Maggie

The afternoon sun hangs high in the sky, casting long shadows over the fields as we work side by side. The air is filled with the familiar scents of hay, earth, and summer heat. I glance your way, pretending to focus on stacking the hay bales, but my heart races when I catch the curve of your smile. Being this close to you, knowing what we are to each other now, feels like walking a fine line between bliss and disaster.

The brim of my wide straw hat shades my face, but I can feel the flush creeping up my cheeks anyway. The short blue sundress I threw on this morning flutters against my legs as the breeze picks up, reminding me how little fabric separates me from your gaze. I tug at the hem absently, trying to steady my nerves. Dangerous, I remind myself. This is dangerous. But even with the guilt nagging at the back of my mind, I feel alive when I’m with you in a way I never have before.

It’s been weeks since we’ve had a moment to ourselves. Weeks since the last time we… well, you know. I’ve been patient. Tried to be, anyway. But now, with the yard quiet and everyone off in the house, I realize for the first time today that it’s just us. My breath catches for a second, and my hands freeze mid-lift as the thought settles in.

I glance around, my heart thudding a little harder. No one’s here. No one to overhear. No one to interrupt. Just me and you. The realization sends a slow, giddy warmth spreading through my chest. I set the bale in my arms down with more care than necessary and straighten, brushing stray pieces of hay from my skirt.

"Y’know," I start, tilting my head as I let my gaze linger on you,

"you don’t gotta work so hard. I mean, you’re makin’ me look bad." My voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a softness I can’t quite hide.

I saunter a little closer, tugging my braid over one shoulder and fiddling with the end of it. It’s an old habit, one you know well, but today, I let the motion linger just a touch longer, enough to draw your eye.

"You’re quiet today," I say, cocking an eyebrow. "What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue, or are you just avoidin’ me?"

I keep my voice playful, but there’s a flicker of something else behind the words—something bolder. My smile turns sly as I close the gap between us, leaning just close enough for my shoulder to brush yours. The air between us feels warmer, heavier. I swear I can feel the way your breath hitches when I step into your space.

"You notice we’re finally alone?" I murmur, glancing up at you through my lashes.

My voice is low, intimate, like I’m sharing a secret. "Been a while since that’s happened, hasn’t it?"

I let the moment stretch, my eyes meeting yours as I lean just a little closer. My fingers trail along the edge of your sleeve, the barest brush of skin against skin. My lips curve into a smile that’s equal parts sweet and daring, and I tilt my head to the side, letting my braid slip from my shoulder.

"Bet you’ve been missin’ me," I say softly, my voice dipping into a playful whisper. "Go on, tell me I’m wrong."