I sat on the farmhouse porch, nerves creeping in. It had been over four years since both Leia and I had left the farm at the same time. Ever since Charlie had been born, one of us was always here to make sure things ran smoothly. But that also meant we hadn’t been on a real date in over four years. Sure, we spent plenty of time together, but finding even a few minutes alone was rare. Now we had an entire evening ahead of us.

I wasn’t just anxious about leaving the sprites in charge of the kids for a few hours—I was also worried that Leia and I wouldn’t have anything to talk about. Should I bring up the farm? The kids? Or were we supposed to be getting away from all that? I furrowed my brow, trying to come up with anything else we could talk about.

“You ready to go?” Leia asked as the farmhouse door swung open. She stepped out, looking radiant in her pale blue dress—the one that always made her eyes shine—and, true to form, her trusty work boots. She was effortlessly beautiful. Standing next to her, I truly looked like a simple farmer, even in my nicest shirt and pants.

“Am I underdressed?” I glanced down at my clean clothes. I’d changed into fresh ones to shake off the day of farming, but I still felt underdressed compared to her.

Leia laughed, a light, carefree sound. “No, you look great. We’re just going to the inn, Matt. You don’t need to get all dressed up for that.”

I nodded, though I found myself shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Are we sure we feel...” I lowered my voice, glancing back toward the farmhouse to make sure no one could hear, “comfortable leaving the kids with the sprites while Woods is gone?”

Leia gave me a quizzical look. “Matt, we’re only going out to dinner. We won’t be gone long.”

I shrugged, still unconvinced. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust the sprites—they were more than capable, and they cared for my kids like their own. But something gnawed at me about leaving the farm without any adult supervision. I wasn’t over what had happened the last time I left the farm unattended during the fall festival all those years ago. When I came back, it was overrun with monsters, and I’d been forced to burn everything down just to reclaim it. And that was with Woods around.

The memory tightened my chest, the scent of smoke and ash lingering in my mind, a grim reminder of how quickly things could spiral out of control. Even with the sprites’ help, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something could go wrong—again.

Sensing my hesitation, Leia pressed on, "Plus, Reed and Ivy are here. And Maple—"

“And me,” Holly chimed in, suddenly appearing in the doorway and startling both of us. “We’ll all be fine. You two go have a good time.”

Leia smiled, her confidence unwavering. I sighed, my nerves easing ever so slightly.

“All right then, let’s go.”

***

Reed stood on the porch and watched the wagon carrying Matt and Leia disappear down the road, the dust trailing in the evening air. He turned to Ivy, who stood next to him. “I hope they have a good time. It’s been ages since they’ve had any time alone.”

Ivy nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, and with Matt so busy—Spring always keeps him on his toes.”

With a shared sigh, they turned and stepped into the farmhouse, only to be greeted by chaos. Lucy, the youngest, was wreaking her havoc, having already torn down half of Leia’s favorite lace curtains. Holly and Flint were scrambling to control the situation, but it was clear they’d let their guard down for just a second too long.

Reed exchanged a glance with Ivy, who rolled her eyes in exasperation. Without hesitation, she moved forward to try to wrangle the tantrum-throwing toddler.

At the kitchen table, Clay, Charlie, and Rock sat watching the spectacle with amusement, their eyes wide and gleaming with mischief. After a long pause, Clay turned over to Reed, his face uncharacteristically serious. “Rock and I will watch Charlie. You guys can deal with Lucy.”

Reed blinked, taken aback by Clay’s sudden display of responsibility. “Really, Clay? That’d be—” He hesitated. The two sprites and small boy were already out the door, giggling as they left. His eyes narrowed. That’s going to come back to haunt me, isn’t it?

There wasn’t much time to dwell on it, though, as a loud ripping sound filled the room. Lucy had succeeded in pulling the last of the curtains down, leaving the lace in a heap on the floor.

“Holly, take Lucy to her room,” Reed ordered, his voice steady despite the chaos. He turned to Flint. “Flint, shift into your animal form and Ivy, help me get these back up before Leia finds out.”

In an instant, Flint changed into his animal form, and where a sprite once stood was now a tall, graceful deer. His antlers nearly scraped the ceiling as he stood still, ready for the task. Holly let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes, but obeyed Reed’s command. She half-walked, half-dragged Lucy, who was still squirming, toward her room.

