drink liquor? Smoke weed? Was it her medication? Was she even still taking medication? A rolodex of concerns flipped through his brain as he tried to find her eyes.

“Are you hungry? We can go. I can make you something.”

They were surrounded by enough food to feed the entire Chicago school district, but more than anything, Luke just wanted to leave. With Charlie. Now.

“Give me your phone,” Noah said as they walked through the party, to which Charlie did without thought. Somehow it was less cloying away from the table, where they wanted to talk about Sam and Luke and her. He quickly pulled her contacts, dismissed an incoming call, and tapped his number into the phone before handing it back. “Just in case you want to talk to me again when you sober up.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Charlie said, looking up at him with a grin.

“I think most would beg to differ.”

Thankfully the bonfire wasn’t very huge. Many of the people with children had left when the sun went down, but that didn’t mean there weren’t at least 50 people meandering around. When Luke came into her view, a bright smile lit her face. “We’ve been looking for you!”

“You’ve been looking for him,” Noah muttered under his breath, apply just a bit of pressure to keep her upright as her pace quickened. “She’s plastered. You better watch her.”

“We’re cops, Noah, nothing is going to happen to her.”

Noah leaned towards her, offering a few words before he let her go. “Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything.”

She didn’t need to be careful with Luke. “Hi!” Charlie moved towards the other man quickly, wrapping her arms over his shoulders in a hug. She was a little too gone to recognize the emotions that Luke couldn’t conceal. She swatted his proffered hand away and plopped onto the bench, looking around until a cold can landed in her hand somehow. Her eyes lingered on the way his rough fingers gripped her knee, with a pressure that seemed to beg her to stay seated.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she turned to Anna and Mack. “I think I had a liiiittle too much to drink.”

“I’d say you’ve earned it,” Mack said with a laugh, taking another drink. That didn’t mean his eyes left Luke, almost as if he was expecting something to happen.

“I’d say I have, too,” she replied, blissfully more chipper around the people she felt more comfortable around. She took a drink and grimaced, her nose scrunching. “But I don’t want this.” Charlie attempted to give it back to Luke, her arm resting against his chest until he did. “Wouldn’t hate another beer.”

“Don’t think you need another drink, darlin’,” Anna said, looking between Luke and Charlie with concern. Why did everyone look at them like that?

Her eyes moved up again to meet Luke’s. Was she hungry? Not necessarily but it felt like she was almost craving something. “Sausage and biscuits.” It was almost impossible to get a good biscuit in Montana, but maybe homemade would be better, even if they weren’t her mom’s. “I’m tired.”

Luke knew exactly why everyone was staring at them. They wanted to see for themselves what “it” was. Why his old barber had asked if Charlie was his wife. Why Luke had punched one of the Atkinson brothers when he talked shit. Why Mack couldn’t touch his truck, of all things. Why he was fucking living with her. Her lack of sobriety was like a clear window into their lives, like how she talked to him with less robust critical reasoning skills. Luke and Charlie: The Director’s Cut.

This is it! he wanted to shout at the table. Is everyone happy?

Her arm rested against his chest, and he could smell the woodsmoke and beer on her. It went straight to his brain. Luke wanted to pull her onto his lap and wrap his arm around her waist. Instead, he picked up the abandoned club soda and took a deep swallow from the can, hyperaware of how hot her skin was under palm. Slowly, he realized he was gripping her knee a little too firmly. He relaxed some but didn’t move his hand.

When she mentioned biscuits, his gaze moved from her eyes, to her mouth, and back again. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. They were too close. She was too goddamn close to him. Never in a million years would they sit like this at the house. But at a bonfire, when everyone was drinking, it was suddenly permissible. He could feel Charlie’s phone vibrate once in her pocket, right against his thigh, and he mentally begged her not to check it.

“I’ll make you anything you want – ” He paused, catching an endearment before it dared to come out of his mouth. “ -- Charlie,” he tacked on at the end.

His strange statement made Mack hit the guy next to him with the back of his hand. “I forgot I have wood in the back of the truck. Want to help me bring it to the fire?” Before they took their beers and left, Mack added, "Listen, if we don't see you two before you leave, drive safely, okay?"

Anna seemed like she was going to get up, but she changed her mind at the last second. “I’m glad you both came out. It’s nice to see you somewhere besides the precinct and the bar for once. And Mack's right -- drive safely. We have a squad car at the bottom of the hill.” She winked, squeezed Charlie’s hand, and gave Luke a look that, for the first time since he’d known her, he could not read.

