Caution!

This story contains an excessive amount of fluff, doesn't match up storyline wise with any of my other fics (but it's just a Oneshot, so whatever, right? ), and features a dreadfully awful pun. If you're still determined to finish, READ ON! :D

Time fell away in the garden. An hour could fly by in seconds, a month in mere minutes, a year in a single breath. A ruddy, happy boy could become a ruddy, happy young man before lunch; a playful, cheeky girl could become a playful, cheeky young lady before supper.

And so, in what seemed like a single afternoon, the moor lad and the young mistress grew up. Each had ingroned the changes in themselves, but marveled in the changes of their companion. For just as the flowers bloomed in the garden, their feelings for one another had blossomed.

Mary noticed Dickon. She noticed how the tips of his russet curls had lightened, while his freckles had darkened, and how her heart fluttered whenever they brushed hands. She noticed, but didn't speak.

Dickon noticed Mary. He noticed how long her hair had grown, and how much older she looked when she gave him a quick glance, and how warm her smile made him feel. He noticed, but didn't speak.

They sat in their peaceful silence, each longing to break it, but neither quite ready to try. Until, one afternoon, Mary spoke.

"Dickon?" she asked quietly, softly placing the small shovel she had been holding back onto the dirt.

Startled, he turned to face her.

"Aye," he smiled, "d'ya need summat-"

His sentence was cut short by a pair of soft lips against his, and the sweet, floral kiss of a girl who was tired of being patient. Before he even had a chance to react, the confident warmth was gone, leaving an embarrassed and fervently blushing girl in its place.

Dickon stared at her, bewildered at the abruptness of her kiss, although deeply pleased that his feelings were so obviously reciprocated. In his surprise he let out a little laugh, further mortifying the already flushed Mary.

"Why on earth are you laughing?" Mary demanded, balling her hands into tight fists.

Dickon just smiled good-naturedly, and softly reached out for her clenched hand, instantly soothing her with his light touch.

"Ah, Mary, I'm no' laughin' at tha, nowt o' the soart," he assured, intertwining his fingers with hers. "It's jus' that tha once told me tha'd ne'er kiss someone the way tha'd kiss th' flowers. An' it seems I've been kissed th' same way."

Mary couldn't help but laugh herself then, realizing the silliness of the whole situation. As she softly brushed the flower in front of her with the tips of her fingers, she was suddenly struck with an idea.

"Well, for all I know, you may very well be a flower," she teased, trying to hide her mischievous grin.

Dickon raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"An' how's that?"

"You both live on the moor, you're both lovely, and you both have two lips." She gestured toward the flower, then back to him, pretending to count. "One, two."

The two erupted in laughter, bright-eyed and rosy cheeked. Dickon looked at his odd little companion in wonder, mumbling, "Aye, in all Yorkshire, I've ne'er seen a lass th' likes of tha."

With feigned worry, Mary anxiously replied, "I do hope so. How would I ever be able to capture your attention in a village full of Marys?"

He looked down at her lovingly,

"Tha'd find a way."

With a grin, the happy pair went back to their work, secretly sneaking peeks at one another with blithe playfulness.

And time fell away.

Thanks for reading!