Reed and Ivy, each grabbing one end of the fallen curtains, scrambled up Flint’s back, awkwardly balancing themselves by holding onto his antlers with one hand while attempting to rehang the fabric with the other. The task wasn’t easy—between the swaying of the antlers and their own nervous fumbling—but after a few moments of awkward adjustments and whispered curses, the lace curtains were finally back in place.

Reed stepped back, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow as he examined their work. “Did it look like this before?”

Ivy squinted at the curtains, her head tilting as she considered. “I think so.”

“It looks the same to me. Honestly, I don’t know why Leia likes that ugly old lace,” Holly chimed in, standing nearby with her arms crossed, clearly unimpressed.

Reed, Ivy, and Flint all froze, exchanging wide-eyed looks before turning slowly to Holly.

“Holly…” Ivy’s voice had a sudden edge of panic. “Where’s Lucy?”

Holly blinked, her smug expression vanishing. “Wait… wasn’t she—”

***

Clay stood beside Rock and Charlie, surveying the orchard with a mischievous glint in his eye. The trees had grown tall, their thick branches intertwining to form a canopy that made the orchard feel more like a hidden forest. The three exchanged excited looks. Matt had gone into town for a few hours, and Woods had gone south to visit the Southern Sprites.

It was the perfect opportunity for a little mischief.

The evening sunlight filtered through the branches, casting dappled light on the rows of budding fruit trees. Beside them, the shiny metal spigot gleamed in the sunlight, the key to their mischievous plans. It controlled the water supply to the orchard, and over the years, both Clay and Rock had made countless attempts to get their hands on it. It was always heavily guarded—either by Matt or, worse, by Woods. They’d been caught more times than they could count, including one particularly humiliating time when Leia, Matt’s wife, had caught them red-handed with the water running.

But today, everything was in their favor. The orchard was quiet, Matt was busy, Woods was gone, and no one was around to stop them. Conditions were perfect.

Mud was the ultimate goal, and with the spigot, they could flood the entire orchard and create an ocean of it.

“Ready?” Clay whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Ready!” Charlie squealed.

Both turned to Rock, who nodded eagerly, eyes alight with mischief as his hand hovered over the spigot’s valve. The sprites held their breath, casting nervous glances around the orchard, as if merely touching the spigot would summon Matt or Woods to materialize out of thin air and deliver swift punishment. In previous attempts, if Matt caught them, they were stuck cleaning the chicken coop for the day. But if Woods found them? Not only would they be cleaning the coop, but they’d be stuck sleeping in it for a week—a punishment that, truth be told, Clay didn’t entirely mind. After all, they’d done it enough times by now, and he’d never heard Rock complain about it either.

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Rock twisted the valve hard, and they all watched with delight as water began to spray out, soaking the ground immediately around them. The dry soil beneath them greedily drank up the water, the dirt growing slick and muddy. Charlie squealed with delight, giggling at the quickly forming puddles.

Clay wasted no time jumping in and splashing Rock. “I told you this would be fun! Come on, guys, join in!”

Charlie joined Clay, the four-year old clapping his hands at the newly formed mud.

Rock nervously looked around to ensure they hadn’t been caught yet. Seemingly satisfied that the coast was clear, he joined in. In no time at all, the three were utterly drenched in mud—splattered from head to toe. Their once-clean clothes were smeared with thick, wet earth, mud caking their hair and dripping from their hands as they tried to suppress their grins. It looked like they’d just celebrated a sprite birthday party.

The three began making a mud tower, stacking handful on handful until it was taller than all three of them. It toppled over, splashing mud on their already caked clothes.

Charlie set to work mixing up a mud pie, adding in dried leaves and sticks for decoration, and both sprites followed suit.

Clay was making his third mud pie when the sound of running water brought him out of his task. He glanced around, noticing how far the water had spread. All of the rows of trees were now thoroughly drenched, small pools forming around each trunk.

“Uh... Rock, this is getting a little out of hand,” Clay said nervously, glancing at the rising water.

Rock’s grin faltered, “Rock?” he asked. Both sprites glanced at Charlie, who was happily playing in the mud, unaware at how out of hand the water had gotten.