He thanked her and gave Charlie's knee a final squeeze before letting go. “Come on, Calamity Jane," he said, getting up even though he all of a sudden he didn't want to. Charlie seemed…happy. Lighter. Good, almost. He didn't want to do anything that would ruin her brief mental peace.

Why was he looking at her like that?

Charlie couldn’t put many thoughts together at once, so she just beamed at him, oblivious of the onlookers. Had she been sober, she would have told them to fuck off, ask what they were looking at, mind their business… a litany of questions that now escaped her.

Anything she wanted?

What she wanted, she couldn’t have.

So she bit her lip and nodded. She really wanted some sweet tea, greens, and mashed potatoes with a roast but that wasn’t happening right now, either. In the recesses of her mind, she knew that it likely wasn’t fair for her to ask him to make anything at all. But the space between her name slipping from Luke’s mouth made her think twice about saying anything else.

“We’ll be fine,” Charlie offered, returning Anna’s squeeze. She’d never been close to the woman, particularly because of her relationship with Luke, but maybe this was the time to make real friends in Hingham Valley. God knew she needed it. Maybe it was just the fog of alcohol that made her want to be friendlier and to make more connections, but she knew that somewhere she’d craved any interaction she could have since Sam died. “It was so good to see you. Thank you,” she added, “for making him bring me.”

“No one can make Luke do anything. You know that,” Anna responded, shooting her a look somewhere between compassion and sadness.

“Right.” She stood, a bit too suddenly, and reached out to steady herself with a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “We should do this more often.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” the police chief shot back. “Make sure to drink some water and take a couple ibuprofen.”

Charlie gave her a salute before turning towards where the truck was, staying as close to Luke as she could managed. She didn’t want to explain to anyone how she’d sprained her ankle when she’d gotten drunk for the first time in years. The woman threaded an arm through his, though it didn’t keep her from clumsily bumping into him.

She climbed into the truck in the most ungraceful fashion, then moved into the middle of the bucket seat when Luke joined her in the cabin. There was something poking into her ass, so she reached into her pocket to fumble for her phone. A text that simply said u okay from Noah stayed on her home screen, and she put the device aside.

“Are you good to drive?” Though she wasn’t getting any more drunk, she was still hazy. “I’d rather sit here all night with you than risk losing you to drink.” The words escaped her easily, her tone sincere without much sadness. And it was true; it hadn’t been the first time she’d worried about Luke getting home safe. She couldn’t have cared less about her, but Luke? Didn’t she owe Sam that, to look after him when she could?

Luke eyed her when she climbed into the truck, unsure if he was going to have to help her or not. But she was fine. Barely. He started the engine and paused when she got into the middle seat instead of the passenger’s.

“Two beers,” he told her, “and lots of food. I told you I was going to bring you home any time, and I meant it.” He’d run out of fingers and toes if he tried to count the number of times Sam or his father got too drunk to drive and insisted on doing it anyway, even when they knew Matthew had gotten hit by a drunk driver. It’d always bothered him. Coupled with his temper, Luke had no business hitting the bottle hard when he wasn’t in a good headspace. It was a recipe for disaster. He’d do things like yell in Sam’s face and tell him he’d never fuck his wife, even if he was dead. Normal, healthy stuff.

Her stupid phone lit up, and he forced himself not to look at it. It wasn’t his business.

“Here.” Luke reached around Charlie, grabbed the seatbelt, and buckled her in. He pulled the end so the fabric was taught around her waist, and he gave it a hard tug. “Safety first,” he teased. Truthfully, he didn’t trust himself to not reach over and put his hand on her thigh, where it didn’t belong. And he didn’t necessarily trust her either. She’d been touching him one way or another since she’d sat next to him at the picnic table.

Back at the house, Jake bounded out the sliding door and circled the both of them before bolting off to the barn. In many ways, the dog was like a safety net. If he noticed something wrong, like an open gate, he’d bark until he got someone’s attention. He was an excellent farm companion.

Initially, Luke was apprehensive about being in the house again. He was afraid that its weight would surround them or settle like dust on their shoulders. But they’d actually done a lot to make it more “theirs” in the last few weeks. A growing winter-prep chore list was on the fridge, tucked between the many photos Sam had taken over the years and a running tally of groceries they needed if one of them went to town. At least two of Luke’s work hats were hanging on hooks by the door. The island had junk mail, the keys to the Chevy, and a dirty plate from when Luke was eating a snack while Charlie got ready for the bonfire.

