It doesn’t take Connor long to change. In a few minutes, he joins me outside, clad now in the same basic beige tunic and pants I’m wearing. His old clothes are bundled in his arms.

“What now?” he asks.

“Oh,” I say. “I guess I should help you find a bed.” I lead him back into the dormitory. “So, this is where all the unmarried men over seventeen sleep—you’re unmarried, right?”

He grins. “Is it that obvious?”

I blush. “Well, I just assumed… I mean, since you don’t have anyone with you—”

“It’s all right,” he assures me. “I’m not married.”

“Okay.”

I take a deep breath and regain my composure, hoping it’s not glaringly obvious to him how much I feel like a teenager nursing her first crush. I haven’t gone to pieces about a man in years. But I guess that’s what ranch life does to you. It’s been a long time since I’ve confronted feelings like these.

“Okay. So, you’ll be living here. We need to find one of these living spaces that no one has claimed, so let’s see…oh, this one’s empty. Do you like the location?”

“The location’s fine,” Connor says.

“Great. Go ahead and put your things on the bed. This is your space now.” I show him how to open and close the room divider that separates his private quarters from the main passageway. “When this is closed, no one will bother you. It’s the one place on the ranch you’re guaranteed absolute privacy.”

“Other than the bathroom,” a voice chimes in over my shoulder.

I glance back at the newcomer. “Connor, this is Evan,” I say, and Evan reaches past me to shake hands. “He lives in the unmarried men’s dorm, too.”

“Confirmed bachelor,” Evan agrees. “I came to the ranch last year, after my wife left me.” He sounds jovial enough now, but I remember how depressed he was when he first joined us. It’s a testament to how good ranch life can be for one’s peace of mind.

Connor turns to me. “When did you come to the ranch?”

“Three years ago,” I say. “I was here on a wellness retreat—Xavier offers those from time to time—and I fell in love with the lifestyle and decided to stay.”

“I know about the retreats,” Connor says. “I was actually signed up for one myself.”

“There’s a retreat this week?” I ask.

“It starts tomorrow. I came a day early, because the more I read about the place, the more I fell in love. And as soon as I set foot on the property, I felt sure I wanted to give this life a try.”

“Well, you’re going to love it,” I say, remembering my first few months. “It’s an adjustment at first, letting go of everything you were used to from the outside world. Friends, family—”

“Technology,” Evan interrupts. “I still miss the internet.”

“Do you?” I ask. “Personally, I find it a relief not to have to worry about how many likes I have or all the emails and messages I need to reply to. Life here is simple and straightforward. Calm.”

We bid farewell to Evan and I lead Connor out to the animal pastures. Regardless of what other chores we’re assigned, everyone has to take a turn caring for the animals. I show him the chicken coop and the barn where we milk the cows.

“I helped with a birth last month,” I tell him, remembering the night it happened and how proud I felt to be involved. “There’s always plenty of work to be done with the livestock.”

“Do you slaughter the cows?” Connor asks.

“We don’t…we don’t talk about it like that,” I say, frowning. “Of course, our meat has to come from somewhere, but that’s such a gruesome thing to say.” It’s so outside world, so cold. But I don’t tell him that. It’s okay that he still has a touch of that coldness to him. It’s only natural. With time, ranch life will wear that away.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says contritely. “How do you talk about it?”

“We say the cows are providing meat,” I say. “It’s a gift, not an act of violence.”

A muscle in Connor’s jaw twitches. “I see.”

I narrow my eyes. Is he laughing at me?

He changes the subject. “What did you do before you came here?”

“I worked for Ryan Hemmers,” I say.

“The startup kid?”

“That’s the one. He hired me a few months before he made his first billion. I was his full-time assistant after that. Booking meetings, scheduling appointments, making sure that his office mini-fridge was stocked with his favorite brand of sparkling water. You get the picture.”

“Sounds like a busy job.”

“It was. Fifty, sometimes sixty hours a week, and incredibly stressful. That’s why the ranch has been so great for me. I work hard here too, but everything I do has purpose. It’s not just mindless administrative work. When I sew a tunic, I get to see a friend wearing it. When I work in the fields, the corn I harvest is on the dinner table for my community to enjoy.”

“You don’t bring in any resources from the outside world, then?”

“Just people,” I say. “Everything else we have comes from the ranch itself. We’re a hundred percent self-sustaining.”

“That must make for a limited menu.”

“We do better than you might think,” I say. “The herb gardens help a lot. And we’re always expanding what we do here. Recently, Xavier has been talking about introducing a sustainable fish pond.”