"No, no, it'll be fine. We can just... turn it off now, right?” Clay answered, though his voice wavered slightly. Rock rushed over to the valve and twisted it, but the water didn’t stop. Instead, it kept flowing, even more so now.

“Twist it the other way, Rock! That’s making more water come out!”

The spigot began shaking, a high pitched, whine coming from it. Charlie paused his play and glanced over, his eyebrow raised. “is everything okay?” he asked Clay and Rock.

“Yep. All good,” Clay said, trying to keep his voice even. “We know exactly what we’re doing, because we’re the babysitters and we know everything,” he added, trying to sound reassuring.

Charlie shrugged and turned back to his mud creation.

Panic quickly set in. The once dry orchard was now a mini swamp, the water surrounding each tree trunk now deep. Rock was still hurriedly trying to turn the shaking spigot when the metal valve popped off into Rock’s hand. Rock glanced at Clay, his eyes wide.

“We’re in trouble,” Clay muttered. Clay didn’t know much about how the spigot worked, but he knew the system had been in place for a few years now, and it seemed the water pressure was apparently too much for the old system.

Rock’s eyes darted to Charlie. “Rock,” he said, shifting into his animal form.

It was a good idea, and they did need to keep Charlie safe. That was priority number one. Rock lowered his antlered head to Charlie, and scooped the laughing child up. Charlie sat comfortably on top of the antlers, laughing as Rock moved him to the edge of the orchard. Clay noticed the water had slowed from a gush to a trickle, and while water was still leaking out, it probably wouldn’t flood the entire farm. After a few more minutes, the water stopped, as if the source where the spigot had gotten its water had run dry.

Clay glanced around at the flooded orchard, dread setting in. He turned to Rock, who was still with Charlie a few paces away, “We just... need to keep it quiet. If they don’t see it before it dries, we’re in the clear, right?”

Rock stamped his front leg impatiently, his eyes focused on the huge puddles that had collected around every trunk.

“The trees will drink up the water, that’s what trees do. It’ll be fine.”

Rock raised his eyebrows at Clay, which looked comical on his moose face. Charlie giggled, still caked in mud. At this point, the small child was more mud than boy at this point, and it would take a while in the bath to get him all the way clean.

“Maybe we can blame it on the irrigation system breaking by itself?” Clay suggested, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Rock rolled his eyes before turning and trotting to the farmhouse, still balancing Charlie on his antlers. Clay took one final glance around the orchard, then quickly followed them, not wanting to be the only one caught red-handed.

***

Lucy had been found in the pantry, surrounded by several open bags of flour. The powdery white substance was scattered everywhere, and she sat in the middle of it all, laughing maniacally as if she’d just pulled off the greatest heist in history. Ivy and Holly wasted no time in scooping up the flour-coated toddler and whisking her away to the bathroom, leaving Flint and Reed to deal with the mess.

Reed sighed, glancing around for a broom. “How are we supposed to clean this up?”

“Maybe you could turn into your animal form and huff and puff and blow it all away,” Flint said, his voice perfectly flat.

Reed blinked, giving him a sidelong glance. He couldn’t tell if the deadpan suggestion was real or not.

“You know that’s just a bedtime story Matt tells his kids, right?”

Before Flint could answer, the front door creaked open. Reed turned, only to see Rock, Clay, and Charlie stroll into the farmhouse—each of them drenched from head to toe in mud. They looked like they’d just taken a bath in a swamp.

Reed gawked. Flint’s mouth hung open.

“What happened to you three?” Reed asked, thoroughly bewildered.

“Nothing,” Clay said, entirely too quickly. “Nothing happened to us, what do you mean?”

“Rock,” Rock added, sounding nonchalant.

A strained silence fell over the group, the mud dripping from the trio onto the floor, mixing with the flour in a way Reed was sure would make the mess that much more difficult to clean up.

“Don’t go in the orchard,” Clay blurted, before all three made a hasty retreat toward the bathroom. Seconds later, a chorus of shrieks rang out as Ivy and Holly’s voices echoed through the farmhouse, ordering the mud-soaked boys to leave. Reed could hear them trudging off to the second bathroom, the one connected to the master bedroom.

Reed looked down at the floor, now a chaotic mess of flour and mud. He let out a long breath, shaking his head.

