Archive of Our Own

“I’ll see you later.” 

Those simple words had etched themselves on Yasha’s soul as deeply as they had carved their names in the orange tree. Most nights, when sleep wouldn’t come in the hot nights of summer, she thought of that very first day at the vineyard. 

Had it truly only been three months? 

It was a beautiful summer’s day when Yasha arrived at the Lionett Vineyard, armed with her typewriter and a sunburn already creeping its way up her neck. Her agent had suggested she go on a retreat, some place sunny: it might help with her complete inability to put words to paper. The vineyard was beautiful: long rows of grapevines growing from the red fertile earth, the plump purple grapes soaking up every last bit of sunshine they could before harvest. Workers toiled in between the ranks, sweat making their linen shirts stick to their back and large straw hats protecting their heads from the sun. 

“Welcome!” A booming voice captured her attention from where she observed the going ons. A well dressed man in a linen suit came up to her, his arms spread wide and a grin plastered on his face. “You must be miss Nerodin!”

“Nydoorin,” Yasha corrected, the name still tasting like sweet nectar on her lips as if it was the first day she had taken it as her own. “Just Yasha,” she added as an afterthought- perhaps she would keep her last name to herself here. The man hardly seemed to notice. 

“My name is Thoreau Lionett, I am the owner of this vineyard,” he introduced himself, “Come, come, let’s get out of this bristling heat before it turns us all to ash. My daughter will get your luggage for you- Beauregard! Where is that girl?” 

Yasha was about to say she could carry her own, when with a spray of dirt and gravel, a bicycle came to a sudden halt behind her. 

“Who the fuck are- oh, hey dad,” a voice said, tone shifting from an aggressive accusation to a reluctant acknowledgement.

“Beauregard,” Thoreau said, in a strikingly similar tone, “This is our guest, miss Nydoorin.” 

“Yasha,” she corrected, barely able to get the word out as she couldn’t help but stare at Thoreau’s daughter. Her skin shone with sweat, her toned arms on display with just the hint of a tattoo peeking out from where her tank top so rudely hid her shoulders. Her long hair, tied up in a bun, stuck to her forehead, messy from the helmet she had just taken off. A jade earring caught the glimpse of the sun, a beautiful contrast with her deep blue eyes, with which she winked at Yasha.

“Sup,” Beauregard said, dismounting the bike fully and tying the helmet to the handlebars. She unceremoniously parked the bike in the hedge and took a burlap sack from the box on the back. She made a move to simply walk past them, but Thoreau stopped her by simply placing his hand on her shoulder. Beauregard tensed, and Yasha frowned. 

“What’s in the sack?” he asked, as Beauregard shrugged his hand off.

“None of your business,” she said, glaring at him as if daring him to make a scene in front of their new guest. For a moment, Thoreau’s jaw tensed but then he visibly forced himself to calm down. 

“Very well,” he said, voice much colder than how he had greeted Yasha. “Take our guest to her room, please, Beauregard. Your mother and I are expecting you at dinner.” 

Yasha decided there and then she didn’t like Thoreau very much. Neither did Beauregard, apparently, since she flipped off his retreating back. 

“It’s good to meet you, Beauregard,” Yasha said, remembering her manners after realising she’d done nothing but gawk at her host's daughter yet. 

“Just Beau,” Beauregard corrected, “Only my parents call me Beauregard. Come on.” She hoisted the burlap sack higher up her shoulders, and motioned for Yasha to follow her. She led her around the house, through a smaller door leading directly to the servant’s hall and a kitchen. Yasha sighed in relief at the temperature indoors, much to Beau’s amusement. 

“You northerners are never prepared for the sun,” she said as she dumped the burlap sack on the kitchen counter, “Here, catch.” She reached into the burlap sack, and tossed a perfectly ripened orange at her. 

“Oh- thank you,” Yasha said, unsure what to do with the citrus. 

Beau expertly peeled back the rind, and took a direct bite from the fruit. Some juice dribbled down her chin. 

I could lick that, her brain unhelpfully supplied, and Yasha actively buried that thought. Instead, she copied Beau, carefully peeled the orange and took a bite. Her eyes widened at the tangy but sweet and full flavour of the fruit. 

