Page 18 of A Yulean Sister’s Guide to Getting Kidnapped

Because the answer might have been… kinda.

“That’s really none of your business,” she said. When she stood, the front of her light blue dress revealed dirt stains. Uncaring, she wiped her hands there too.

The difference between her last night and right now was so jarring, part of me felt like I made this image up. Her hair was no longer complicatedly pinned, now just up with a simple barrette, some of the curled pieces falling in her face. And though the dress she had on had a smaller skirt, it still clung to her everywhere and showed her off in a way that was even more attractive.

“It’s not,” I agreed. “But you could tell me anyway.”

She crossed her arms, looking me up and down, as if assessing me for something.

Whatever it was, I seemed to pass the test. “I’m moving this flutora.”

I assumed she referred to the plant that was now laying in front of us with all its roots out. “Why?”

Her eyes somehow narrowed even more. “Do you even care? Go back to… doing whatever you were doing at this time of morning. Probably the walk of shame.”

I wasn’t really familiar with ‘a walk of shame.’ “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

“Seriously?” she asked. She squatted down to begin covering the hole she’d created. “It’s like… when you leave someone’s room after a dalliance in the morning. Usually looking worse for wear if you did it right.”

I smirked. “Ah. None of that I’m afraid, just an early riser.” I had to be as a captain.

“I haven’t been to bed yet,” she said casually.

“What do you mean, it’s sunrise.” She’d yet to sleep?

She paused for a moment, as if she’d said something she didn’t mean to. “I don’t sleep well,” is all she said.

I didn’t follow up. It wasn’t my business, something I shouldn’t be curious about, even if I was.

“And that forced you to pull weeds?”

“It’s not a weed,” she snapped. “They’re really pretty and bloom in the late summer, but when added to beds with lots of other plants, they can be destructive to their root systems, so it’s important to have them on their own. And I know if someone doesn’t move them, they’ll just be cut out and discarded, even though they’re perfectly good.”

That was the most words I’d ever heard her speak. “You know a lot about plants.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Are you always this combative?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get these replanted.”

“Let me help,” I said, beginning to roll my sleeves.

“No thanks,” she insisted. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not questioning your competence, but aren’t four hands better than two?”

She glanced back at me. There was a long moment she was left thinking. At that point I assumed I would just catch fire on the spot, or at the very least she would tell me to fuck off.

Instead, “Grab me that trowel.” I was quick, finding the small metallic tool and handing it her way. She shoved the tip into the dirt as if she was slicing a cake, moving it carefully around the base of the wild vines of the plant. She then started digging out the concave she had created, revealing more of the complex, dainty looking roots.

“When you’re doing this, you don’t need to be as careful as you think,” she explained. “You can tear some of the roots, especially towards the end where they’re branching to look for water, but this,” she pointed the trowel end to what almost looked like a bulb at the bottom. “This is what keeps the plant alive, this has to stay intact, or else you’ve killed it.”

“Got it.” And I had. Before I was a good captain, I had to be a good learner. No one just… knew how to lead, some people had a better personality for it, but it was still a learned skill like anything else.

She handed me the trowel and stood, letting me settle where she just was to finish digging that one up. My upper body sunk down on my tail. I had to let it uncoil a bit to get low enough. I was careful around the bulb, but as she’d cleared it mostly out already I tried to salvage as many roots as I could before pulling it out. I heard a couple of snaps from the smaller ones, but most came out unscathed.

“Good,” she said, the praise almost sounding foreign on her tongue. “There’s only a few more. I think I want to move them down to the end where those flowers died for the year.”