“One crisis at a time,” he muttered to himself.

***

The date was everything I needed. The moment the wagon left the boundaries of the farm, I felt something shift inside me, like I’d finally set down a heavy burden. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn’t consumed by thoughts of the farm, the kids, or the endless responsibilities that ground me down day after day. Instead of stress, I felt light—almost free.

Leia and I headed to the local inn, a place that had always been special to us. We’d had countless dates here, celebrated birthdays, and spent hours just talking. Tonight, walking through those familiar doors, it felt like stepping back into one of those old memories.

Leia looked stunning, as always. Her pale blue dress shimmered in the soft candlelight, and her eyes had that sparkle that always made me feel like I was seeing her for the first time. She had her hair pulled back with a few curls pulled out to frame her face, the way she used to when we were dating. I couldn’t stop myself from staring a little longer than I should’ve.

We took our usual corner booth, the one tucked away from the noise of the other patrons. As soon as we sat down, the innkeeper’s wife, Cindy—an old friend—brought us two mugs of warm spiced cider without even asking. She gave me a knowing wink before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving Leia and me alone.

“It feels like forever since we’ve done this,” Leia said, as her fingers traced the edge of her mug. Her voice was soft, and she glanced up at me through her dark lashes, her eyes warm and inviting.

“Yeah,” I agreed, leaning back in my chair. “It does. Feels good, though. Almost... normal.” I chuckled, surprised at how much the weight of everything had lifted, how much lighter I felt just being here with her.

We fell into easy conversation, the kind that only comes after years of shared memories. Laughter bubbled up between us as we reminisced. Leia reminded me of the birthday party she’d thrown here years ago, when I’d embarrassed myself on the dance floor. Back then, I could barely keep time to the music, and despite the years, my dancing hadn’t improved much. We swapped stories of our favorite times together as husband and wife, from the mundane to the absurd. At one point, I laughed so hard I nearly knocked over my mug, and Leia reached out to steady it, grinning. It felt effortless, like stepping back into an old, familiar rhythm.

Almost too quickly, dinner arrived—hearty stew and fresh bread—and the warm, savory smells filled the air. As we ate, I realized something. I wasn’t thinking about the farm or the kids or all the things I usually worried about. It was just us, and I loved it being just us.

We fell into a comfortable silence as we ate, the kind where words weren’t needed. The sounds of the inn—the crackling fire, clinking mugs, distant conversations—faded into the background. For the first time in a long time, it was just me and Leia. Nothing else.

“I missed this,” she said quietly.

“Me too,” I replied, reaching across the table to take her hand. Her fingers were warm, and as I looked at her, I realized I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow or worrying about what might go wrong back at the farm.

Leia gave me a soft, knowing smile. “I hate to say it, but we should probably get back to the farm soon. Who knows what kind of trouble the kids have stirred up by now.”

“They’re probably fine. The sprites have it under control.” I paused, catching her gaze. “But you’re right. It's getting late.”

I paid for our dinner, politely declining the discount Cindy insisted on offering, and we stepped out into the crisp, refreshing air of the spring night. The air was brisk, carrying the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers. Leia wrapped her arm around mine as we climbed into the wagon, snuggling close to stave off the chill. I could feel her warmth against me as we rode down the winding path, the gentle creak of the wagon mixing with the quiet chirp of crickets. The sky above had deepened from the soft hues of dusk to a rich, velvety blue, stars just beginning to peek through the remaining wisps of pink clouds.

By the time we reached the farmhouse, the moon had risen, casting a pale glow over the familiar landscape. The house looked peaceful, the golden flicker of firelight glowing in the windows. I hopped off the wagon and helped Leia up the stairs to the porch. We paused, savoring the quiet of the night. I leaned down and kissed her, not wanting the evening to end just yet.

After a moment, we pulled apart, reluctant but knowing we had to eventually return to normal life. I opened the door, stepping inside only to be greeted by the sight of the sprites, sprawled out on the couch. They looked absolutely haggard—mud-splattered, exhausted, and wide-eyed—like they had just barely survived a battle.

“Everything... alright?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as I exchanged a glance with Leia.

The sprites glanced at each other, clearly trying to decide how much to tell us. Whatever had happened, I had a feeling we’d be hearing some wild stories before the night was through.