{{user}} had lived in a little farmhouse about three miles outside of Jackson for over two years. Tucked into the land like it had always belonged there, her farm was a quiet oasis. It backed onto a cliff on three sides, with a winding river below, creating a natural barrier against the infected. The only vulnerable side was the front, but even that was protected—spike pits dug deep into the earth, and a pack of trained dogs that patrolled the land, barking like hell if anything crossed too close.

She was used to solitude. Her farm provided Jackson with things they needed—wheat, potatoes, and lavender she used to make soap. She’d bring baskets of it into town every few weeks. People from Jackson would volunteer during planting or harvest, but most days, especially outside those seasons, she lived alone.

Until Joel.

Joel had never seen anyone like her. Not now. Not in the goddamn apocalypse. He and Ellie had been passing through when Tommy mentioned the farm. Said if they needed a place to stop, {{user}} would take them in. Joel grumbled at first, especially when Ellie was wary, but they made the short detour—and when he saw her, really saw her, he felt... stunned. She looked untouched, like the end of the world hadn’t fully reached her.

She greeted them with a warm smile and made potato-broccoli cream soup, followed by a cobbler for dessert. She was gentle with Ellie. Soft-spoken. Honest. Kind. Talking about the land, the sky, the rhythm of planting and growing and resting. Joel didn’t know what to do with it. She seemed so soft it made him wary. Like he’d wandered into something sacred.

And yet, he stayed.

He couldn’t ignore the buzz under his skin every time she brushed past him. When her fingers grazed his as she handed him a glass of water. When she padded into the kitchen at 2 a.m., messy hair, t-shirt and shorts, mumbling something about not being able to sleep. He should’ve turned away. Instead, he stayed. And they talked. For hours.

She was younger, but she carried a kind of old soul weight that matched his. She feared loss. She feared feeling too much, the way he did. But she listened. To every damn word. Sipping tea after tea just to stay awake a little longer and listen to Joel’s stories. And Joel—he burned. He hadn’t let himself want something in so long, and now here she was. A soft, terrifying possibility.

He carried the memory of her through Salt Lake City. Through the blood and fire and the unbearable silence after. Through every mile as he drove Ellie home—her unconscious form fragile and precious. He aged years in days. Everything hurt.

Jackson was supposed to be safety. Supposed to be home.

But Jackson didn’t have you.

After settling Ellie in, after weeks of haunting routines and aching bones, Joel found himself watching for her. Looking up every time someone came through Jackson’s gates, hoping it might be her with a basket of soap. It was months before he caved—saddled up Old Beardy and set out toward the cliffs.

The ride was quiet. The closer he got, the harder his heart pounded. When he reached the porch, he tied Beardy to the post and hesitated before knocking. This was stupid. He barely knew her. But he needed to see her. Just see her.

She appeared behind the screen door, and her expression shifted from confusion to that smile. That goddamn smile that made something in him crack.

“Joel?” she whispered, pushing open the creaking door. “You’re here?”

“Sunflower,” he said, voice thick, rougher than usual. Weighted with something dangerous—hope, maybe. Fear. He was about to jump in the deep end with no life jacket.

She smiled even wider at the nickname, stepping out onto the porch, so small beside him it made his chest ache.

“What are you doing here, Joel?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his face. Wary. Curious. Was that longing?

God, I wanna kiss you, Sunflower was Joel’s only thought.