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Chapter Text

Caroline woke early to make breakfast. She slipped away from Pierre snoring away in their bed and headed into the kitchen. She cracked a few eggs into the pan, the smell warm and comforting. Something simple.

Pierre came in not long after and sat at the table, rustling open his newspaper. He didn’t greet her. She slid a plate in front of him and took her place at the far end of the table.

He brought the fork to his mouth, chewed once, then paused. “Did you get these eggs from the store?”

Caroline nodded. “And the cheese.”

Pierre lowered the paper to look at her properly. “Caroline. What quality were they? I was going to sell those.”

Her eyes dropped to her own plate, then Abigail’s.“They were silver. You said I could—”

Pierre slammed his fork down on the table. Caroline didn’t flinch. He did this often enough. “Silver? Caroline! I could’ve sold those! Use the low-quality. They’re practically free already.”

She bit her lip and kept her gaze fixed on the wood grain beneath her plate. She should’ve grabbed the worst eggs she could find, and the worst cheese. 

But Abigail had been complaining about them.

“I’ll use them tomorrow. I—”

But Pierre was already on his feet, muttering as he stomped downstairs toward the store. He left his plate half-full, the smell of eggs already cooling in the silence he left behind.

Caroline wasn’t even that hungry anymore. She finished off his plate anyways. He wouldn’t come back for it. He never left the counter until the store was closed. He never even left the store until dinner time, unless he wanted to go out for a drink. 

When she finished, she picked up the plate and carried it to the sink. Porcelain clinked against the metal pan and the bubbles clung to her hands. 

Below, she could hear Pierre’s salesman’s voice, loud and cheery in an awfully fake way.

“Ah, Farmer! Back for seeds again? You’re single-handedly keeping the shop afloat!”

Caroline set one plate on the rack and glanced at the clock. 9:10. Pierre wouldn’t be back up until late. She dried her hands on a dishcloth, ready to start the rest of her day—when the floorboards creaked.

The kitchen door opened.

Caroline turned, startled, and froze. Abigail should’ve just been waking up. Who was—

The Farmer stood in the doorway, awkward and dusty from the fields, holding a rough bouquet of dandelions. Their roots still clung with soil, a few stems bent where they’d been plucked.

“Oh,” she said, blinking at the sight. Her hands twisted the damp dishcloth. “I see. I’ll, uh… make sure to put it to good use. Maybe… a salad?”

She forced a small smile. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him—of course not. He’d been in Pelican Town for over a year now. She’d nodded to him during the Egg Festival, made friendly conversation in the shop when Pierre was too busy to ring him up—she talked, he listened. But it had never been more than that. He was just the Farmer. Always busy, always running around, always working. Like Pierre.

And now here he was, standing in her kitchen, with a bouquet of weeds clutched in his hands.

The Farmer only nodded, wordless as ever, before placing the flowers on the counter and stepping back into the hall.

Caroline stared after him, then down at the yellow blooms. Not exactly high quality produce.

The next day started much the same. Caroline made a breakfast—this time with low quality ingredients. An omelet for Pierre and Abigail with the nearly expired eggs and cheese.

She wasn’t excited to hear Abigail’s complaining.

Pierre came in and ate quietly. No disapproval expressed. And he went down to the store.

Caroline washed her dishes and didn’t eat. Then the farmer popped in again. Not with a bouquet of weeds, but with a large, pale pink melon with the leaves still on top, cradled in his arms.

“Oh. That’s sweet. Thank you.”

He placed it gently on the counter with a nod. For a moment she imagined slicing it, serving it chilled with lunch, and maybe Abigail wouldn’t complain for once. Maybe she’d like it.

But when it was cut in the afternoon, with the leftovers of their weed salad, Abigail wrinkled her nose at it. “What am I supposed to do with this? It’s so mushy.” She shoved the plate away.

Caroline picked up a slice. “It’s fresh,” she said softly. “The farmer brought it this morning.”

Abigail only shrugged and went back to her room.

Caroline ate the piece anyway, sweet juice running down her tongue. Pierre would appreciate it, at least. Free food.

But the next day, the farmer came back again. In her kitchen with a carton of fresh milk, presumably from one of his cows. 

Caroline blinked at the carton, then set it carefully on the counter. “Thank you… This is very useful,” she said quietly. It wasn’t exciting, like a melon or a bouquet of flowers—even weeds, but it was nice.

He gave her another nod before running off back into the store.

Caroline glanced down the hallway, before ducking into her tea room and pouring some of the milk into her tea. She tested it and smiled lightly at the creamy warmth. It was almost sweet. Delicious.

She couldn’t help but think about him coming tomorrow too. He had come over three days in a row. Maybe he would make it four.

And he did.

Caroline usually slept in on Sunday’s. Pierre didn’t. He got up at the normal time and skipped breakfast, always happy to save the money. 

Caroline watched him leave their bed before getting up. It was odd. 

She didn’t know why she was getting up early. But she also knew exactly why. 

She wanted another gift from the farmer. Free food was always nice. And maybe it would be something else. 

She witnessed him giving Abigail strange little rocks before. Nothing like diamonds, but he seemed to have a surplus.

