Selling Morel’s paintings turned out to be effortless. Each time they set a new one on the stand, it was gone within minutes.

  Grey Rock had shown up for Morel in a way Luke knew Mars never would have. Many spoke of their support for the farm's recovery and their belief in her ability to sell her artwork over the data-net to gather more chits in the long run.

  Initially, Morel did not believe that they genuinely believed her skill was good enough to make a living by selling her works, that was, until the first of many asked her if she would be willing to create a family portrait or decorate one of their rooms with something beautiful.

  Never in all of his life had Luke seen a simple request make someone shine so brightly. Morel was bashful at first, insisting that the locals were just being friendly, but when they pressed the issue and showed her blank walls that could be her canvas, her tone changed.

  Once that happened, Morel was all smiles and eager to learn more about what they needed.

  Just as Luke had done with many of the farmers, Morel had arranged her own appointments and meetings. If Luke ended up remaining at the farm and not roaching his way out of doom, they would be swamped as the harvest inevitably drew closer.

  Luke sat on the beach, waves from passing boats folding gently onto the sand. He’d been waiting nearly half an hour. Morel had insisted he come with her once the last painting was sold. She’d even turned down volleyball with Brukus, Hank, Keyil, and Jose.

  They had wanted to do that, then go hit up some barbecue at the festival, but instead Morel and Luke had walked the hour to this spot. She promised to meet up with them later on that night, assuring that Luke and she would return for the fireworks.

  Before departing, Morel had rushed off to the truck to retrieve a heavy bag she refused to tell Luke the contents of. Even now, he was still unsure of the contents of the parcel she had taken with her into the wood line.

  This little copse at the far side of the lake was her special place, a location she had gone to each summer since she was a little kid.

  While on the walk here, Morel happily told Luke stories about how she and Brukus had come out here with their parents and gone swimming, fishing, or just had a picnic.

  He wondered how much longer Morel would be. The sun was nearly down, and a chill was forming. Montana might get really hot during the day in the summer, but once night fell, the lack of cloud cover allowed all the stored heat to radiate into the atmosphere.

  It was not yet cold enough for Luke to see his breath, but by the time Luna was high in the sky, it would be.

  Luke sighed and leaned back on his elbows, casting his gaze across the lake, watching as a few kids were towed on an inner tube behind a boat. Their squeals of joy echoed across the lake as one of the kids begged the driver to go faster.

  As they took off, Luke's eyes wandered across the far bank, where a deep orange contrasted against the green shrubbery caught his attention. It was a ghost that had been haunting him since his arrival at Grey Rock.

  The little silent observer of nature's majesty.A fox sat motionless at the waterline, watching the festival with the same quiet attentiveness Luke felt in himself. Its green eyes were keen and unyielding.

  In an instant, it locked eyes with Luke. A shiver ran down Luke’s spine, as if the little creature had weighed and measured him. Neither moved for nearly a minute before a sound behind Luke drew his attention.

  After whipping around and releasing a breath Luke did not know he was holding, Morel’s tall horns emerged through the thicket, followed by the rest of her: sunlit, radiant, impossible not to look at.

  Her Daisy Dukes hugged her hips, a little too small to contain the curves beneath. Her tail stuck out of a hole in the rear and waved happily behind her.

  Covering her chest was a bikini that left little to the imagination. The red and pink polka dot top was tied in the front. The knot strained across her cream-colored bust, the heavy weight threatening to give way to an overflow of her luscious chest.

  Morel’s creamy fur gave way to the almond brown that covered the rest of her body, the transition roughly marked by waving dots.

  She leaned forward with the bag, the last light catching in her fur and hair until she seemed almost unreal, warm, golden, and luminous. She almost glowed in the light, looking like an angel.

  “Did I keep you waiting too long, Darling?” Morel asked, running a hand up past her bovine-like ear, pushing back her golden locks.

  As if his voice was caught in his throat, Luke struggled to reply. The mear sight of Morel had his heart doing back flips and his mind running in circles. She was perfect, flawless in every way. Not even the grandest sights on Mars had ever struck him like this.

  “You didn’t,” Luke finally managed to say, after swallowing his spit.

  “Good,” Morel smiled, strutting forward. Exaggerating her hip sway and doing her best to look tantalizing to Luke.

  Morel was aware that Luke had been shy and reserved about becoming more physical and hoped this show might push him over the edge. But in her ignorance of the actual stakes of what Luke had to tell her, revealing so much of her physically to him only made the situation all the more difficult for him.

  Now he had two heads, each screaming its opinion into his consciousness. One was calm and rational; the other, lustful and loving everything he saw.

