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That night, Oscar is quiet when he brings Aras to the farm. Aras is brave with the chickens and enchanted by the berries in the poly-tunnels and hedgerows.

He’s scared of the tractors, though. So we sit in Edna’s cab while he eats his fruit, watching the birds wheel over the fields and his dad throw a pan on the outdoor gas hob.

I don’t know what Oscar’s doing. Just that he’s thinking a lot and he’s a man who does better with that while his hands are busy.

Aras tugs on my sleeve—he’s already learned I need to see his face when he talks. Ivy told him at the wedding. Two years ago. When he was so tiny the tractor seat would’ve swallowed him whole.

He’s bigger now, but still small enough I have to resist the urge to shield him from every little thing.

A bee buzzes into the cab, lured by the sticky juice on Aras’s fingers.

I catch it in my hand and toss it away.

Aras has Oscar’s eyes. Warm, round, and bright with curiosity. “They can sting you, Po.”

Po. Ivy told him that too. “Bees only sting when they’re scared. He was just hungry.”

Aras considers this with a graveness that makes me smile. Then he selects a berry and lays it on the control panel.

In case he comes back.

I smile, but say nothing. I’ve already noticed Oscar hasn’t taught Aras that it’s remarkable to be kind. Instead that it’s where we begin. Like Iggy and Jekka. Like Folk and Finch.

Like me, maybe. I don’t know.

My gaze drifts to the top field where Dav is still working. Every field needs clearing, but he always comes back to this one. The same corner. The same copse of trees.

Why?

I don’t know that either, but I’ll find out.

Aras finishes the pot of berries Oscar said he could eat before they go home.

I lift him down from Edna and carry him back to the yard on my shoulders.

Oscar turns the gas off and watches us approach with an expression I can’t entirely read.

Chickens mill around his feet.

I take Aras to the sink and wash his sticky hands before I set him down among them.

Oscar watches that too, still quiet and thoughtful as he hands me the plate of fish and greens he’s cooked me while I’ve been with Aras. And I don’t mind. Truth is, I’m in my head now too. Not about him being here—that part is simple. I like him being here, moving around the farm as if he was always meant to. I love the way his face softens around his son.

Those things make sense.

As much sense as wanting Oscar naked again. His hot skin beneath my palms and deep groans humming through my bones. His mouth wrapped around my dick in a blowjob that shattered me into a thousand pieces.

What doesn’t make sense is waking up beside him. Feeling his presence before I open my eyes. Craving the warmth of him long before it’s time to go to bed alone.

Which is ridiculous.

Probably.

All I know for certain is I don’t enjoy the sensation deep in my belly as Oscar gathers Aras and they leave for the night.

They come back two nights later. This time, Aras lets me start the tractor engine and sits on my lap while he eats his berries. And after, he’s brought me a present—a bee hotel he’s made at school.

I turn it over in my hands, inspecting it with appropriate gravity while he bounces on his feet.