"This is good," she said, and Beau grinned proudly.

"Right? Now, come on, before my old man finds us here and gets on my ass about dallying." 

She brought her upstairs through first a narrow staircase used by the servants, then a hidden door into the main hall, and then up two more flights of stairs until they reached the attic. Compared to the rest of the house, it wasn't anything lavish. Beau showed her the small bathroom with a tub, a toilet, and a basin, hidden behind a simple door. In the main room stood an iron frame bed, covered with a pale orange bedspread and a green fleece blanket. Two side tables kept the bed company, a set of lamps hooded with floral lampshades placed on them. A wardrobe stood next to the door, but Yasha's attention was immediately drawn to a small desk pushed up against the window, which was clearly a newer addition to the house. It held a spectacular view of the sun drenched vineyard, its green ranks stretching out as far as Yasha could see. In the distance she could vaguely make out more reddish land, with blotches of green here and there, which Beau told her were the other estates. 

Yasha placed her bag on the bed, and moved over to push the window open. 

"Oh- I'd be careful with that," Beau said, "Cause of the mosquitos. There's a net in the wardrobe, as well as a fan. Can get hot in here at night." 

"It's perfect," Yasha assured her, turning back from the view to Beau. She couldn't recall the last time she had felt like this- an odd sort of content, anticipation and excitement at the prospect of writing at this window, looking out over the vineyard, where maybe she could catch a glimpse of Beau- 

She cleared her throat, and quickly busied herself with opening her duffle bag. 

"I'll see you later," Beau said, and had Yasha had the courage to make eye contact she would have seen the slight flush to Beau's cheeks. 

The next morning, Yasha was woken early by the birds living underneath the roof. She didn't mind their chirping and skittering around, and so she peeled the sheets off of her and stretched out. Beau hadn't been kidding about the mosquitos, she thought as she absentmindedly scratched at a bite on her thigh. 

She curled her toes up in the simple woven rug, revelling in the rough texture, before she pulled open the curtains. The early morning sun, just rising over the horizon, greeted her with soft and warm rays, and Yasha privately wondered why she had never ventured south before. This seemed like paradise to her. 

Zuala would have loved it. 

“Good morning,” she whispered to the sun. She allowed herself a few more moments basking in the warmth before deciding to start with her routine. A shower, breakfast, and then she would write. 

Eleven a.m. found her at the desk, looking out over the workers toiling in the vineyard. A pitcher of fresh lemonade stood next to her typewriter. Yasha poured herself another glass, and sighed deeply at the blank paper. She took a long sip, and scratched out an idea she had in her notebook. Apparently the sun did not magically fix her inability to write anything down. Resting her head in one hand, she looked back out again and nearly choked on the lemonade. Beau was in the vineyard, wearing nothing but a sports bra, tight shorts, and running shoes. She had a towel slung over her shoulders and took a long swig from a water bottle as she made her way from the entry gate towards the house. Yasha didn’t hide her staring from this distance. Beau was ripped, and Yasha marvelled at how so many muscles fit in such a small frame. She greeted some of the workers, before disappearing from view. Yasha couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, and secretly hoped Beau would come back out. She turned her eyes back to her typewriter and cracked her knuckles. Right, she had a book to write. 

An hour later, a knock on the door startled her from her semi-successful writing session. She quickly turned around to find Beau leaning against the doorframe, now dressed in comfortable linen pants and a blue crop top. 

“Sup,” Beau said. 

“Hey,” Yasha replied. “Uh- come in?” Beau didn’t hesitate and kicked off her sandals before she flopped down on Yasha’s bed. 

“What are you doing?” Beau asked, seemingly bored. 

“I’m writing,” Yasha said, motioning to her typewriter. “I’m supposed to write another book before autumn.” 

“Another one? What do you write about?” Beau asked, leaning upwards on her elbows. She suddenly seemed more interested, and Yasha flushed a little bit under her attention.

“Oh, uh, I- not much, but I’ve written a collection of short stories,” she said with a small shrug. “I don’t know if you know it, it was about this girl who wanders the world, looking for flowers.” Beau’s face lit up like that of a child on their birthday. 

