Sunlight sifted through the boughs, scattering shade over their path. The air cooled as the sound of water drew nearer. The thicket grabbed at them as the path tightened, as if the hands of fae were reaching out to pull them into an unknown world.

  Morel led Luke by the hand, humming a jaunty tune as they went. The speckles of shade made her mocha-colored fur look like it was spotted. He had initially attempted to pull away from her skinship, but his meager attempts meant nothing to the massive woman.

  When he had attempted to worm out of her grasp, Morel locked him down with a vice-like grip and a smile that could bring a berserker to weeping supplication. “Now, come on, I’m just being friendly.”

  Without even hearing out his reasoning for why he did not want to be escorted down to the pond's shore, Morel had just kept going, towing Luke along like a mother with a bratty knee-biter.

  Luke gave up resisting; life on the farm was going to move at Morel’s pace, and he could either fight it or learn the rhythm.

  It was her home, her farm, her legacy. To him, it was all just another part of the job.

  If she wanted all organic, she got it. If her whims demanded they only raise crops and not cattle, so be it. And if she wanted to have lunch next to the pond when they should be working, Luke would capitulate.

  Once through the thicket, the gorgeous pond came into view, and once again, in a way Luke had never expected, he was breathless at the primal beauty of Golden Fields.

  Just beyond a shoreline of emerald clovers and moss, golden sunlight shimmered down, glittering across the crystal clear waters. The winds of the plains were unable to breach the sheltered grove, giving the place an almost otherworldly feeling. It felt apart from the world, as if they were the only two souls in it.

  Almost entranced by the ethereal majesty, Luke ambled ahead of Morel, kneeling beside the water’s edge. Lazily swimming throughout the pond, small fish sought out their next meal of aquatic insects, uncaring of Luke stooping over their home.

  “Pretty amazing, huh?” Morel asked, sitting down within the clovers, and running her finger through them like hair. "I always liked coming here as a kid. It always made me feel…safe."

  “Yeah,” Luke breathed. That simple response was all he could muster.

  He turned his attention upward, just before the vast expanse of baby blue skyline, birds hopped about singing their own song of sacred grace.

  “They ain’t going nowhere. Come on and eat,” Morel said after Luke stared into space for a minute.

  As Luke was pulled from his trance, he thought nothing could be as beautiful as the sight of the pond safeguarded by thick bracken, but upon turning around, he had to question that.

  Sun breached the canopy and cast radiance around Morel. She had already laid out all of their lunch and was leaning back, relaxing in the bed of clovers and moss. She leaned back on her elbows, sunlight tracing the curves of her shirt.

  Her eyes, as green and opulent as the shoreline around them, appraised Luke, as an appreciative smile curled onto Morel’s lips. She slowly ran a hand up her womanly curves, across her taut stomach, and luscious breasts.

  She lifted them before allowing them to bounce, revealing hints of a black lacey bra. How the buttons hadn’t given up screaming for mercy was a mystery for a wiser man; one not entranced.

  That same hand reached across the spread of food and patted the ground. “Well, come on, it’s nice and soft.” Morel purred, her husky voice vibrating every air molecule within the grove.

  “I bet they are,” Luke replied absentmindedly while stepping forward, his subconscious mind unable to decide whether he was referring to her thighs or breasts.

  Morel did not acknowledge the Freudian slip. But hearing that from Luke did make her ears heat up and caused her to giggle like a teenager sitting across from their first crush. That reaction surprised her and put the brakes on her mind.

  What did she think of Luke? In her heart of hearts, what was he? Was he just a man lending his time to the farm, while in a transitory state of his life, or something more to her?

  She thought Luke was cute enough: coal black hair, bark colored eyes, and a well-shaped face. He was a bit scrawny, but other than her few years in college, she was used to muscled-up farmhands.

  Those prime string bean examples of the average physique of artists might have been like Luke physically, but mentally, emotionally, Luke was more level-headed, like her father, Hank, or even Brukus.

  Men who knew what to do, and what needed to be done. She appreciated that about him. That teasing and flirting with him caused him to blush and sputter was an adorable bonus. Competent and cute—what more could a girl ask for?

  Luke settled opposite the small picnic from Morel and wasted no time hefting up one of the sandwiches and giving it a cursory glance. Luke had been doing that with most of the meals Morel had prepared for them.

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  He seemed to still be adapting to the idea of not eating any meat whatsoever. Despite him eating everything without protest, he still examined everything as if it were some diabolical botanical poison.

  Morel did not judge him for it. Not many sapients could adapt to such a change. That he was trying and doing so well for her sake was a wonderful gesture.

