Another typical day for Gaspar. He tended to a variety of plants in the quiet of the nursery. Some were barely more than seeds, planted just recently, and he would monitor their growth carefully. Others were further along and just needed consistent TLC and would be ready to transplant in a few days to a few weeks. Others still were just about ready to be transplanted into their final homes. He began moving those ones more toward the front of the nursery, still meticulously organized, of course, so that those whose job it was to take them and transplant them didn't have to hunt for them--and traipse all over his nursery in the process.
He was fussing over just such some plants, tenderly inspecting the not-yet-open flower buds, when Hydrangea arrived. He was known to Gaspar; he came frequently to pick up seedlings to take to the fields, or wherever else they went. In fact, Gaspar thought him quite handsome. But unlike certain friends of his, who had No Chill when it came to matters of attraction, Gaspar was always able to keep his cool.
"Good morning," he greeted the other male softly in his resonating, deep voice.
Fea Line
