“The Sweetness of Lavender and Honey”

The little cottage sat at the edge of a meadow, hugged by the arms of a whispering forest. Its roof, speckled with moss, seemed to lean affectionately toward the garden that sprawled like a cheerful riot of wildflowers. Inside, warm light spilled through the windows, illuminating a cozy kitchen where Evie and Rowan danced around each other in a ritual as familiar as the rising sun.

Evie, a trans woman with auburn curls that glowed like firelight, hummed softly as she poured fresh cream into a clay bowl. Her apron, embroidered with tiny bees, was already smudged with flour. Rowan, nonbinary and radiant in their own quiet way, leaned against the counter, fingers stained with the juice of freshly picked blackberries. Their chestnut hair was braided loosely, and a sprig of lavender was tucked behind one ear, a gift from Evie earlier that morning.

“You know,” Rowan teased, watching Evie whisk the cream with a fervor that bordered on competitive, “you could just use the mixer. It’s faster.”

Evie paused, mock scandalized. “And lose the charm of doing it by hand? Absolutely not. Besides,” she added with a playful smile, “it tastes better this way. Everyone knows that.”

Rowan rolled their eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at their lips. They loved this about Evie—the way she found joy in the simplest things, like whisking cream until her arms ached or picking flowers for the table every morning. Rowan slid closer, their fingers brushing Evie’s wrist.

“I think you just like showing off your biceps,” Rowan said, winking.

Evie laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Caught me,” she admitted, flexing dramatically. “How else am I supposed to impress my partner?”

Rowan reached up to pluck a stray curl from Evie’s face, their touch lingering. “You already impress me,” they said softly, the words as natural as the breeze through the open window.

They stood like that for a moment, close enough to feel each other’s breath. Outside, bees buzzed lazily among the lavender, their hum mingling with the distant melody of a bird’s song.

“I think the pie is ready,” Evie said, breaking the silence but not the tenderness.

Together, they turned to the oven, where the scent of buttery crust and blackberries filled the air. Rowan grabbed the mitts and pulled the pie out with a flourish, their face glowing with pride.

“It’s perfect,” Rowan said, setting it down on the counter.

“Of course it is,” Evie replied. “We made it together.”

After the pie cooled, they carried it outside to the little wooden table under the oak tree. The sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the meadow in hues of gold and rose. Rowan sliced the pie, handing the first piece to Evie, who took a bite and immediately groaned in delight.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” Evie said, her eyes twinkling.

Rowan smirked. “Told you the blackberries were worth the scratches.”

They ate in comfortable silence, the kind that only comes when two people truly understand each other. When the last crumbs were gone, Evie leaned back, gazing at Rowan with a dreamy expression.

“Do you ever think about how lucky we are?” Evie asked. “To have this? To have each other?”

Rowan reached across the table, their fingers finding Evie’s. “Every single day,” they said.

As the stars began to scatter across the sky, they stayed there under the oak tree, hands entwined, the scent of lavender and honey thick in the air. In their little corner of the world, love felt as boundless as the meadow and as certain as the coming dawn.