She headed into the kitchen, and instead of making breakfast, she sat at the table with a cup of water. Tea came a bit later, and the religious of the villagers would come by soon.

But the farmer came by first. With another bouquet in his arms. Not like the first bouquet. This one was better. Daffodils.

Caroline’s face lit up before she could stop herself. “For me? This is such a thoughtful gift! Thank you!”

She took the bouquet into her arms and began to open her mouth to offer the farmer something in return. But he was already gone. 

She glanced down the hallway—clear—and stepped into her tea room—her sunroom. It was perfect.

She gave the flowers a quick sniff and grabbed a vase to sit them by the window, right in the sun.

Somehow, this gift was different. These flowers felt different.

The dandelions were… an attempt. An appreciated attempt. The melon was better. Something for the family. Same for the milk.

But this was for her. Pierre wouldn’t see them—not that he would care. They were all for her.

She made herself a cup of tea as she heard the villagers passing.

Usually she’d be out greeting them—saying hi to Jodi and George. And Kent. But as the blue light shone through the vase and onto her, she felt better sipping her tea.

Chapter Text

Caroline woke to the patter of rain against the roof. A steady, unbroken curtain of sound. She lay there for a moment, listening. The farmer wouldn’t come today. How could he, in weather like this?

When she rose, Pierre was already in the kitchen, a bit early, and waiting for breakfast. She cut three thick slices from a loaf of bread that had gone hard days ago and set them on the table with a pat of butter. The knife scraped against the crust, echoing in the silence between them.

It was strange, sometimes, how they ate. Strange and a little sad. Pierre had rows of shelves downstairs, stocked with goods from all over the valley—jars of jam, wheels of cheese, flour in tidy sacks, even fish on occasion—and yet his own family chewed on stale bread in the morning as if they were barely scraping by.

They weren’t hungry. They had more than enough food. Not good food, but food all the same.

Pierre ate without comment, as always. Abigail grumbled, of course, but tore into her piece anyway before heading back to her room.

Caroline sat with her own plate, tearing off a bite and chewing slowly. The bread scraped her gums. Her eyes drifted toward the window. The rain came down heavier. No, there was no way he’d come today. It was already so much later than he usually came.

But then the door creaked open, and there he was. The farmer, soaked through, mud on his boots, water dripping from his hair. And in his hand—crushed together in a damp fist—a handful of jazzes. The sharp, garlicky smell hit the room before he even crossed the threshold.

Caroline rose quickly, her face softening despite the stink. “Oh,” she whispered, almost to herself. There he was.

He lingered just inside the doorway, dripping onto the floorboards, his hand clenched tight around the battered flowers. 

She was shocked, a bit stunned, actually. She gaped as he gingerly pulled one flower from the bunch. Slowly, he held it out to her.

Caroline stepped forward and took it from his chilled fingers. She cradled it like porcelain and hurried to the counter, grabbing the first thing she could—a teacup—and set the flower inside.

It leaned gently against the rim, absurd and beautiful all at once. And the least garlicky of all, she noticed. 

When she turned back, he was still there. Still dripping, still silent. For the first time, he hadn’t left the moment she took his gift.

“Oh—you’re soaked through,” Caroline said, the words tumbling out. She darted toward the linen cupboard, fumbling for a towel. “Here, let me—”

She didn’t give him time to protest, if he even would have. Pressing the towel to his chest first, then his arms, then up to his face, she dabbed away the rain clinging to him. He stood still under her care, his eyes following her every hurried motion.

Finally, she plopped the towel onto his head and scrubbed at his hair, rough and motherly at first, then gentler as the strands refused to behave. His carefully combed style collapsed into a damp, flattened mess. She huffed a laugh under her breath, almost embarrassed, and stepped back to take him in.

“I’m sorry, I—“ another laugh slipped out. This one was louder, less ladylike, and she slapped her hand over her mouth to contain it.

She giggled at the ridiculousness of their situation. The farmer, absolutely dishevelled in a way she’d never seen his work cause. And her, 100% the cause of it all, even if she didn’t know why. 

She forced herself to stop, but every few seconds, a barely contained wave of laughter went through her. “I’m sorry, I— I don’t know what c— came over me.”

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, you must be freezing.” She wrapped the towel around his shoulders and pulled it tight. She stared at him, hands still clutching the ends, and before she could stop them, the words tumbled out.

“Why do you keep coming here?”

It wasn’t rehearsed, not even thought through. Just there, hanging in the air between them.

The farmer blinked. For a moment, she was sure he wouldn’t answer. He never did, not really. Just nodded along. But then, quietly, simply—

“…I want to.”

As if that was explanation enough. And maybe it was for him.

Caroline took a step back, letting go of the towel. She wanted to laugh, really. Some random farmer from the city just wanted to give her gifts—bouquets of all things. Flowers.

She never got flowers unless she grew them herself. Pierre wouldn’t.

A small blush rose on her cheeks, but the farmer wasn’t there to see it. He was already heading back down the hallway.

She heard him bump into Abigail in the hallway, and she froze. Just for a second. Then she was moving quickly,  grabbing the teacup and slipping into the tea room before her daughter could see the precious flower inside.