“No way! You wrote Adventitious ? My friend Caleb loved that book, it definitely made him weep although he won’t admit it.” 

Ah. She did know the book. Yasha shrugged, unsure what to do with what she thought was a compliment. 

“I’m supposed to write a second collection, but I’ve… Nothing’s coming to mind,” she said, glaring at the half of a paragraph on the paper which in her opinion was already in danger of being scrapped. 

“Good thing you came here,” Beau said, “I could be your muse. Or at least, I can show you some things.” Yasha’s head snapped back to Beau at those words, her eyes wide as she stared before blinking once, twice, and stumbling through an apology at the same time that Beau realised the implication of her words. 

“Oh- uh, I don’t- You’re- This place is beautiful but-” 

“Shit- no, I didn’t mean- not unless you wanted to, but I- fuck. I just meant, we’ve got this greenhouse in the back that my mom grows flowers in?” Beau scratched the back of her head, and Yasha could feel her heart skip a beat. 

“I’d love that,” she said, “Let me just- hold on.” She opened the drawer of the desk, and took out the journal in which she kept Zuala’s flowers. She carefully put it in a simple canvas bag and slipped on her shoes. Beau waited for her to be ready before she got to her feet and slipped her sandals back on. 

“Don’t forget sunscreen,” Beau told her, and Yasha quickly grabbed the bottle from the shelf near the door. She had already put some on earlier, unaccustomed to the sun as she was, even when she was sitting indoors. Beau raced down the stairs with the precision of someone who had lived in a house their entire life, skipping over certain steps as if they would curse her. Or perhaps they were just creaky, but Yasha found herself copying Beau just in case. 

“It’s this way,” Beau said, leading Yasha to a different entrance at the back of the house and through a functional but lifeless garden. It was a startling contrast to the flourishing and green vineyard sprawling out in front of the house. Beau jumped over a dried up stream, and held out her hand for Yasha to hold onto as she stepped over the ditch. Yasha gave Beau’s hand a small squeeze in thanks, which Beau acknowledged with a wink and then a grimace. 

“There we are.” Beau motioned to an old but well loved greenhouse. Some of the panes were boarded up, having succumbed to a storm or perhaps just old age. Beau opened the door, stepping in. “My mom grows flowers here, as well as tomatoes and shit,” she said, “I like to come in here and nick some basil. Plus my dad literally never comes here, so it’s a good spot to hide.” 

Yasha, who had been enchanted by the sight of colourful flowers and plants reaching for the light and the smell of fresh herbs and flourishing flowers, frowned at that. 

“Why do you hide from your father?” she asked, leaning over to sniff at an odd blue flower to give Beau some space. It smelled a little odd, and Yasha pulled a face. 

“Him and I don’t really get along,” Beau said, her voice tense in a way Yasha hadn’t heard before. “He wants me to go to this boarding school after the summer, but I don’t wanna. I can help here, with the business, but I’m not the perfect son he wanted, so he’s getting rid of me.” 

“That’s shitty,” Yasha said, turning away from the flower to rest a hand on Beau’s shoulder. The other woman immediately shrugged the hand off and aggressively stuffed a basil leaf in her mouth. 

“He’s shitty,” Beau said, “But I’m not going, so. They’ll have to drag me away from here. Anyway, wanna see a geyser up close?” 

Over the next few weeks or so, the pair of them fell into a routine. Every morning, Yasha would sit at her window and watch Beau return to the vineyard after her morning runs while she pretended to write. Then, Beau would come get her and they would spend time together on the estate or in the village. Beau showed her every nook and cranny, all her secret places. They grew closer together in those warm summer days. They shared oranges and lemonade in the greenhouse, took shelter from a sudden burst of rain on their way back from an errand in the  village. Yasha taught Beau how to catch a locust with her bare hands and grinned widely when Beau took a bite of it without blinking when Yasha said they were very tasty. Beau told her about her family’s desire for a son and how they got her instead, and Yasha told her about Zuala. Beau laughed at Yasha and gave her an old straw sunhat when Yasha forgot her cap and nearly suffered a heatstroke, and Yasha wrote it all down at night. 

