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“And that should be about it.” Bilbo gave the soil around the delicate plant one more pat before dusting the dirt from his hands. He grinned over at his husband. “And I’ll wager you’ve never been so happy to hear those words in your life.”
“Who knew gardening was so much work?” Bofur pulled off his floppy straw hat (his furred headgear was much too warm for a day like this one), and mopped his face with one of the linen handkerchiefs Bilbo had given him. It had seemed much too fine a thing for soaking up sweat, but it did feel lovely against his skin.
“You’ve gone soft, love—a few barrows of dirt, some bedding plants and a bit of digging, and you’re ready to fall over. What happened to the miner who could hammer away for hours and haul stones that could outweigh two Hobbits?”
“He’s still here, thank you very much. But stones are a lot more forgiving than plants that shatter if you breathe on ‘em wrong. And mines don’t have sun beating down on them. Dwarves aren’t used to that kind of thing.” Bofur looked out over their handiwork. “And it seems, for all the work we did, it really doesn’t look like much, does it?”
“Remember, this garden was neglected for most of a year. It’s going to take time to bring it back. You wait a few weeks. Those purple flowers with the variegated leaves are going to spread out and take up the blank spots, and the torenia will probably have to be thinned out a bit, I think I got them a bit close together. The fairy roses—“
Bloodthirsty little buggers, those,” Bofur murmured with a frown.
“Yes, they do seem to demand a sacrifice, but when they’re in bloom you’ll forget all about that. And the herb garden—you’ll be very happy come autumn when those are harvested for soups and stews. Not to mention the tomatoes and cucumbers.”
Bofur smiled. He’d never thought that much about vegetables before he’d tasted some of Bilbo’s prize tomatoes, and it was love at first bite. And the delicate cucumber sandwiches for tea still made him feel like a great oaf, but there was no denying how much he looked forward to them. “True enough. I suppose I just have to be patient.”
“You’ll see. With enough time, love and care, you’d be amazed what can grow.” Bilbo’s eyes were shining as he held out a hand to pull Bofur to his feet, then frowned at the stifled grunt issuing from the Dwarf. “Back?”
Bofur nodded.
“In the house with you, then—get cleaned up and stretch out for a bit. I’ll take care of things out here and give you a back rub; I’d say you’ve earned it. And how about some fresh sponge cake and brandied peaches for tea?”
“Sure, that sounds grand!” Brown eyes laughed as he leaned in to plant a kiss on soft curls. “You spoil me, love.”
“Yes, I do. And perhaps later, when you’ve recovered a bit, you can spoil me for a while.” The words coupled with the mischievous grin made the implication quite clear, and Bofur felt a blush stain his cheeks. He didn’t think he’d ever quite get used to the openness of Hobbits, but he looked forward to many more years of trying.
“Aye, I believe I can do that.”