Luke drove the last sapling into the ground with a grunt. In short order, Morel and Keyil took to it and shoveled in the last of the dirt, quickly covering the root bundle and heart of the tree; in a way, welcoming the inhabitant of the farm that will likely long outlive them all.

  The day was going well; the pump house was finished, with Luke having signed it off earlier. It had taken the contractors a bit longer than he would have wanted, but that is in the past and a part of the stark reality of being so far isolated on earth.

  This was not the planet's breadbasket, nor were they even within a few hours of a major settlement. The teamsters needing a few extra days were to be expected out on the frontiers of the world.

  Signing that paystub cast away the very last remnants of the money from his former life. Signing that paid-in-full agreement felt like entirely demolishing the final bridge to his old life. The release of shackles. The final nail in the coffin.

  With that vile reminder of the past gone, Golden Fields was to be his pastoral cocoon, allowing him to morph, learn, and grow, with the possibility of leaving still scratching at his mind.

  He had at this point placed much consideration into the words of the ever-cheerful Brukus. But Luke had yet to decide if he should truly allow Morel and Grey-Rock into his soul. If this were a place he could truly set roots and live.

  He could see the benefit of doing so, but jumping headlong into that particular unknown abyss was something he was not ready to do. Much of the danger had yet to be analyzed and understood. Doing anything brash would only result in still sutured wounds to be wrenched back open.

  “Well, that was a lot of work,” Keyil groaned, adjusting her wide-brimmed sun hat, and looking out across now at long last completed orchards.

  "Yeah, but that's the end of it for a few weeks,” Morel said, stepping back to the side and looking at the seemingly endless acres of fresh saplings.

  The overall process of planting the trees had taken longer than they initially thought. It had rained hard the previous day, keeping them from planting. But now all of the trees stood tall and proud.

  The rows crisscrossed all the fields, giving each section its own unique look, dependent on the exact type of fruit tree growing there. Luke had insisted that they vary their growth and types just in case a disease rolled through.

  Now, even if one of the species fails or succumbs to blight, the others would be unaffected or could be saved with quick action.

  “Right?” Morel asked, looking over to Luke, with Keyil turning her gaze toward the human after a few moments of silence.

  Both women had paused seeing Luke. He stood as the commandant of all that lay before him. His hands rested on his hips, his shoulders back, and head held high. He looked upon the orchards like a general inspecting soldiers during a pass-in-review.

  As any proud general would bless his well-kept troops, like a shimmering star, was a smile. It took both of them aback, neither believing he was capable of such a bold action.

  They had grown far more used to him, scowling, grunting, and giving them slight smiles that never reached one's eyes. They knew the mask Luke showed them. A moment of it slipping like that was beyond rare.

  Keyil had a rough idea of why he was so reserved and swore to never speak a word of it to Morel, a promise to Luke, who, even telling her that little, was clearly torture; still, seeing a man who might vomit from stress still being physically capable of pride warmed her heart.

  “Yeah, it should free up some time for a few weeks,” Luke said, not turning back to look at them. He then began to speak about all the other bits of work they had, almost as if he was reading from a script.

  Morel and Keyil shared a slight glance and smirked; before Keyil stepped back a bit, and patted Morel’s rump. “I’m going to go back to the house. I forgot about a deadline. The last thing I need is Amon jumping down my throat for not having a chapter ready on time,”

  Morel whipped around and was about to scowl at Keyil, but the bat-like woman was already taking to the skies, leaving her and Luke all alone. “Don’t have too much fun,” Keyil winked before twisting about in an impressive display of aerial acrobatics before flying low beneath the boughs toward the house, where she would spend the rest of the night pecking away at a story that had come to her after seeing Luke and Morel dance around, admitting they liked each other.

  Her giving them some alone time while Luke was in a jubilant mood would hopefully give her some fresh material to write about. A kiss, an admission, or dare she dream, lewd hand holding. The sky was the limit with those two introverts interacting.

