Vera basked in the organized chaos of springtime. Plans and petals were scattered across her desk like wildflowers in a field, birds chirped from their nests above the door and window frames, downy feathers drifting in the air, and her office was nearly overrun by the bunnies that had finally been delivered earlier that morning.

Nine months of planning, one month of slowly clearing away Heims’s sheets of snow piled high on the desk to make room for her seeds and planting charts.

They had some difficulties with the transition this year. Heims had invited her in to begin her work, sharing the office so she could get started as soon as his last frost was finished. But a sudden head cold had him calling his brother Nix in for help, who snowed all over Vera’s work. She had practically needed to start from scratch. Took her weeks to get back on track.

Poor little babies, Vera thought, touching the plants on a nearby shelf most effected by the late snowfall. She’d done what she could to nurse them back to health, but had only limited success.

Still, she was pleased with the results of her season so far. The flowers were in full bloom now, their scents and colors giving a vibrancy to the world that only she could bring. The harvests will have been impacted by Nix’s work, but she felt she still had time to help them. She touched the leaf of a small plant resting in a loose bed of soil—a young summer bloom just beginning to bud. Yes, spring will nurse the flowers until summertime arrived.

Vera sat back in her desk chair and smiled at the start of the day. She breathed in the dewy dampness of morning, the nutty sweetness of maple trees, the crisp freshness of grass, and the misty steam of—

Vera’s eyes fluttered open and she sat up, sniffing the air. The misty steam of… She sniffed again and frowned. The misty steam of humidity. Heat.

“Oh, no—,” she breathed, shoving away animal birthing charts, rain maps, and plucked flower samples until she found the desk calendar. She scanned the dated squares, flipped the page, and found the one marked with a bright orange circle and short strokes, making a sun.

Before she could even think she had been mistaken, the office door burst open with a gust of hot air. The heat blew her hair back and she had to squint against its intensity. The petals of the flowers on her desk curled against the heat.

Vera’s lips twitched into a forced smile. “Aestus.”

A young man stood in the doorway. His skin was tanned, his hair a yellow-white so bright you couldn’t look at it directly. He stepped into the office and Vera watched everything—the ivy climbing the walls, the vegetable flowers—droop and curl as he passed them.

Aestus fell into the chair opposite her, lounging as if he couldn’t stand his own heat, with utter disregard to the destruction he was causing to her work.

“You’re early.”

“How lovely to see you, too, Vera.” Aestus smirked, leaning forward and plucking the small bud from the soil on her desk. It bloomed in his hand, and he smiled, twisting it in his fingers to inspect its yellow petals. “I love these.”

“I’m sure. But it’s much, much to early for them to be blooming. So if you could just…not touch them.” Vera took the flower from him, frowning at the early bloom. “Now, how can I help you?”

“Well, you could clear a space for me.” He sat back in his chair, gesturing to the messy desk top. “I’m here to start working.”

“You’re not due for another few weeks.” Vera could feel the heat rising, not just around her but in her. He couldn’t do this to her. Not this year—not again. “I still have a lot of work that needs to get done before you bring everything to maturity.”

“It’s not my fault your time management is shit,” he said with a huff.

Vera balked.

Once upon a time, Vera and Aestus worked harmoniously together. It was them against the cold months, producing a bounty plentiful enough to pass along to Tumus in the fall, and carry the earth through winter. But through the decades, he became increasingly in need of an attitude adjustment. It’s a wonder all of nature tolerates him—and the only reason Heims still gets on well with him is because they’re never in the same room together. He’s started so many fights with Pluvia it’s a wonder summer gets any rain at all.

Last year, it was Vera who managed to convince Pluvia to break the drought, only to have Aestus call her a weepy, overly emotional woman and send her storming back out of the office, vowing never to return.

“My time management, Aestus,” she said, keeping her tone level, “is just fine. But you keep arriving earlier and earlier each year—it hardly gives me the time to have everything ready for you.”

“I arrive when it’s deemed time.” He waved his hand dismissively. “If you have a problem with it, take it up with Homor. It’s his people that have me working overtime.”

Aestus sat up suddenly, leaning across the desk toward Vera and pressing a finger aggressively to one of the air quality charts. “Do you realize how many additional hours I’ve been putting in? I’ve taken up most of Tumus’s work—that means I’m coming earlier and staying late each shift. Forget these arbitrary calendar dates—‘First Day of Fall’ my ass. I’ll be on well into October.”

The temperature in the office had risen with the volume of Aestus’s voice, and now he sat, his face inches from Vera’s, breathing heavily with frustration. Sweat was beading on Vera’s forehead and her frown deepened, but not out of contempt. She hadn’t realized the toll the shifting climate was having on him. He had always been a fiery personality—a mixture of sunny excitement and heat-induced irritability.

Vera covered his hand with hers, pressing gently until it laid flat on the desktop. “Then let me do my work,” she said, gently. “Hold off, take the few extra weeks owed to you and come back to work after; when you’re meant to.”

He scoffed, leaning back into his seat, away from her. “If I could do that, don’t you think I would?”

“Well—“ Vera sat up straighter. If he was going to be mopey and difficult than she would give him reason to be. “You might insist on being here, but that doesn’t mean I need to leave.”

She relished in the wide-eyed, raised-brow look he gave her.

“I have a meeting with Pluvia this afternoon—we’re due for rain—and you will behave yourself while she’s here. We might have a hot spring ahead of us, but we will not have an early summer.”