“Impressive,” Connor says, raising his eyebrows.

I lead him away from the animals, back toward the other working buildings.

“Over here is the sewing room,” I say, pointing it out. “That’s where single women work.”

“I can sew,” Connor says. “What if I want to work there?”

“Really? You can sew?”

“Well, no,” he admits, “I can’t. But some men can.”

“Xavier divides the labor this way to make it easier for us to socialize with our peers,” I say. “He understands that women need time to talk to each other about the issues in our lives, and men need the same thing. And besides, if the single men and the single women worked together, there would probably be more flirting than working going on.”

“Where do the men work?” Connor asks.

“Over there.” I point out the building. “Construction. The men do all the day-to-day carpentry and repairs, including building our beds and the tables we eat on. The buildings themselves are a little different—when a new building is ready to be put up, everyone pitches in and helps. Xavier says that gives us a sense that each structure on the ranch belongs to all of us, because we all helped build it.”

“Is he right?” Connor asks.

“I think so,” I say. “Most of these buildings were put up before I got here, but I definitely feel extra fond of the ones I helped out with.”

We make our way back into the Commons and I point out the kitchen. “This is where married couples work,” I say. “They join us when it’s time to eat, but they spend hours leading up to that preparing food for everyone on the ranch.”

“So, if you got married, you’d have to go work in a hot kitchen instead of in that breezy sewing building?” Connor says. “Sounds like a bad deal.”

“Maybe.” I don’t want to get too deep into my feelings about marriage with this man I just met and am nursing a crush on.

“Who’s that waving at you?” he asks.

“Rachel!” I wave her over. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on your honeymoon.”

“Honeymoons are exhausting,” she giggles. “I came here to pick up a to-go meal so we could keep our energy up.”

“Honeymoon?” Connor asks.

“Connor, this is my good friend Rachel,” I say. “She just got married yesterday.”

“Congratulations,” Connor says. “And nice to meet you.”

“Thanks!” Rachel is exceedingly giggly. I can’t blame her, not when I remember what she and James have no doubt been doing for the past twelve hours. “It was so beautiful. Everyone on the ranch working together to make our day special—you’d never see something like that in the outside world.”

“You’d better get back to your husband,” I tell her, grinning. “Connor’s going to be staying with us, so you’ll see him again when you eventually come up for air.”

Rachel laughs. “Welcome to Pyrite,” she says, and jogs off toward the cabin she and James now share.

Connor and I watch her go. “She looks happy,” he says.

“She is,” I agree. “She and James are such a good match, and she’s right—it was a really beautiful wedding. I’m really happy for them.”

“Weddings here must be really nice,” he says.

“They are, but what makes you say so?”

“Just the fact that everyone knows each other,” he says. “I’ve seen how it’s been for you today—you greet everyone we pass as if they’re an old friend.”

“You’ll become friends with them too,” I say. “Before you know it, you’ll feel like you’ve known them all your life. People become family very quickly here, with the way we all work together for our mutual wellbeing. And you’re right, that did make the wedding extra special.”

He nods. “I’m not very close to anyone like that in the outside world,” he admits. “I don’t see my parents and siblings that often—just on holidays. I have friends, of course, through work, but I just never developed that feeling of closeness with them. They’re drinking buddies more than anything else.”

“We don’t drink here,” I point out. “Xavier’s philosophy is that alcohol impairs the forming of natural human bonds and causes people not to be their best selves. It’s all about being your best self at Pyrite.”

Connor nods. “He told me a bit of that when I arrived this morning. And a lot of it was in the informational material for the wellness seminar when I initially signed up. The whole thing was about taking advantage of the peace provided by an escape from the world to find and become the best version of yourself.”

“Exactly,” I agree. “We lose track of our real selves so often in the outside world. We label ourselves and spend our energy trying to live up to those labels. For example, when I was working for Ryan Hemmers, I constantly thought of myself as a tech assistant. That label became who I was. Do you know what I mean?”

“Sure,” he agrees. “I was a marketing associate. But what’s wrong with that way of thinking?”

“The problem is that we aren’t what we do,” I say. “Here at the ranch, I do all kinds of things. I make clothing. I tutor children. I help with the livestock. But none of those things define me. They’re just contributions I make to the community. And since I’m not defining myself according to the work I do, I’m free to look for other ways to understand who I am.”

“Have you found them?” Connor asks.

“Sometimes, I think so,” I say. “It’s an ongoing process. I’m working on it. You’ll work on it too, while you’re with us. And let me tell you, when you uncover a fundamental truth about yourself, it feels better than almost anything. It’s one of the best things ranch life offers us.”

