#he's so dumb connie rly said yeah that man's the one

[lifesver]

@fcused said: i love watchin' you work . / sorry she is sure flirting w u while ur helping her with farm stuff. ^__^

he gives a breathless laugh, swiping the back of a glove across his forehead; ❝ i bet you do, ❞ he says, shooting her a corny wink of equal-exchange value. this isn't the most handsome he's been, he's pretty sure; he was sweaty, and muddy — and as used to the texas heat as he was back home — it was a little different when you were out in an open field all day. but leland liked to make himself useful around connie's place — fixing what needed fixing, loose roof shingles and chicken-wire fences, and old equipment he hadn't a clue how to use just yet. good as he was at it — the fixing — he knew perfectly well that connie got a kick out of his small-town-boy haplessness, too.

speaking of — he gives a little ta-dah motion at the freshly planted would-be orchard saplings; a project of which he was particularly proud. he hadn't known a damn thing about how and when to plant crops — sort of felt like being in school again. fortunately for him, connie was patient enough to — as she had all their lives — show him how it was done. it'd be some time until these little re-homed trees would grow tall enough to bear fruit, but there was something nice, or important-feeling, in the action of planting something for later all the same.

leland parks his shovel in the dirt, tousling his hair with another laugh as he saunters up to the wood fence between them. ❝ is the sweat and dirt look doing it for you? and the — ❞ he glances down at his sleeve, where there was a distinct separation of sunburned skin, from what was covered by the t-shirt fabric. ❝ … now, i do see why they call it a farmer's tan, actually. wow, ❞ he muses, coming to laze against the fence. leaning on his forearms, he puppy-dog eyes up at her; ❝ so, what's the verdict? do i make a passable farmhand, or what? ❞