Yasha was at the vineyard for two months and had written exactly half a chapter of her short story and five pages about Beau, when Beau once more knocked on her door. Yasha had grown to expect it, and turned around with a smile. Her smile faded when she saw the expression on Beau’s face, spelling out thunder. 

“I need to get out of here,” was all Beau said, and Yasha immediately picked up the canvas bag she barely bothered to unpack at this point. 

“Lead the way,” Yasha said, and followed Beau outside. They took the bicycles this time, as well as a small basket with some food. Beau was also carrying a blanket and a fancy looking bottle of wine, which she had undoubtedly taken from her parents’ private wine cellar. They cycled through the hilly countryside, past flourishing estates and smaller farms, past rockslides and pockmarks in the earth that smelled of sulphur. Beau was a fast cyclist, and Yasha struggled to keep up a little, especially when Beau didn’t take the left turn to head into town but veered right instead. 

“We’re nearly there!” Beau shouted over her shoulder. She stood up on her pedals to tackle a hill, and if Yasha snuck a peek, well, nobody needed to know. She cycled up after Beau, significantly slower. Panting slightly, she found Beau waiting for her on top of the hill. Beau handed her her water bottle, and Yasha thankfully gulped it down. 

“Race you down,” Beau said with a grin when Yasha handed the bottle back, and before Yasha could do anything, she was already off. 

“Hey!” Yasha called after her with a laugh, and quickly got back on her bike to race her down. Beau cackled loudly, spreading out her arms and legs as if flying through the air. Her bike swivelled, threatening to topple over at great speed, but Beau quickly got her hands and feet back on the steer and pedals and managed to regain control. Once her heart had settled from that near heart attack, Yasha laughed along with Beau’s excited cheers. She held onto the straw hat as she raced down after Beau, the wind combing through her hair and sending the skirt of her dress flapping after her. 

Beau let her bike slow down after the hill, waiting for Yasha to catch up. The last part of their journey was calmer, no more hills. Instead, Beau steered them to a dirt path off the main road. She threw the bike against a barren hedge, not bothering to lock it. 

“We’re almost there,” she said, wiping some sweat away from her forehead. They walked down the unpaved path that eventually disappeared into a barren grassland, until they reached a short, stone wall. Beau grinned at Yasha, rubbed her hands together, and vaulted over the wall with ease. Yasha glanced at the crooked sign attached to the wall, stating to Keep out! Private property! 

“Should we be here?” she asked, but handed Beau over the picnic basket. 

“Probably not,” Beau shrugged, “Are you coming?” 

Yasha placed her hands on the top of the wall and hauled herself up. She climbed over with only a little difficulty which she blamed on her dress. She dropped down the short distance to the other side, and grinned at Beau. 

“Of course I’m coming,” she said, “Where are we, though?” Beau raised a finger to her lip and winked. 

“I’ll show you,” Beau said, and after a moment of deliberation, reached out to take Yasha’s hand. She tugged her along, unaware of the turmoil that simple gesture had caused within Yasha. It was as if the sun had migrated to her soul, igniting every single emotion at once and its beams reaching out through her pores, her eyes, her ears, her mouth. Her fingers were tingling, Beau’s touch burning in all the good ways as she let herself be dragged through what she soon realised was a grove. The trees here were strong and healthy, branches heavy with ripe and plump oranges. 

“There, what do you think?” Beau asked once they reached the centre of the orchard. She spread her arms out as if presenting Yasha with the centre of the universe, and Yasha suspected that for Beau, it was. 

“It’s beautiful,” Yasha said, putting the picnic basket down when Beau spread out the blanket she brought. “Do you come here often?” Beau snorted.

“That’s a terrible pickup line,” she teased, “But yeah, I do. Don’t usually stay for a picnic, just grab some oranges to sell in town and for our chef to use in cakes and shit.” She reached up to a branch above them, and easily plucked off an orange. She sat down next to Yasha, who was on her knees, unpacking the picnic they brought. It wasn’t anything too complicated: some bread, cheese, a few sweet treats, and the bottle of wine Beau had brought. Beau peeled the orange, and tore it in half. Its juices dripped down her fingers as she held one half out to Yasha. Yasha accepted it, their fingers touching for just a moment. Even that simple touch sent electricity down Yasha’s spine, and she shivered despite the ever present sun shining down on them. 

