Randy landscapers give in to the heat of the moment, and watch their passion flower.

There I was, almost done pruning the azaleas, when I paused to take a break. I ran the back of my hand across my sweaty forehead and blew a wayward strand of blonde hair from my face. I pressed my damp T-shirt to the small of my back with my hand as I arched and stretched to ease my sore muscles. Every single one seemed to be barking after I’d spent far too long kneeling in front of the now-pristine line of flowering bushes. My thighs were screaming, and I knew I would be aching in the morning. My eyes swept across the fenced yard, taking in the magnificent view.

“It sure is pretty here,” I said for the umpteenth time. Behind me, I heard my business partner, Jimmy, chuckling. He never shared my awe for the... Read More