He took the plate and put in the sink, and he got two beers from the fridge. Brow raised, he handed one to Charlie. “Nobody’s going to call us too drunk if we’re in the house. And I was serious about the biscuits.” Luke took some flour down from the cabinet and put a few sticks of butter in the freezer so they’d be as cold as possible. “You’re helping me. This was your idea, and you’re not getting out of it.”

Jake swarmed her, rubbing himself up against her leg and pushing her slightly off balance, causing her to grasp the doorframe. He didn’t wait around to be pet, simply ran off to do whatever dogs did at ten in the evening.

Charlie trudged in after Luke, making her way to the kitchen island as per usual. She was too drunk to care about the dirty plate Luke left behind; without alcohol, she probably would have said something or simply taken care of it, but in her current state she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her hands attempted to collect the papers in front of her into a semi-straight pile, then began looking through them idly.

But then Luke grabbed the plate. Charlie’s eyes followed his movements, then blinked rapidly as she looked up at him. Had she said something? She didn’t think she’d allowed any of her thoughts to be voiced. She grabbed the beer and raised it in the air like a mock toast before taking a long sip. She could already feel the hangover coming, and she was sure that in the morning she would swear off alcohol for at least a decade.

“Help?” Charlie guffawed, shaking her head. “When did ‘I’ll make you anything’ turn into ‘we’?” Nonetheless, she pulled at the tie around her wrist and gathered her hair, forming a messy bun on the top of her head that would keep stray hairs from the food. “I wouldn’t have agreed to leave if I’m known this was what was waiting for me.” She reached into a cabinet, pulling at the container of lard she kept - a tradition, courtesy of her grandmother - before going to the fridge for buttermilk and sausage patties.

“Do you even know how to do these?” She asked skeptically, raising a brow to mirror the look he’d given her moments earlier. No matter how inebriated she was, Charlie was sure that she could make the dish in her sleep. The package of meat slipped from her fingers onto the counter, though she was a bit more careful with buttermilk.

“Did you meet anyone at the bonfire?” The question left her lips before she was able to think of it, and all she could do now was act innocently. Like it didn’t matter if he’d made a connection. Like she’d be happy for him if he had made conversation with a pretty girl that he wanted to take out on a date, now that Anna was off the table.

Charlie grabbed the flour and a bowl, beginning to make the mixture with no haste. “Mawmaw always said that you had to make these with love,” she said, giggling and wiping a hand over her face to remove stray hair from her eyes. “Can’t rush ‘em.” Her accent was a bit more prominent now, thanks to the alcohol.

In her daze, she hadn’t realized that the butter hadn’t even been added. She looked around for the sticks, though none were to be found, and washed her hands. It was only after she’d attempted to place another few sticks in the freeze when she realized Luke had already done that. She felt heat rush her face before she shut the door and turned to find her beer.

“You gonna take care of me in the morning, too?” Charlie asked, the bottle opening lingering near her smile. "Or is that another we problem?"

“Quit whining and get your hands dirty,” he drawled. Southern biscuits and ranch biscuits were different, yes. She’d balk up a storm and make fun of him if he did something sacrilegious to the unspoken recipe, as Luke was well aware. He’d grown up in a family of farm-addicted workaholics. There hadn’t been a lot of wiggle room for making anything from scratch. Surrounded by some of the best meat and produce in the country, and he ate frozen meals for dinner more often than not. Any cooking he’d picked up, he’d taught himself. “I know plenty.” A lie. “Mind yourself.”

He laughed with a mouthful of beer when she dropped the sausage patties on the counter, and he moved them towards the wall and away from the edge. When her elbow went for the flour jar, he moved that too. Luke made a mental note to carve out a few extra hours if he ever again had the bright idea to cook with a drunk Charlie.

She asked if he met anyone at the bonfire and he gave her a sharp look. There was just Sutton Ambrose, who wasn’t a romantic prospect, rather someone he needed to keep his eye on. He had a feeling that Anna was on to something when she mentioned the farm. There was no way in hell she just knew nothing at all about it. But that was a sober thing to talk about -- land, lawyers, deeds. Because Sam hadn’t left a will, everything was technically Charlie’s. Luke didn’t want to get into it all now.

“Anna tried, but I wasn’t there for that. Part of this – running it and running it right – means being a part of the community. And it’s something I’ve neglected most of my life. I’ve been thinking lately that maybe I was too closed off.” Her question was aloof, like she was asking about the weather tomorrow. He would’ve asked about Noah, but he’d seen it with his own eyes – and the way he would’ve asked wouldn’t have been anywhere near aloof. He didn’t need her summary. He also didn’t need her pissed at him for putting his nose where it didn’t belong.