“Does the owner know?” Yasha asked, carefully tearing off a slice of the orange before popping it in her mouth. 

“He usually chases me off, so yeah,” Beau said, “Hasn’t caught me yet, or ratted me out with my dad.” She broke off a bit of the bread, and offered it to Yasha. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, sharing the food and listening to the rustling leaves and singing birds. In the distance, a tractor drove by.

“Why this place, though?” Yasha asked, lying back on the blanket. She closed her eyes for a moment, basking in the sunlight as if she were a cat. She felt Beau shift next to her, and when she opened her eyes she found Beau’s face closer to hers than she anticipated. 

“Dunno,” Beau replied. “Tori took me here first. That’s- She’s my ex, I guess. Dunno. Things got weird after we got busted trying to steal some guy’s secret to his wine barrels. My dad bailed me out, but not her. Guess I kept coming back here for nostalgia at first, and the thrill of stealing someone’s fruit after that, but honestly? I feel more like myself here, in this orange grove, than I do at home between the grapevines. Which is dumb, because I’m meant to take over the business. But dad- he has these expectations of how I should do it, you know?” She groaned in frustration, and rolled to her back to stare up at the oranges above them.

“I want to do it my way, Yasha,” she said after a moment of silence. “I want to grow the business, travel, expand our product, but dad refuses to listen. Says only grapes will grow, and everything else from Kamordah is doomed to rot. I know he means me with that.” 

“You’re not rotten,” Yasha said, abandoning what remained of her half of the orange in favour of intertwining her fingers with Beau’s. “I think you’re incredible.” Beau turned her head back at her again, an odd look Yasha couldn’t decipher in her eyes. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she softly said, her fingers curling around Yasha’s in a tight grip. She scooted closer to Yasha, and Yasha’s heart forgot to beat for a second. It would be easy to kiss her, and Yasha truly wanted nothing more. Her gaze flitted down to Beau’s lips, which were parted ever so slightly. She leaned in, their noses nearly touching. Yasha’s eyes fluttered close and she could feel Beau’s breath on her face. Her heart was racing, thumping loudly in her throat as if intending to break free and fly away. She let go of Beau’s hand in favour of bringing it up to her face, and she was going to do it- 

“Lionett! That better not be you! Get the fuck out of my grove!” 

Beau sprung to her feet as if she had been hit by lightning. She quickly stuffed the remainders of their meal back into the basket. Yasha startled, following her lead. Footsteps were nearing closer, accompanied by the bark of a dog. 

“Run, run!” Beau urged, shoving the blanket into Yasha’s arms, and then she took off. Yasha looked over her shoulder, but couldn’t catch a glimpse of the person chasing them. She gave up when she heard the dog bark again, closer this time, and took off running after Beau, who was already closing in on the wall. Beau threw the basket over, and squatted. 

“Come on, I’ll boost you,” she called out to Yasha, who didn’t have much time to consider if Beau would actually be able to boost her bulk up. Surprisingly, it did help, and she scrambled over the wall again. She landed on her ass on the other side, Beau soon joining her much more gracefully. For a second, they grinned at each other as if they had just completed the greatest heist in history- but then the farmer shouted an insult at Beau’s address again, and they bolted off again to the bicycles, laughing all the while. 

They made it back in one piece, although significantly slower than on the way there. They cycled next to each other, each stealing glances at the other when they thought nobody would notice. 

“I.. I should go write,” Yasha said, once they stood in the entry hall of the mansion again. 

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” Beau agreed, rubbing her arm with her left hand. “I uh, I had fun today, though.” 

“Me too, yeah.” Yasha nodded, unsure what to do after that moment lying in the grass. Beau glanced around, and then made the decision for her. She stood on her toes, and very quickly stole a peck from Yasha’s lips. 

“I’ll see you later?” Beau asked after pulling back. Yasha could only nod, her capability for speech having vacated the building. Beau flashed her a thumbs up, and then sprinted upstairs. Yasha only snapped out of her daze when she heard the door to Beau’s room slam shut. Huh. That had happened. She clutched her hands against her chest for a moment, the warm smile Beau put on her face with that kiss never having left. 