  She would speak with Morel about it later, receiving a play-by-play while bribing her friend with tea, cookies, and maybe a beer or two.

  Luke had not even registered that Keyil had left, the magnanimous sight of his plans coming to fruition occupying too much of his consciousness to note the near-silent take off.

  With them left there, Morel stiffened her upper lip and stepped up to his side. “Well, cowboy. Since we have some time. Want to take a walk around the farm? Make sure it's all good?”

  “Sure,” I would love to,” Luke replied, taking a step and only then remembering the extensive exsosuit rigged up to his body. “Well, after I take this thing off, and we drop it off at the truck.”

  “Alright,” Morel nodded, turning toward the truck and heading that way, with Luke’s servos whirring a few yards behind.

  Morel looked away from Luke, like a shy girl, while Luke removed his exosuit and sweaty clothes, changing into fresh ones. When his back was turned, she stole a glance, surprised by the quiet strength beneath the scholar’s frame.

  Tight steel-like muscle flexed beneath his sweat-glistened skin. The beads shimmered like the stars in the sky, and were just as captivating as the cosmos wheeling into infinity.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  He was not built like a farmhand nor like a bodybuilder. Luke had the body of a white-collar man who took care of his health. He was slim, but to Morel, the vast gap between him and the men she had dated in the past made him captivating.

  Once Luke had redressed, Morel stepped to his side and, without any form of hesitation, stooped and reached for his hand. Her digits wrapped around his entire hand and wrist, encapsulating them completely.

  To Morel’s joy, Luke did not pull away; she felt him attempt to hold her hand in return, but due to their size difference, he only managed to grip her thumb.

  “Come on,” Luke muttered, hiding his own blush underneath the brim of his hat. “We should take a look around, make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

  “Yeah,” Morel replied, fluttering her ears and draping her tail over Luke’s shoulder.

  The pair traversed the branches of their apple orchards for several hours, until the sun had passed its highest point in the sky, and the trees offered them shade only when directly against their trunks.

  Both were delighted to see that the trees were growing as quickly as Luke had expected, and with few issues. Luke’s chemical concoction was so potent that the trunks were visibly wider and taller where they first planted, so much so that the earliest rows were already higher than Morel’s horn tips.

  These young, eager-to-rise saplings were their salvation; their fertility and rapid growth left the farm’s future looking favorable.

  Even after they’d walked the rows twice over, neither let go; neither willing to stop the isolated moment with the other.

  Each felt the other’s racing heart in their grip, and saw the tentative glances, and statements began by silent opened lips that were quickly shut when the other glimpsed the attempt.

  Neither was sure where to start with the other. One a wounded man, the other alone and isolated; both fearful of the other's potential reaction to any attempt to rock the boat.

  But as if the world demanded they stop tiptoeing around what was blatant to everyone but them, a singular, distinctive thunk echoed through the vibrant trees, accompanied by the distant thrum of the pump house turbine kicking on.

  Small black spouts erupted from the ground, and water began to spray all around, casting them in what might as well have been a torrential downpour.

  “Come on,” Morel said, “There is a clearing up ahead.”

  They sped up, moving through the trees, shielding their eyes from the water, rushing toward the shelter of the clearing.

  Luke stumbled in the mud and nearly fell. Without breaking stride, Morel slung Luke in her arms, continuing on, cradling him in a bridal carry. Her large, muscular arms shielded him almost entirely from the constant hose of cold water.

  By the time they reached the clearing, they were soaked to the bone, shivering, and barely able to form coherent sentences, as their teeth chattered. They ambled up to several large black crates Luke had set up several weeks ago in preparation for the harvest. For now though, the saws, buckets, and other gear within the containers were not their concern.

  Once Morel regrettably released Luke, the pair slumped atop the boxes and basked like lizards on a hot rock. The black surface pleasantly warm after baking in the sun all morning.

