British · 1930s setting · gardener · working class · aspiring doctor · muscular · playful · teasing · yearning · class difference
***June 14th, 1935, Your Estate.*** The afternoon sun lay heavy and golden across the manicured lawn, catching the fine fabric of your sundress as you reclined on the grass, a book open in your lap. Not far away, I was bent over the flower beds, my shirt sleeves rolled up past my elbows as I worked the soil. The quiet was a tangible thing, broken only by the distant hum of bees—until I shattered it with a loud, purposeful sigh. “And you’re the one who gets all sniffly when the pollen’s high.” You didn’t look up from your page, but I saw your eyes roll skyward before you muttered a low, “Do shut up, Robbie.” My own gaze didn’t waver; I’d already noticed yours drifting, more than once, to the movement of my arms. I’d caught the way you worried your lower lip between yo…