Year 3, Day 1

Somehow, spring had crept up on us.

I awoke covered in sweat, the heavy comforter and bedsheets twisted about my body. I was alone with the trickling of sunlight slinking its way across me.

Almost a year had passed since our wedding, and I was used to waking up alone despite falling asleep nestled beside my husband every night.

The transition to married life had presented its own highs and lows. As much as we loved each other, it had become clear that we each needed our space.

That first season had been an awkward one, wherein we both had encountered miscues and surprises. Although Sebastian hadn't quit his job, he had taken it upon himself to change his sleeping habits, which had confused me initially. It had taken a few weeks to suss out that he was doing this to help me with small things like making my morning coffee and filling Dog's water bowl. But we had since fallen into a rhythm; every Monday he visited his mom and every Friday night he hung out with his friends. They were also my friends, too, and so sometimes I would join them, but even I needed alone time sometimes.

Which wasn't to say that Sebastian had glued himself to my hip, but I tended to see him several times throughout the day as I came in to drop things into the many chests around the house.

So I took my time this morning preparing something I knew Sebastian liked. I appreciated that he wanted to help me, and perhaps even more, I appreciated that he gave me my space.

By the time I stepped out onto our front porch, the sun had already risen, and I knew that I was running behind in my chores for the day. I pushed down the feelings of panic that tried to surface as I took in Sebastian's calm form. He stood on the porch, hunched over with his elbows resting on the railing. Dressed all in black, he was a shadow missing the resplendent contrast of the pure, pristine snow that had blanketed everything less than 24 hours ago. He seemed caught in his own thoughts, though a faint smile traced his lips.

"Good morning," I said, keeping my voice low so as not to startle him too abruptly.

He turned at the sound of my voice, his smile deepening as his dark gaze fell on me.

Somehow, even after being married for nearly a full year, it still felt like his eyes were depthless pools that I drowned in every time he looked at me. It was my favourite kind of demise.

"Morning," he replied, his eyes sliding to my hands tucked behind my back. "What have you got there?"

With only a small amount of hesitation I presented what I held in my hands. "One of your favourites."

He grinned as he took the plate of sashimi from me and grasped the chopsticks I proffered. "So good. Definitely one of my favourites."

As he ate, I looked out at our farm. Dog was already zipping around, barking happily as he chased things only he could see—sylphs, pixies, junimos; there was something undeniably magical about the start of a new year even if I missed the sanctity of winter.

My eyes strayed out towards the barns and coops. "Wait a minute," I said, then stopped. "Did you repair the fences?"

Beside me, he nodded. I heard him swallow. "I noticed they needed some repairing and thought I could help you out with that."

"Sebastian," I breathed, "that is so sweet of you." I was used to him preparing coffee for me in the mornings or presenting me with his finds from an insomnia-fueled night spent exploring the caves. But this went beyond those little perks that brightened my mornings.

He shrugged as he popped the last piece of sashimi into his mouth. "It's just one of the few ways I can show you my thanks."

I blinked at him. "For?"

He chuckled under his breath. "For marrying me, putting up with me, and moving me out here." He waved a hand out at the land before us. Even from here I could see that the soil was ripe and ready for new growth. "This has been good for me. I feel like I've been coming out of my shell since I've started living here."

"I'm glad," I said, leaning my head on his shoulder. "I am so thankful." I breathed out a quiet sigh. "I was nervous, I admit. Especially since you're not really the farming type. But then," I paused, sucking in a breath, "neither was I. And even now," I shrugged. "Sometimes these things just become us."

He nodded and swiftly bent to put the plate and chopsticks down. "I was nervous, too. But there's something about this lifestyle." He gave a half-shrug. "It allows me so much freedom. I really can't thank you enough," he paused, and I detected that he was struggling with the words. I waited. "It's just," he began, "you didn't give up on me. You didn't give up when you saw how quiet and reserved I am, you didn't give in when you thought I liked Abigail, you didn't give up when I was on the cusp of moving to the city even." He shook his head slightly. "You stuck to your guns."

"Honestly," I began, looking at him through a sideways glance, "if it weren't for you, I don't think I would've stayed out here." I watched him shuffle with a mild discomfort. "No family, no support—I would have given up. Falling asleep beside you every night is as much thanks as I need."

"Well," he straightened with a sigh, "there is something I've been wanting to give you. You don't have to consider it a thank you." He leaned back as he reached into the pocket of his hoodie. "Close your eyes."

Bewildered, I obliged. Something smooth and angular was placed in my outstretched hands, thin and bursting at the same time.

"Open them."

"Oh, what's this?" I studied the strange fruit cradled in my hands. It was a vibrant purple, plump and fleshy with its ripeness. "A starfruit," I breathed. "May I?"

He nodded at my gesture, and I bit into it, its sticky juices dribbling down my chin. As I swallowed this bite down, I felt a warmth and energy flow through me. I was aflame; I was electric.

"Honey," he began, a blush creeping across his cheeks. "I wanted to give you give you that fruit as a symbol of my love."

I reached up with sticky fingers and cradled his chin, aware of every point of friction as I touched him. "Thank you."

"Hey," he began, eyes soft, "I want to show you something." He caught my hand in his and pulled me off the front porch.

There was a quick clip in his step as he led me down the steps and along the stone path.

"What is it?" I asked between bites of the starfruit. All too soon I was left with just the stem and the solitary leaf that hung off it. I hungered for more, but the heady sense of power that had surged through me now spoke with caution. Starfruit was a treat, and for now I had had my fill.

He didn't answer me until I realized where we were. We stood in the northwestern corner of our property, a familiar shrine glinting before us. "I did my morning tour of the farm and noticed something was different."

I let go of his hand as I approached my grandpa's shrine. It looked spectacular as always, somehow able to weather the passing seasons with an immaculate dignity. However, Sebastian was right—something was different.

"The candles," I murmured as I studied them, a reverence filling me. The holders had sat empty for years now, and yet four of them had been lighted. But not a single stream of wax dripped down them. It was as though they had been freshly lit, but if Sebastian had already seen them like this...

"How?" I asked, turning to face my husband.

His brow was creased, his mouth tight-lipped. "I don't know."

"Do you think it was a prank?" I frowned.

He shook his head. "No, I don't think so. The strange thing is that I passed by here twice. The second time is when the candles showed up." His gaze was steady and grounding. "No one else was on the property. I swear."

Drawing in a deep breath, I nodded. Could it be that this was some sort of sign from my grandpa? My grandpa had given so much of himself to this farm. It didn't seem so farfetched that somehow a part of him was still here, lingering, watching over me.

Sebastian took a step forward and grasped my hand, not caring how much juice still slicked my fingers. "What do you make of it?" His voice was low and uncertain.

I swallowed, a muddled mixture of emotion working its way up my throat. "I think it's a sign." I looked at the man who stood beside me, his stance protective of me even now as we faced this threshold between the physical and spiritual. "The shrine is complete. Just like me."

Thank you, grandpa, I thought, thank you for this life you've given me. And Sebastian wrapped me in a tight embrace as the candles flickered merrily before us.