The last thing to mix in was the cubed butter, but he wanted to wait until the last minute, when the oven was heated. He pre-set it, and when there wasn’t much left to do, he looked at her, long and hard and openly.

Her fucking accent could take him to church. They had a different kind of way with their talking up in Montana. Her several years there had changed the way she spoke a bit, but Lord the things he’d do to feel those words against his skin.

There’s nothing about this right now that I want to rush, he thought. Not a goddamn thing.

Luke’s beer was empty, so hooked a finger around the neck of hers and urged her to take a step or two closer to him. “I don’t know.” His voice was stuck somewhere in the back of his chest. He pulled the bottle some, until it touched the front of his stained t-shirt. “Depends on how much trouble you end up causing me.” When he pictured “taking care” of her in the morning, it had not a single thing to do with coffee and Advil. He needed to stop staring at her mouth, because if he wasn’t careful, he was going to do something about it.

A sharp bark outside made him step away from her. It was Jake asking to be let in.

He opened the sliding door and was hit with a cool rush of early-September air, as well as a reality check. Make biscuits. Eat. Go to bed. Close your eyes. Wake up tomorrow.

The shepherd went to his water bowl, and Luke got a fresh beer from the fridge. He wiped any flour off on his jeans, took the butter from the freezer, and started to cut it into cubes. “You know where that biscuit mold is?” he asked. He knew he’d spend ten minutes looking for it and get annoyed in the meantime.

As he put the biscuits on the tray, he put a question out there before he thought better of it. “What in the hell is the lard for, Charlie?”

The community.

Charlie scoffed at the word, even though she knew Anna had been right. They weren’t doing any favors to themselves, sequestering themselves away while they tried to deal with the loss of Sam. Luke’s next words made Charlie snort, mentioning that he was a little closed off. There weren’t enough adjectives to describe the lengths he would go to in order to be left alone, keep his peace. She took another drink of beer when she realized Luke was staring at her.

“What?”

She would look back on this moment and realize how easy it was for her to take those few steps towards him. She knew she would try to convince herself that was simply because she was drunk and wanted to be near someone… while that wasn’t completely untrue, it wasn’t the whole truth. Charlie could barely breathe, for there was no space between them now. She had to crane her neck up to look him in the eyes. “I can cause you a whole lotta trouble, if you like.” Her gaze roamed over his face hungrily, the same as he had done minutes prior.

The hand that held her bottle turned slightly, now letting her fingers rest against his chest.

But they were interrupted, something that she should have been thankful for. In that moment, she wished they’d never picked Jake up from the breeder.

“Hi, baby,” Charlie cooed, lowering as she balanced on the balls of her feet in order to pet the dog. “You’re such a good boy. I love you so — hey!” He was off to get more water, making the second male to leave her without warning.

She groaned as she stood, looking in confusion at Luke and the butter. “Lard? Oh!” She slapped gently at his hands and raised a finger to poke at his arm. “Don’t you dare put that butter in there, Luke McCormick. Swear to god, I’ll fuck you up if you even think about it.” With another glare, Charlie moved quickly towards the lard then pulled open a drawer to grab the biscuit cutter. “You gotta use lard instead of butter. It’s the secret.”

Of course, Charlie didn’t remember that she’d went to do the same thing when they’d started mixing. “I don’t wanna wait for the butter to cool anyway. If it’s meltin’ that quick, it ain’t worth shit.” She checked him with a hip gently, fighting a smile as she began to mix the lard in. “Fuck you talkin’ about, a fuckin’ mold.”

She worked quickly, careful not to overwork the dough, before spreading it out and placing the cutter into it over and over. Rolled it again, rinse, wash, and repeat until it totaled 10 large biscuits. “You know, if I weren’t drunk, I’d use a cast iron.” She shooed Luke away from the over before opening the door and feeling the heat rush into her face.

“‘I know plenty’,” she mocked in a deepened voice before her tone returned to normal, “’part from what lards for in biscuits. Imagine.” The woman closed the door, grabbing the hand-towel on the handle and ridding her hands of any leftover biscuit particles. It was quickly tossed to the side and she stood there, eyes raking over Luke from head to toe, back to head again.