“How do you even begin to think about the world that way?” Connor asks, somewhat wistfully.

“Well, the seminars help,” I tell him. “And the workshops. I’m assuming you saw some information about those on the website.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t really sure what to expect.”

“Come on,” I say. “The full list is posted every week in the Commons. I’ll show you.”

I lead him over to the wall beside the fireplace, where I can see one of the lists of weekly events. They’re handwritten, always, and looking at the list now, I see it from an outsider’s perspective. I remember what it was like when I first got here, before I was used to official papers being handwritten. It looks unprofessional, almost childlike. Connor doesn’t say anything, but I can see him taking it in.

“We don’t have any computers here,” I remind him. “Almost everything is written out by hand.”

“If you don’t have any computers, how is there a website?” he asks.

“Well, Xavier has a computer,” I concede. “But he only uses it for the website, and that mostly runs itself. Most days, he doesn’t touch it at all.”

“I see.” There’s skepticism in Connor’s voice.

“Look.” I pull his attention back to the list. “Here are all the seminars, workshops and activities that are going on this week. Xavier’s weekly mindfulness lecture is on Saturday night, see? That’s always a good one; I go every week. And anybody else who wants to can sign up to lead an activity. My friend Miriam leads this yoga class here, see? They meet up on Eastern Hill. And Rachel’s husband James runs the book club.”

“There are books here?” Connor asks.

“Of course there are,” I say. “Why wouldn’t there be?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Why isn’t there internet?”

“The internet is too big,” I explain. “It’s too full of toxicity. It’s easy to get lost, to find stories or information that increase your stress or provoke uncharitable emotional responses, and all of that takes you further away from becoming your best self. Books are different. Xavier has specifically chosen the books in our library, and they’re all spiritually nourishing and intellectually stimulating. Besides, having book clubs allows us to share the ideas we get from the things we read, so the experience isn’t isolating the way the internet can be.”

“Got it,” Connor says.

“This list is posted every Sunday evening,” I say. “I recommend stopping by after dinner to see what’s available in the coming week and what you might want to take part in. As you can see, activities are always after dinner, when most of our daily chores are complete.”

“What if I don’t choose to do any of the activities?” Connor asks.

“Of course, that’s to be expected sometimes,” I say. “Everyone needs personal time, and we understand that. But it’s also important to be social and to make yourself a part of the community. If you never participate, you won’t have the opportunity to get to know everyone, and you won’t be taking full advantage of your time here. We really want you to be part of our family,” I say, knowing how hard it is for some people to feel welcome on their first day in a new place.

Connor nods. “That makes sense. And a lot of these things look really interesting, so I’m sure you’ll be seeing me there.”

“That’s great,” I tell him. “You’re going to fit in really well; I can tell already.” I hope I’m saying that because I mean it, and not just because I want him to feel comfortable and do well here so I can continue my crush.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Connor says.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, realizing that the rest of the Commons is clearing out around us. People are bussing their tables, returning their dishes to the kitchen to be washed. Lunch is over, and we’ve been so preoccupied with the tour (and let’s face it, I’ve been so preoccupied with him) that we completely missed our chance to grab some food.

“Now that you mention it, I’m starving,” Connor says. “I haven’t eaten since the pack of jerky I got at a truck stop on my way in this morning.”

“That’s some sad breakfast,” I say.

“Well, I imagine the meals here will be much nicer.”

“Fresh, for one thing,” I say. “Let me run back to the kitchen and see what I can find. Wait here.”

I dart through the swinging kitchen door, find Bev, and explain the situation. A moment later, she’s handing me two swiftly made chicken salad sandwiches and a thermos full of lemonade. She gives me a knowing look as I thank her, and I wonder if she heard me and Connor talking outside the kitchen. Bev is the closest thing I have to a mother at the ranch, and I’m sure she’s already picking up on my feelings for the new guy. No doubt she’ll want to talk to me later about him.

Connor and I eat lunch on Eastern Hill, which provides the best views over the property.

“It’s so quiet up here,” Connor says.

“You get used to it,” I tell him. “After living in the outside world for so long, the white noise of traffic and people feel normal to you. But this is what the natural world really sounds like. Xavier says that on the rare occasions he has to go back out into the world, it feels like an assault on his ears.”

“It’s a really peaceful place,” Connor says, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Are you glad you came?”

“It’s the best decision I’ve ever made in my life,” I tell him honestly.