Her words still echo in my head. Soft and playful—but heavy enough to leave me unsettled.
I eat my breakfast slowly, each bite dragging. The silence between us stretches thin, and I keep my eyes down. Just sitting near her makes my chest tighten in ways I can't explain.
When I finish, I push back my chair. The scrape of wood against the floor sounds too loud.
"I'll take care of the dishes,"
I mutter as I stack the plates and the cups in the sink.
She only smiles as I wash the cups and the plates. A few minutes later, she slips into her room to prepare for her usual rounds: eggs and milk deliveries, then errands for the bar.
My own schedule is set too: feeding the animals, collecting milk and eggs, tending both the vegetable garden and greenhouse, and checking the vineyard.
The house grows quiet again. The smell of coffee lingers in the air, stubborn as if it doesn't want to leave.
When I finish washing, I pull on my boots and step toward the back door.
"Stathi."
I turn toward the source of the voice. Auntie Efi is in the kitchen doorway, one hand resting lightly on the frame. Her fitted blouse hugs her shape, and her tailored pants show just enough curve to make her presence impossible to ignore. Her braid slides forward as she tilts her head, her lips curved in a small, calm smile—but her eyes are steady, searching.
She studies me for a moment, as if weighing something. Then her voice breaks the quiet.
"If you feel strange again—tired, dizzy, sick… or even if you just want to talk—say something, okay?"
Her tone is casual, but I hear the weight behind it.
I hesitate. Her eyes hold me still, sharper than I expect, as if she sees more than I want to admit.
"…I will," I answer at last, softer than I mean to.
Her expression eases. Just a little. Then she turns away, and her words stay with me long after.
When I step outside, the farm opens under the gold of morning. The house stands steady at the center, its red-tiled roof catching the sun.
To the north, wheat fields sway in the breeze. To the east, vines run in neat rows toward the greenhouse and the vegetable garden, with the orchard spreading just beyond them. To the west, the silo rises beside the stable, and not far from there are the pig shed, the chicken coop, and the goat pen.
Everything is in its place, carrying the rhythm of work that waits for me each day.
I start with the stable. The cows are already waiting, dark eyes following me, low moos rumbling in the air. I fill their troughs with hay and grain, the sound of it scattering across the floor mixing with their warm breath. Then I kneel to milk them, steady streams drumming into the pail. The rhythm calms me—simple, steady, grounding.
Next, the goats. They leap and shove each other as soon as I step into the pen. I scatter grain, and they scramble after it, hooves tapping against the wood. Marika, the oldest, doesn't bother with the fuss. She lingers near me instead, her sharp eyes tracking every move. When I pass, she nudges my side with her head. I sigh, muttering under my breath, but a small smile still slips through.
The chicken coop is alive before I even open the gate. Hens flap and cluck as I scatter grain across the floor. The rooster struts proudly, though no one listens to him. I reach into the nest boxes and collect the eggs, still warm in my hands. I set them gently in the basket before closing the gate.
Finally, the pig shed. They squeal the moment they spot the buckets. I dump the feed into the trough, and chaos erupts—snouts pushing, mud flying, greedy grunts filling the air. I step back quickly, but mud still splashes across my boots.
By the time I leave them to their feast, the farm is fully awake.
That's when Aunt Efi returns from her deliveries.
"Hi, Aunt, how did the orders and errands go?"
I ask, keeping my tone casual.
She says with a tired voice.
"The same as always. And the errands for the bar still haven't been settled. I need to place a few more orders with the wine house."
"Do you need much from there?" I ask.
She pauses to think for a moment, and then she answers me.
"Not much. A few boxes of vodka, whiskey, and some other things, too. Anyway—how are the chores going?"
I answer her with the same tone as before.
"I'm almost done. I just need to water the vegetables, both in the greenhouse and the vegetable garden. And pick the last grapes."
She smiles and tells me.
"Alright. I'll change and help you with the greenhouse."
I shake my head.
"You don't need to. I can handle it myself."
She frowns lightly.
"No. Since Dad and Mom—your grandparents—started traveling, you've been handling most of the chores, and you don't complain. I'm grateful for that. But the farm belongs to both of us. I'll do my share."
Not knowing how to answer. I sigh and answer her in a tired voice.
"…Okay. If you insist."
"Good. Then I'll change and come help you."
She walks toward the house. As she turns away, I don't notice the faint curve of her lips—just enough to suggest a thought she keeps to herself.
I carry the hose and tools from the storage shed and set them by the greenhouse. The glass panes catch the sunlight, scattering gold across the dirt. I lean against the frame to wait. She doesn't take long.
When she steps into view, I freeze.
She's changed into denim short overalls that hug her curves, a tied crop blouse slipping off one shoulder to show just a hint of skin. Her braid rests under a straw hat tilted playfully, and each step makes the light catch along her thighs. Gloves cover her hands, and boots are laced tight.
She looks ready for farm work—but her outfit feels like it's meant more for teasing me than watering vegetables.
She comes closer. Too close.
"Well? How do I look?"
She asks, her smile tugging wider as if she already knows.
My throat tightens. Heat climbs up my neck. I can't bring myself to look straight at her.
She leans in a little more, her divine breasts shifting as she moves. "Come on."
She presses, impatience glimmering in her eyes.
"Tell me. How do I look?"
I swallow hard.
"…You're beautiful, Auntie."
I whisper, barely audible.
She laughs softly, amused.
"That's good enough. Now, let's get started before the sun climbs too high. After the greenhouse, we've got shopping to do. Alright?"
With a teasing air, she steps into the greenhouse, her braid swaying behind her. I follow slowly, with my chest tight and still flustered, the weight of her teasing lingering like the heat of the sun.