It only took half a second for her hand to hook her finger around the neck of his beer in a mirror to his previous actions. The alcohol had very clearly lifted any inhibitions she would have had sober as she took a few steps forward, not wanting to try and pull a man so much bigger than her anywhere. “You better mind yourself,” Charlie continued quietly, her eyes moving between his eyes and mouth.

They were going to be having biscuits for the next week for breakfast – they were huge. The promise of food, however, did nothing to distract from whatever the hell had happened between them before Jake interrupted. It was like quicksand, and he was sinking. Charlie’s comments about lard and butter and cast irons all went to a different part of his head. He was listening, but not really. He was much more preoccupied with how she moved around the kitchen. Each time he avoided her ass or her elbow, she’d move again he ended up touching her anyway.

All distractions were gone once their project was in the oven. There was no dog to let in, their phones were silent bricks on the island, and the timer was going to take at least twenty minutes. The only thing that could possibly interrupt them was a ghost.

Before that night, Luke didn’t know how many times she could tease him before his patience ran out. Any sort of crossed wires in the past were brief and often rationalized as figments of his imagination. He realized that his threshold was incredibly low. She had to know. Like when she’d threatened to give a random girl his number at a Lake Michigan bar if he didn’t do it himself. Do it. I fucking dare you, he’d told her. And, for some reason, she dropped it.

He let her pull at the beer, but only for moment before he took it from her hands and put it on the counter. Maybe Charlie had wiped off her hands, but he hadn’t – so when he wrapped an arm around her and slipped his hand under the hem of her shirt, he knew he was getting flour on her clothes. And he didn’t care. At all.

Luke grabbed a handful of her waist and squeezed, hard. “When I told you that I’d never cross that line, I lied.” He backed them up a few steps, and his boot kicked the leg of one of the island stools. He pushed it away with his foot. “Because I’m selfish.” His grip on her was tight enough that he could feel his belt buckle press against her stomach. “I will take, and take, and take. I will remind you every morning and every night exactly what your body is for, and I won’t let you forget. So you better mind yourself – ” Luke slipped a hand under her jaw and pulled at her lower lip with his thumb. “ – before I fucking make you.”

It was obvious, even to Charlie, that she was fucking up, but his touch was addictive.

A small part of her told her to quit, like they had every time before. The truth was, there was always something to keep them from touching further; they were cognizant of what they felt and actively tried to avoid expressing it any shape, form, or fashion. But Luke had been omnipresent for weeks, a steady force that had been patient with her but had pushed her when she needed it. He wasn’t Sam, and she knew that in every fiber of her being when she felt his dirty hands slide beneath her shirt.

Charlie wasn’t quite sure how, exactly, she felt about Luke. He’d told her that he was in love with her, but she hadn’t asked if those feelings still lingered after his stint away. Maybe she was a fool for assuming there was a possibility that he’d moved past whatever he thought he felt for her. Maybe she was the fool for trying to repress her own thoughts on the matter. Of course she loved him; he’d been a steadfast part of her life for years.

But she knew with certainty that she wanted him, particularly after he grabbed her roughly. She was done fighting whatever was between them. They both needed someone, and there wasn’t anyone else that could possibly understand what they were going through. His words hit her like a ton of bricks, her lower stomach tightening in a way she hadn’t felt in three years. Fuck.

It turned out they were both selfish. She’d always prided herself on being the opposite, letting Sam pursue his dreams of a farm even if that meant days away from her, conferences nearly every month to figure out what he could do to improve the land and the livestock… and everything but her. She’d told herself that she could handle a few years, until the farm was up and running, but she hadn’t known what that had entailed.

She loved Sam, but they’d had their own problems. Somehow they seemed more complicated now as she felt Luke flush against her, talking to her like Sam never had. A jolt ran through her as his thumb grazed her lip.

“Do it,” Charlie said, unable to break eye contact with him. She lifted herself onto the carefully, pulling at his clothes so that he’d step forward. Her legs dangled on either side of him, and her hands began to travel up the length of that stained t-shirt from stomach to chest. “I fucking dare you.”

But she didn’t want to wait any more, lest one of them come to their senses, and a hand snaked up to rest at the base of his neck. She lengthened her spine as she pulled him down, her lips meeting his hungrily. There wasn’t any tenderness in the kiss, but she hadn’t expected there to be. When she pulled away, she tried to put some distance between them.

“Take everything.” Charlie’s voice was low, her eyes meeting his again. “I’ll give you anything.” She'd put the ball in his court after taking her chance, and whatever happened now would be on both of them.