One week later, the temperature was starting to cool. The grapes grew heavier as they ripened, and those cool late summer nights were soon becoming Yasha’s favourite. Often, she found herself sitting at the window, writing whatever came to mind. Ever since Beau kissed her, ever since the orange grove, the words flowed easier. She knew it wasn’t fair to put it entirely on Beau, but Adventitious was for Zuala. Perhaps this one would be about Beau. 

After that kiss, Beau spent even more time at Yasha’s side. They went on Beau’s morning runs together now, after which Beau would lounge in Yasha’s bed while Yasha wrote and Beau read her books when she wasn’t expected to work on the accounts of the vineyard. There was a festival, which Yasha found delightful and Beau rolled her eyes at, but they kissed again under the fireworks and it made Yasha’s heart soar. Her time at the estate was almost up, but Yasha refused to think about that just yet. Instead, she and Beau helped with the harvesting of the grapes, plucking them from their vines and tossing them into large woven baskets. 

It was after one of those days of harvesting the grapes when Beau knocked on Yasha’s door. Yasha took one look at her and understood. She grabbed her bag, turned off the lights, and wordlessly followed Beau. They rode their bikes out through the silent night, disturbed only by the occasional cricket chirp or the hissing of a geyser. Beau brought them all the way up an odd hill, which Yasha didn’t realise was an ancient vulcano until they reached the very top. A beautiful, pristine lake spread out in the crater in front of them. The moons above them reflected clearly in the water, and for the millionth time in barely three months time, Yasha felt her breath catch in her throat. This turned into a cough when she spotted Beau, already topless, and in the process of taking off her pants as well. 

“What are you doing?” Yasha asked, her voice too loud for the night. 

“Going for a swim,” Beau said, “Feel free to join.” Yasha watched as Beau kicked her pants and underwear from her feet and ran into the water, naked as the day she was born. Beau let out a whoop as she cannon balled into the water, followed by a loud curse. 

“That’s fucking cold!” she shouted at Yasha, who still stood there, frozen. It wasn’t until Beau shouted her name again that she startled into action, and quickly undressed. She entered the water more carefully, sliding in at the side and swimming over to where Beau was waiting with strong strokes. Beau welcomed her with a playful splash, and ducked under water before Yasha could retaliate. She could be stealthy when she wanted to, which left Yasha at an utter loss where exactly Beau had gone, until she felt something roughly Beau sized launch herself at her back. The collision caught her off guard and pushed her underwater for a moment. When she reemerged, Beau was laughing.

“Oh, I see,” Yasha said, and spat out some water. She grinned at Beau, the only warning she got, before she swam up to her. Feigning wanting to steal a kiss, she rested her hands on Beau’s waist. Beau easily took the bait, already tilting her head up in anticipation, when Yasha simply lifted her up, out of the water, and tossed her a few feet backwards. Beau flew through the air with a yelp, hitting the water with limbs flailing ungracefully. She reemerged coughing, but the glint in her eyes told Yasha she was alright. 

“You’re on,” Beau grinned. She took a deep breath, and ducked back under the water towards where Yasha was treading water to pull her under by her legs. They playfully wrestled like that for a while, their laughter illuminating the night. For a while, they just floated in the lake, simply existing in each other's presence, until Beau’s stomach rumbled loudly. Back on the shore, Beau threw Yasha a large towel to dry off with. They were both shivering, so when Beau pulled out a large blanket, Yasha could kiss her- and she did. The proximity of Beau next to her was electrifying, and this felt more intimate than any of the kisses they had shared before. Curled up together under the blanket, bodies pressed close, Yasha felt the happiest she had been in a long time. She whispered this to Beau, who replied with a deep kiss and wandering hands. 

Afterwards, Yasha encircled her arms around Beau to keep her close. She dropped a kiss to the other woman’s head where it rested on her chest. She looked up to Catha above them, and for a moment she closed her eyes and made a wish. She wished she could stay here forever, with Beau by her side. She wished this night would never end, despite knowing that it would. Inevitably, she would have to return home, to the dreary north, to meetings with her publisher and agent and to book signings she felt wildly uncomfortable at. 

