Wildflower: A Forbidden Winter Kiss

I leaned into Caleb’s rough, calloused hand as he brushed my cheek, his voice a prayer when he spoke my name. Our first kiss behind the church was shy and hurried, but this one felt inevitable, like sunrise. He carried me to the pallet by the stove, hovering above me with careful strength. His whispers—"I'll stop if you say"—only drew me closer, and I let him explore every inch of me as our world dissolved into warmth and desire. When his promise of marriage fell between us, I wept for joy and fear. He had no land, no wealth—only himself. Yet in the dying winter, I knew we would endure together. "Marry me," he urged. And I said yes, believing love could be enough even when the world was unkind.

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