Page 42 of Sweet Rucking Temptation
The morning sun warms my back as I plunge the shovel into the rich earth. Elliott's beside me, his muscles flexing as he digs deeper. We're creating more than just a hole for a tree; we're planting our future.
"What kind of tree did you pick?" I ask, wiping sweat from my brow.
Elliott grins, that boyish charm sparkling in his eyes. "A pohutukawa. Thought we could use a little Kiwi Christmas magic year-round."
I laugh. "You romantic fool. I love it."
As we lower the sapling into place, my mind wanders. "Do you ever think about... you know, having little rugrats of our own running around here someday?"
Elliott pauses, his hands covered in soil. "All the time, actually. I picture a little girl with your curls and my stubbornness."
"Oh no," I groan playfully. "The world's not ready for that combination."
We pat the earth around the tree's base, our hands brushing. The contact sends a familiar tingle through me.
"What about you, Liv?" Elliott asks softly. "Do you see us building a family here?"
I close my eyes, letting the vision wash over me. "I do. A couple of kids, maybe. Teaching them Nonna's secret recipes, watching you coach their first rugby match."
"Speaking of recipes," Elliott says, standing and offering me a hand. "I'm starving. What do you say we raid the pantry and whip up something delicious?"
"You read my mind,amore mio," I reply, my stomach growling in agreement.
Back at the farmhouse, we throw open the windows, letting the breeze carry the scent of fresh herbs from the garden. I twirl around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients while Elliott chops vegetables.
"Remember the first time I tried to make you pasta?" he asks, chuckling.
I snort, nearly dropping the olive oil. "How could I forget? You almost set my kitchen on fire!"
"Hey, I've improved," he protests, brandishing a zucchini like a sword.
"True," I concede, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "You make a mean toast now."
We work in comfortable sync, the kitchen filled with the sizzle of garlic and the gentle thud of the knife on the cutting board. It feels like home, like the future we just planted outside.
As we carry our plates to the porch, I think about how far we've come. From that first awkward meeting in Ponsonby to here, building a life together on his family's land.
"What's going on in that beautiful head of yours?" Elliott asks as we settle into the porch swing.
I take a bite of our creation – a simple but perfect pasta primavera – and smile. "Just thinking how lucky I am. How lucky we are."
Elliott's arm wraps around me, pulling me close. "Luck had nothing to do with it, Liv. We chose this. We're building this, one day at a time."
As we eat, sharing stories and dreams, I know he's right. This happiness, this love – it's ours, planted and nurtured like the little pohutukawa by the house. And I can't wait to see how it grows.
The sun hangs lazy in the afternoon sky as we set out across the farm, our fingers intertwined. Elliott's hand is warm and calloused, a reminder of his dual life as rugby star and farm boy.
We pause at the crest of a small hill, the golden light bathing the fields in a warm glow. The scent of sun-warmed grass and wildflowers fills the air, and I breathe deeply, savoring the simplicity of this moment.
"It's so peaceful here," I murmur, leaning into Elliott's solid frame. "So different from the bustle of Ponsonby."
Elliott nods, his gaze sweeping across the land. "This place... it's in my blood, you know? No matter where rugby takes me, this will always be home."
I watch his face, seeing the quiet pride there. "And now it's becoming my home too," I say softly.
His arm tightens around me. "I love hearing you say that."
We continue our walk, pausing now and then to admire a particularly vibrant wildflower or watch a hawk soaring overhead. As the afternoon wanes, Elliott leads me towards a gentle slope I haven't explored before.