  “How long is the irrigation going to take?” Morel asked after several minutes of silence, looking out at the water erupting from the spouts.

  Luke shifted and looked over at Morel, fully ready to honestly respond, but the sight of her stopped him cold. The water had left her shirt clinging to her; every breath visible, every heartbeat real. He realized how alive she was, how close.

  “It should take an hour or so,” Luke swallowed, forcing his gaze away from her chest and back to her eyes.

  He blushed deeper when his gaze met hers and saw the subtle smirk on her face. Before Luke had a chance to apologize and step away from the desires that tugged at his mind, Morel took the opportunity and snared him, now that Luke had nowhere to run.

  “Good, then we have plenty of time,” Morel purred; before Luke had realized it, Morel pulled him close, his face pressed to the warmth of her chest, surrounded by her strength and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

  A shudder wracked Luke’s body as Morel leaned down and nuzzled into his neck. Her large, flat, bovine-like nose was damp, soft, and oh-so-warm, feeling like a hot towel being rubbed against his neck. Her smoky almond smell was overwhelming, and infected him with electric bliss.

  Without thinking, without worrying about lines of professionalism or the role he is supposed to play in the broader universe, Luke accepted his feelings for that moment. He reached over Morel and cradled her head, hugging her to him.

  Noticing the shift in him, Morel grabbed Luke’s rump with a firm grip, pulling his hips forward, able to feel the increasing tension within his jeans.

  There was barely a molecule betwixt them; their heartbeats intertwined, and breaths matched.

  Morel pulled back and rolled to her side, looming over Luke, casting a vast shadow over him. “I’m glad you came here.”

  “Same,” Luke admitted, reaching up and caressing her cheek.

  Morel closed the gap while squeezing Luke into her bosom, subconsciously afraid he would try to flee if not held in place. But to her surprise, he made no attempt at flight.

  Their breathing mingled betwixt them, both able to smell the scents of the other, finding comfort within the blissful odors.

  Tentatively, and as cautiously as a mouse tiptoeing around the barn cats’ home, Morel brushed her lips against Luke's. Hardly a kiss, more of just an attempted offer.

  Emboldened that the other did not recoil, they reengaged, slowly, caringly, until they kissed.

  They held each other like people afraid the world might vanish if they let go. There was no ferocity or hunger within the kiss, just a simple acceptance that was as soft as the dropping of a feather.

  The kiss broke, and their eyes locked, smiles on both of their faces.

  “How was that, sug'?” Morel asked.

  “Amazing,” Luke replied.

  “Do you wanna…?” Morel asked, sliding her hand up Luke’s hip, her thumb brushing along his waistband.

  The look of calm acceptance washed away from Luke’s face and revealed the pain underneath. Seeing the sudden shift sent a pang of guilt through Morel, piercing her heart.

  “I... I w... I can’t,” Luke replied, pulling the words from the depths of his soul; each vocalization felt like yanking razor wire from his lips.

  Morel frowned, but accepted it. She knew Luke was wounded and would reveal that part of him when he was ready and felt safe to do so.

  “That’s alright,” Morel said, pecking Luke on the cheek. “Wanna stay here an' cuddle a bit then? At least until the irrigation stops.”

  “I do.”

  Morel lay back down, and Luke joined her. He rested his head on her shoulder, while she held him close. Although not intended, sleep took them shortly after settling in. With both for the first time in a long time, feeling absolutely safe in the arms of another.

  By the time they awoke, all of the Milky Way was on display for them, thousands of specks in the blackened sky, seemingly slightly more glisteningly brilliant than they had ever seen.

  The shimmering starlight and Luna illuminated their hand-in-hand walk back home. Upon their return, although they did not announce a development, the rabbits and cats bore witness to it unfolding.

  Before the steps to the porch, they paused and exchanged another shy kiss and a lingering embrace. Holding one another there, under the stars, was right in a way neither could put to words. It was the most flawless, well-cut cornerstone to the start of the summer.