  Today’s meal was something Morel often made; it was simple and very healthy. Cucumbers, corn, and peppers, all chopped and tossed into a light bean paste, making a pseudo egg salad sandwich type filling.

  To wrap the whole thing, Morel had slathered toasted rye bread with freshly picked avocado and vinegar, giving the food an excellent whole-hearted taste.

  It was the perfect meal for such a hot day. Coupled with the multiple bottles of fresh water and apple juice that she had squeezed this morning, neither Morel nor Luke could think of something better to sate their grumbling bellies while relaxing beside the water.

  Morel pretended to ignore Luke stealing glances down her shirt, or his blush when she moaned from the deliciousness of the meal. In fact, she exaggerated all of it, just so she could see him quickly look away when she turned her attention from the clear waters back to him.

  They ate in silence, with Luke having one sandwich and Morel downing four, a difference of appetite both expected after a few days together.

  After the last of the sandwiches vanished behind Morel’s supple lips, she stretched high into the sky and fell back into the clover bed with a dull whump. The force of her landing shook the empty bottles, making several fall over.

  She crossed her legs, tapping her hooves together, and put her hands beneath her head, lounging like she did not have a care in the world. “Come on, take a load off,” Morel breathed, peeking through her blonde hair at him.

  “We should get back to work,” Luke swallowed his spit, eyeing the patch of moss beside Morel.

  “Oh come on,” Morel said, rolling to her side and rubbing her hand on the ground, “It’s comfortable, and we have plenty of time to get the fence done today.”

  Morel fluttered her eyes and pouted, silently beseeching Luke to stop and relax.

  Luke scrunched his brow as his mind returned to that same state of work he had while at the table planning the farm's future. He was not in the here and now; he was trying to drown in work, and forget whatever it was he was running from, and Morel knew it.

  With him, she had already figured out that to wrench him from such a state, she had to be bold, unignorable, and based on the glances he kept thinking she did not see—tempting.

  “Or would you prefer we strip and hop in the pond?” Morel asked, plucking at her shirt button, revealing more of her creamy cleavage.

  Luke’s mind raced, imagining what Morel would look like without any clothes on, delving into the water. A tight stomach, flowing womanly curves, breasts larger than his head, dripping with crystal beads of water, flowing off erect nipples.

  The mental image made his mind shudder and his heart race. But as quickly as his daydream came, he realized what he was imagining and drowned that thought in cold reality.

  He couldn’t think that way about Morel. He could try to be more cordial and friendly with her, but he had to keep it professional.

  He would be strictly professional.

  "Let's put a pin in that."

  "Whatever you say, cowboy," Morel purred, leaving the button undone, so her lacey bra was halfway out of her shirt. "We can go swimming another time."

  Luke settled onto the clover-colored moss, a reasonable, professional distance away from Morel. Just far enough that she could not quite touch him. He leaned back on his palms and tossed his head back, basking in the moment, allowing all the serenity of the human cradle world to flow through him.

  The chirping birds, the chorus of the winds, Morel’s soft breathing, all sang for his very soul. It was as if this moment was perfectly created just for him.

  Before Luke knew it, he had lain back, lowered his hat, and allowed himself to relax, live in the moment, and not think about the past or the future.

  “This is nice,” Luke admitted, speaking as softly as possible to not interrupt nature’s performance. The last thing he wanted to do was be an out-of-tune player in the composition. “Thanks.”

  “It’s nothing,” Morel whispered back, tentatively scooting a bit closer to Luke.

  She reached her hand out across the way, and almost, atoms close, nearly took Luke’s hand into hers. Her gaze drifted to his face, shadowed by the brim of his hat, and she paused her forward movement.

  She sighed and retreated, not being able to bridge that gap just yet. The fear of Luke running, and leaving her all alone to watch her home and life implode, coiled around her heart, biting into it like a viper.

  Doing something so bold would not work. Even hugging Luke would send him running for the hills at this point. For now, this closeness would have to do. She just hoped Luke would not be so distant come summer.

  She rolled onto her back, closed her eyes, and joined Luke in the moment of relaxation. Sleep took both before either knew it. The sounds of the clear water, birds, and their own private little world lulled them into deep slumber.

  Neither woke until the sun was fire red, and the fish jumped at the evening quarry. Neither minded the brief respite; life had enough challenges ahead of them. Sharing that quiet afternoon with another lost soul wasn’t the end of the world.

  In its own way, that afternoon tended the first furrows of something new; fields the coalition would never tithe.