“Stop thinking,” Beau mumbled, curling up a little closer to Yasha. 

“Sorry,” Yasha softly said, running her hand over Beau’s spine. It made her shiver, and Yasha just loved how responsive Beau was to her touch. She loved a lot of things about Beau, which was a terrifying thought, although perhaps not as much as before. 

“‘s okay,” Beau yawned, angling her face up to look at Yasha. Yasha couldn’t resist a soft kiss, which for some reason made Beau frown. 

“Is something wrong?” she asked, suddenly on high alert. Yasha did not like the edge of insecurity she detected in Beau’s voice, and made sure to hold her even closer still. 

“No- nothing’s wrong,” she assured her, “I was- I was thinking about next week.” Beau deflated in her arms. 

“You’re leaving next week,” Beau softly said. “I almost forgot. What will you do?” Yasha sighed, turning her eyes back up to the moons. 

“I don’t know. Go to meetings, try to finish my book.” 

“You don’t sound too excited about that.” 

“I… I’m not,” Yasha admitted, and the words hit her like a punch to the gut. 

“I wish you would stay,” Beau softly said, tracing patterns on Yasha’s bare skin. 

“I can’t,” Yasha said, taking a deep shuddering breath. “They expect me back home. And you’re leaving, too.” 

Beau groaned, her fingers balling up into a fist. “Don’t remind me,” she said harshly. The arguments between her and her father had been loud and tense in the past week, and Yasha knew Beau could not prevent being sent to the boarding school, no matter how much she resisted it. Neither of them had the power to resist it. 

“What if we just run away together,” Yasha suggested, only semi-joking. “You and me, travelling the world. Running away from your father and my agent.” 

“Where would we go?” Beau asked, almost breathless. Yasha thought for a moment. 

“Anywhere we wanted to,” she said, “We could go to an uninhabited island, or to Marquet. Wherever the sun shines.” 

“I like the sound of that.” Beau pressed a soft kiss to Yasha’s throat, and joined her in gazing up at the night sky.

Their planned escape remained a fantasy too good to be true. Standing on the train platform, she wished she had made it true. It was ten minutes until her train was scheduled to arrive, and Yasha wanted nothing more than to slow time down. 

“So, um, this is it, I guess,” Beau said. She stood in front of Yasha, her arms crossed and gaze averted. Yasha put her satchell down, taking Beau’s hands in hers. 

“For now,” she promised. “Beau- look at me.” Reluctantly, Beau did, and Yasha forced a smile. “I’ll come back next year. Or I’ll come to visit you then, if you’re not here.” Beau retracted one of her hands to angrily wipe at her eye. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” she said, and what could Yasha do but lean down and kiss her? 

“I’ll write,” Yasha said, and it felt as if she was making a vow. “I.. I love you, Beau.” 

Beau took in a shuddering breath at those words, and threw her arms around Yasha. She pulled her closely, and now it was Yasha’s turn to clench her eyes shut in an attempt to keep any tears from spilling. 

“I love you too,” Beau whispered in her ear, just as the train pulled into the station. People rushed to the edge of the platform, eager to get in and secure a window seat for the long journey back up to Zadash. Beau pulled back and sniffed. 

“Here, I got you this,” she said, pulling out a small parcel. It was wrapped in brown paper. “It’s nothing big, I just. Don’t forget me?” 

“I could never,” Yasha promised. She carefully put the parcel in the pocket of her coat. She rummaged through her canvas tote bag for a moment, and pulled out a thick envelope. “These are for you,” she said, “I um- I wrote these for you. Don’t read them until I’m gone, but it’s… I hope you like them. And thank you.” Beau took the envelope as if it was a holy relic, opening her mouth to say something when the conductor blew their whistle. 

“I should go,” Yasha said. Beau just nodded. She leaned up to press one last kiss to Yasha’s lips. 

“I’ll see you later,” Beau said, the words containing a promise and a desperate request at the same time. Yasha smiled. 

“Later,” she agreed. 