  She sat beside Luke and, with no hesitation, reached around and pulled the comparatively diminutive man against her plush body. The warmth of her velvet fur somewhat put him at ease. At least it did until she leaned over to kiss the top of his head, virtually bare breasts pressed into his face, the height difference placing him at almost perfect eye level.

  “Thanks for helping me sell all of those paintings today. I never thought they would do so well,” Morel said, after kissing Luke’s head.

  “It’s no problem,” Luke replied, caught in the warmth of her and the familiar almond scent that always undid him.

  She nuzzled into his hair. Her broad, flat nose pressed tight to his head while she squeezed him slightly tighter. “I did bring us something special to celebrate.”

  She reached into her bag and extracted something that Luke had not expected. Neither Luke nor Morel was much into drinking. Sure, they had a beer or two with others, such as when Brukus came over, or when they went to Hanks for dinner, but other than those exceptions, Golden Fields was damn near a dry location.

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  She pulled out a bottle of Captain and two glasses, chilled by a thermal modifier built into them. She pressed one glass into Luke's hand and poured for him. Filling his halfway and then hers.

  Morel might be a large woman, thrice Luke’s weight easily, but that in no way meant she had a hardy constitution. These two glasses could easily have both of them nearly reeling if they drank too fast.

  After both had their drinks in hand, Morel produced a blanket and laid it out over them, allowing them to fight off the evening chill with ease.

  “There, I figured we could watch the fireworks together,” Morel purred, lying back against a pillow she had also produced from the bag.

  “Yeah, I suppose we could,” Luke replied, staying seated beside her.

  He stared into the amber liquid as if it held some instruction manual for what he needed to say. That if he just followed the step-by-step instructions, the pirate captain on the label told him to, everything would work out perfectly fine.

  But that was nothing more than the wishful thinking of a desperate, fearful man. His old life had already burned once. If he confessed to Morel and she rejected him, thought he was a monster, pathetic, or hated him for concealing the truth, Luke did not think he could take it.

  When Jackie had broken him half a year earlier, he had already spent a concerning amount of time with his hand over an airlock switch. If Morel did hate him for the truth, he would not hold back this time. He would press that switch with the same fervor that someone cashing in a winning lottery ticket would.

  At least that would be quick. Luke's blood would boil, lungs and veins would explode, along with every other cell in his body. He would hardly be able to feel it after the first few seconds. Within minutes, all Luke was, and could ever be, would be accepted by the void.

  He would be destined to drift for eternity, never to be found, rejoining the endless cycle of birth and rebirth of stardust within the greater galaxy.

  There was some solace in the thought. Through his death, something, somewhere may benefit from the resources he returned to the swirling nebulae of the Milky Way.

  He pushed the thought away before it could take shape. He wouldn’t let himself go there again. Not while she was beside him. The sick comfort of that old thought lingered, but he forced himself to breathe and stay present

  A gentle hand rested on Luke’s shoulder, as soft as a ghost's heartbeat. Morel ran her thumb across his trap. She was not demanding, not accusing, but opened the floor for him. “Hey, are you alright, Luke? You have seemed distant today?”

  “What do you mean?” Luke asked, sipping at the drink, the burn leveling him out and giving him something else to focus on beyond the writhing demons in his soul.

  “Well, when we were selling the paintings, eating lunch, and well, now. You are just staring off into space.” Morel said, while she ran her hand up and down his back. "Did I do something wrong?"

  He held his head low and sighed. "No, you didn't do anything wrong."

  Luke had hoped he had managed to lie well enough not to have Morel notice. Luke honestly had believed his poker face had been up to the task and had successfully avoided her keen eye. But apparently that was not the case.

  In one swift motion, Luke threw back the rest of his drink, hoping for courage and finding only a burn in his chest. All putting that much liquor into him managed to make his already upset stomach complain more as he coughed.

  “Whoa, whoa. It’s alright, darlin’,” Morel assured, patting his back as he coughed. She then sat back up, sipped her drink, and pulled him closer. Morel then cupped his chin with a tenderness that made his throat tighten, guiding his gaze up to hers.

  “You can talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

  Looking into her steady green eyes, he knew this was the moment. There wouldn’t be another chance like this.

  Morel was something so far separated from the dog and pony show he grew up with; her assurance was as genuine as the earth beneath their feet and the birds fluttering overhead.

  Without any further hesitation, Luke white-knuckled his glass, dug deep, ripped the bandage off, and admitted the truth. He did not go on a long-winded tirade, filled with pomp, circumstance, and attempts at pity for what had happened to him.

