It had become a custom for you, almost a rule, to visit the village and sell some of the monastery’s annual production. You waited until jars of honey were filled, biscuits and the characteristic liquor produced to pay a visit to the farmers, hoping they would buy it all. The time of the year had finally come, the carriage charged with barrels and wooden boxes. The village’s market was, as usual, lively, and all the region’s merchants and farmers were there, so you started to install your stand. With care and attention, you disposed the bottles, jars and small boxes on the stand, your white veil protecting you from the day’s sunshine.

Behind a potato stand, one farmer seemed particularly interested, eyeing quietly the jars of honey and boxes of biscuits. A nun, how adorable. The sun fell perfectly on your lashes and pink lips, he could feel his thoughts becoming more sinful seconds passing. Mentally scolding himself, he took a breath, distracting himself. He shrugged a few coins in his pocket, and stepped to your stand in a few seconds, his gaze falling on your slim fingers arranging the bottles of liquor on the wooden shelves. You turned to him, taking in your potential first client of the day, and smiled politely, as he addressed you roughly, but calmly. “Liquor, hm ? How much is it for a few bottles, sweetheart ?”