As the train pulled out of the station, Yasha watched with a laugh as Beau ran along the platform for as long as she could, waving. She raised a hand to return the wave, until she could no longer see the station or Beau. She wiped at her nose and eyes with her sleeve, ignoring the elderly couple looking at her with something of pity on their faces. She took out the parcel from her pocket, carefully unfolding its edges to reveal a perfect round orange, ripe and luscious. A small note was attached to it, written in Beau’s loopy handwriting. It simply read “ thanks ”, but for Yasha, it held more meaning than anything she had ever read before. 

One year later

Yasha wiped the sweat off her brow, and took a step back to look at her garden. After a month of hard work, it was starting to take shape. She placed her shovel against a nearby fence, and smiled at the orange tree she had just planted. It was the final piece of her extensive yard renovations, and she hoped it would grow and thrive in its position. 

After her time at the Lionett vineyard, Yasha moved back to Zadash. She published her book, which was reasonably successful although not as much of a hit as her first. She was fine with that. She found a small job on the side as a security guard for a theatre, and saved up everything she could with one goal in mind. 

Every morning when she woke up and looked out of the window of her studio flat at the dreary streets of the city, she instead imagined the humid hot air and the sight of sprawling orchards. She missed the sunshine and the warmth, but mostly she missed Beau. Beau had made her feel like she belonged, like it was right that she was there, and Yasha wished she could move back. And so, when she had saved up enough, she did. Not to Kamordah, but to a different village in the south that was a little less volcanic but beautiful and closer to the coast. She found a simple house that had seen better days, with a large garden she immediately had plans for. One of those plans was an orange grove, but for now, this singular tree would have to do. 

She had written to Beau, and Beau to her. Beau’s letters had grown shorter and more angry over time, and then she stopped writing back. Yasha’s letters were returned to her, unopened. One time, a short note from Thoreau was attached to it, asking her to cease writing and that Beau no longer lived with them. She was never told where Beau was now. 

For a while, Yasha tried to push Beau out of her mind. Emphasis on tried, because she was wholly unsuccessful. She found Beau in every word she put on paper. At the market, she unconsciously kept buying oranges and when she wandered into a bookshop, she caught herself wondering which of these books Beau would like the most. 

It felt startlingly like grief. 

Yasha refused to mourn someone she loved again. And so, with some help from her friends at the theatre, she tracked down the boarding school Beau was supposed to be sent to. She didn’t know if Beau was still there, or if she had ever been there at all, but it was her last shot. Yasha wrote one last letter to Beau, telling her she was moving and how she missed her more than anything. How she thought of that summer every single day, how those months had changed her life for good. She included her address, and an invitation for Beau to join her there, for however long she wanted to, if she wanted to. There would always be a space for her, and hopefully an orange grove to greet her. 

There was never a response, and Yasha had cried about it in the privacy of her draughty bedroom. Then, she told herself to move on as best as she could. She planted flowers and hedges and more flowers, and the orange tree to remind her of that summer. 

“You should really wear a hat.” That voice. She knew that voice, had longed to hear that gruff intonation for months and months. Yasha whipped around, her hands involuntarily moving up clasp over her mouth. 

There, standing at the white gate of her garden, stood Beau. She looked a little different now. The sides of her head were shorn, her hair shorter but still tied up in that same messy bun. That scar over her eye hadn’t been there before, and she wore some sort of blue robes now rather than her preferred crop tops, but it was unquestionably Beau. 

“You came,” Yasha brought out, taking a hesitant step closer to Beau, almost afraid she would vanish with the first wind. Beau dropped her bag, and with much less hesitation met Yasha halfway. She threw her arms around Yasha’s neck, and it was so easy to envelop her in her arms again, even after a year. 

“I got your letter, course I came,” Beau said, voice muffled from where her face was pressed up against Yasha’s clavicle. “Figured it was time for later.” 

Yasha pulled back from the embrace but not letting go of Beau. She could hardly believe that she was allowed this luck, to have Beau in her arms once more. It felt unreal, but Beau’s lips against hers proved that it was not a fever dream. 

“Will you stay?” Yasha quietly asked, and when Beau whispered to her she would want nothing more, it was as if the sun shone a little brighter, just for them.