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It’s got away from me. By the time I’m done loading potatoes, herbs, and salad crops onto my truck, I’m glad my dad is here. And not just because he’s forgotten more about nurturing food from the earth than I’ll ever know.

I love my dad.

I’m lucky to have him.

We drive to Porth Ewan together. Offload more produce than I expect, but it still leaves enough that I’ll have to eat a lot of greens in the next twenty-four hours or give my compost heap a treat.

“Seth can’t use it at the food bank?”

I shake my head to Iggy’s question as we turn onto the road that leads to the farm. “Maybe if we had potatoes to spare. There’s not much call for basil and mizuna in welfare parcels.”

My dad doesn’t like that. He wants every family to eat from their own garden, but he’s built for a different world to the one we live in, and I have to pacify him with plans to plant extra rows of carrots and onions for the community food projects the Rebel Kings run in their home town. Familiar crops that stretch and store well.

He goes into one about watering schedules.

It’s hard to keep up and drive at the same time. Too hard to put much effort into trying, so I let my thoughts drift instead, to Oscar, naturally. But it’s less deep than the introspection I fell into in the shower. I picture him sprawled on his big sofa, in his tidy and jasmine-scented house, his tattooed body shiny with sweat and arousal, curious bliss in his warm eyes. I remember every hum of pleasure I felt shudder through him more clearly than my own and it’s a nice place to be for the six seconds it takes my dad to notice I’m not paying attention.

He lays a hand on my arm.

I snap my gaze to him and he points at the turning opposite the main vehicle entrance to the farm.

At first I only register grey.

Then my pulse skips as the car takes shape and for one strange heartbeat I’m back in the lay-by farther down the road, jumping the ditch while Oscar frowns at his phone, cold certainty something is wrong gripping my gut.

But it passes fast, because there’s nothing wrong with what I see as my mind clears. Nothing at all.

The car sits in the sunshine, windows down, boot open. Oscar leans against the door, forearm resting on the roof, one hand raised in a wave, and god, he looks good. Hot and healthy, with the kind of smile warming his face that makes me forget how roads work.

I pull up beside him and notice the small figure sitting on the car bonnet, legs swinging, little feet leaving scuffs on the grey paintwork. His dark head is bent over something, but he hears us coming and looks up, curiosity far more timid than his father’s lighting his eyes. “Hello, Aras.”

Those bright eyes widen. He waves and Oscar crouches to murmur something to him, probably reminding him who I am. That he’s seen me before. With Ivy and blueberry cakes.

Recognition lands. Aras gives me a shy smile and words leave his lips, but they’re too small for me to interpret, so I offer him the strawberry punnet from the dashboard instead. “It’s our last one. Would you like to take them home?”

“Yes!”

Oscar nudges him. “Yes what?”

“Please. Thank you. Can I eat them now?”

“Some.” Oscar inspects the punnet. “Eat six without getting juice on your clothes.”

Challenge accepted, Aras hops down from the bonnet and takes his prize to the back seat of Oscar’s car.

Oscar waits for him to settle before he turns back to me and seems to notice my dad for the first time. “Hello, Iggy.”

Of course. They’ve met before too. And it shouldn’t feel weird, but alongside the images Oscar seared into my brain a few nights ago, it does. I’ve never brought anyone home. My parents have never met anyone I’ve hooked up with—a habit I picked up from my siblings. One day we’ll tell Seth he’s the first love interest anyone’s ever brought to Moondust Farm, but that has to happen after this. After Oscar and my dad falling into chitchat about the weather as if they’ve known each other their whole damn lives.

I lose another conversation. Iggy can’t see my face. But Oscar can and he notices. He drops a warm hand on my arm, the bracelets I gave him still looped around his inked wrist, and moves closer to the car.

I’m still wearing his bracelet too.

He brushes the ocean-blue thread with his thumb and holds my gaze. “Sol and I have a pop-up at the Joker tonight. I can take your excess with me and sell it, if you like?”

“Really?”

“Yes, I mean, there is no guarantee we’ll shift it all, but Sol can sell the salt back to the sea when his mood is right, and he has been very happy lately.”