  Luke simply laid out all the facts of the string of circumstances that led him to arrive at her door. In explicating direct means, he walked Morel through the river delta of his life. The twists, turns, rapids, and pools. All the good and bad. Warts and all.

  He spoke about his silver-spoon life on Mars, how he and Jackie were supposed to be together, and how their parents did everything to arrange their lives as influential people within the upper crust of Martian society.

  He also didn't sugarcoat that one day, after a long day at school and work, he returned home to find his family doing something that ultimately made him burn every bridge connecting him to the man he used to be.

  The look on Morel's face was pure disgust as Luke recounted in disturbingly vivid detail how Jackie was getting railed by not only his uncle but also his father. He spoke in halting, clinical fragments, as if the memory still scraped raw on its way out.

  He capped off his tale by explaining exactly what happened with Rory earlier in the day. How he threatened him and swore that he was watching him. Morel’s ears flicked sharply as she scanned the tree line, her body tensing. But when Luke explained Rory’s railgun and training, she eased back beside him; not because the threat was gone, but because she refused to leave him alone with it.

  By the time Luke had finished that explanation, he looked toward Morel, waiting for her to respond. His heart pounded in his chest like a hammer on an anvil.

  Silence settled heavy between them, thick enough to feel in the air. All you could hear in that bramble cocoon was their heartbeats and breaths.

  I’m sorry,” Luke said quietly. “I should have told you sooner. After today… I couldn’t keep it inside anymore.

  “Would you have ever told me? If that Rory fella had not come?”

  “I wanted to once the harvest was done,” Luke replied. "I just... You probably hate me now. Right?"

  "I don't hate you darlin'. That's just... A lot to think about," Morel said, before sipping her drink and looking across the water.

  "I... I suppose I'm a bit miffed that you did not tell me. But I see why you did not. That's not exactly something you can bring up in polite conversation." Morel said, not shifting her gaze from the shimmering water.

  The silence resumed. Morel quietly refilled both glasses. Not rushing him. Not running from him. Just… staying, as both sat contemplating all that was affecting their lives now that the truth was out in the open. She was the first to speak after several minutes of silent sips and gentle, reassuring hand-holding.

  So… are you going to run?” Her voice didn’t crack, but her tail had stilled behind her. The unspoken question hung between them: Are you going to leave me?

  Luke paused for a moment, thinking about it. But it was only a moment of hesitation. One that everyone felt when at the precipice of a massive choice. The final heartbeats before taking a leap into the unknown.

  “No,” Luke said softly but firmly. “Running didn’t save me the first time. It won’t save me now. I’m done running.”

  Luke moved and rested his arms over Morel's shoulders. She, without thinking, reached down and lifted him by the hips, allowing the two to face each other despite their size difference.

  “I want to stay,” Luke murmured. “And asking you to abandon everything you’ve built would be wrong.”

  Morel huffed a soft laugh. “Sug’, I’d tan your hide if you asked me to throw away all our work. We aren’t rebuilding Golden Fields while running for our lives.”.

  “I don’t think so either.”

  “Then running’s off the table,” she whispered. “Let the past come knocking—we’ll answer the door together.” She leaned in until her forehead brushed his.

  Luke pressed up and kissed her lovingly. Their kiss began soft and gentle, as their daily morning kisses usually did. But that did not last long. Morel eased him back into the blanket, her golden hair falling around them like drawn curtains.

  The heady scent of almonds, pine, and lavender filled the microscopic gap between them. The world fell away, leaving only them within the vastness of the universe. Rory, Luke's past, Golden Fields, none of it mattered for them at that moment.

  They drifted in a sea of stars as their heads spun. Both understood they needed and yearned for the other more than anything.

  Her womanly curves molded around Luke, and her tongue snaked out. She teased his lips with it; there was no hesitation. The moment she attempted to deepen the kiss, Luke reciprocated, grabbing her horns and pulling her head to him.

  Her kiss deepened, slow but hungry, her tongue curling against his in a way that stole his breath. They moaned as their tongues wrestled against one another, neither wanting to be the one to break away from this moment.

  But eventually Luke needed to breathe and pulled away. He broke away with a gasp, breathless and a little dazed. They paused, foreheads brushing, breaths mingling, both waiting for the other to speak; both knowing what the other wanted. Both had waited, knowing that Luke's admission of his past was the final thing preventing them from crossing this final hurdle.

  “So do you want to continue?” Luke asked, posing the same question she had months ago when they lay atop the work barrels.

  Morel’s smile softened into something warm, certain, overflowing with affection. “Sug’… I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

  She reached for the knot at her chest with slow, deliberate confidence, giving him every chance to pull back if he wished