She set the teacup down on the windowsill, nestling the jazz into place among the other stems she’d hidden there. Her little private garden.

Only then, with the door closed and the rain against the window did it hit her.

The first time she’d heard his voice. 

Low and blunt and softer than she’d expected.

“…I want to.”

It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. He had spoken. To her. Not a nod, not silence, but words. 

She let out a slow breath and turned the rim of the teacup, facing the petals towards the warmth of the sun.

Chapter Text

Today Caroline’s morning was much faster. Before she knew it, the rest of the stale loaf was gone, eaten by her family for breakfast.

She was excited for her next gift. Or maybe it wasn’t the gift. Maybe it was seeing the farmer. Either way, she could feel it in each of her breaths and every movement.

So there she was, sitting at the kitchen table, waiting.

She knew he’d show up, though she couldn’t explain why. Just a hunch.

And he did. She watched him step into the kitchen with another flower. Not a bouquet—just one. Yellow and orange, its beauty unmistakable.

“Oh.” She popped to her feet and rushed over, nearly tipping the table.

A Summer Spangle.

He held it out to her, and Caroline clasped it to her chest.

“Oh, Farmer… you’re spoiling me! I love it.”

The words tumbled out before her brain could catch up. And before she knew it, she had thrown her arms around him in a sudden hug.

Then she froze. Her face flared so hot it had to be unnatural—red and green, like some terrible Christmas theme.

She jumped back a few feet, still holding the flower as if it might break.

A nervous laugh slipped out. “It’s perfect! Thank you.”

The farmer lingered for a moment, his eyes on her face like he was trying to memorize it. Caroline’s stomach fluttered, though she kept her nervous smile in place until he finally stepped out the door.

She let out a shaky breath, holding the spangle close.

It deserved better than a vase, she decided. Something that might keep it alive a little longer, past the summer if she was lucky. She carried it to her sunroom, setting a clean terracotta pot on the table. The soil was already warmed from the sunlight streaming through the glass.

She worked carefully, pressing her fingers into the dirt, easing the spangle into its new home. A little water. A gentle pat of soil around the stem. She turned the pot toward the light, watching the orange and yellow petals glow in the sun.

Her little garden was growing.

And then, with her heart still beating fast from earlier, she went to prepare the living room. It was Tuesday, after all.

The women stretched out across Caroline’s living room on their mats, the rug rolled up and the air thick with the hum of chatter. 

“Well, someone’s glowing today,” Robin teased, hands stretching out in front of her, mimicking Caroline’s actions.

Caroline shook her head quickly. “Oh, it’s nothing.” But there was still a slight smile on her lips.

Robin narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. “Nothing doesn’t make you beam like that.”

Jodi leaned forward, lifting her weight again, already curious. “Come on, Caroline. Spill.”

Caroline hesitated, her cheeks warming. “…The farmer has been bringing me gifts.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Ooh, gifts? That’s sweet. What kind of gifts?”

Caroline laughed nervously, twisting her hands together. “Just… flowers. Little things.”

“For your garden? That’s perfect for you then,” Jodi said after a small grunt.

“It is. Today he brought me a Spangle—“

Caroline paused. She didn’t mean to say that. There was nothing wrong with it, of course. But she had wanted to keep it private.

Robin gave a low whistle. “Isn’t that your favorite? And a statement flower.” She dropped onto her map and rolled closer, grin widening. “So, what’d you do?”

Caroline’s face went hot, and she moved into a downward dog to hide it from her friends. Marnie might have noticed, but that was fine. She wasn’t listening. 

“It’s— I may have… hugged him.”

Robin burst out laughing, while Jodi’s expression snapped into something sharper. “Caroline!”

Caroline winced.

“That sounds like flirting,” Jodi said, her voice cutting through the laughter. 

Robin wheezed on the floor, squeezing out another question. “And? You hugged him? That’s it? What’d you say?”

She was positively sure she looked a sickly color. “I said that he was spoiling me?” Her voice grew quieter with every word. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. But her mouth kept moving. “I said I loved it. It was so pretty—“

Robin cut her off with more laughter, but Jodi was a different story. “That’s even worse!” She dropped her dumbbell onto the floor and grabbed a towel to wipe her face.

“You’re married. You need to cherish your family—you don’t know what could happen, or how quickly it could change.” Her words carried the weight of someone who’d been worried about their spouse for years.

Robin’s laughter died off quickly after that. Caroline went a bit pale. “I wasn’t flirting with him. I was just showing appreciation.”

There was a bit of awkward noise. Just Emily’s music filling the silence in an odd way. 

“I think you’re overreacting a bit, Jodi. I mean, she’s not doing much. And even if she is, it’s just a bit of harmless fun,” Robin said.

That brought all the color back to Caroline’s face, plus some. “We’re not! We’re friends! We’re friends…” 

But were they? She’d spoken to him more in the past week than in the past year. And he had figured out an outstanding amount of her favorite things in just that. She wasn’t even sure that Pierre knew much about the flowers in her garden, or really anything of importance about the sunroom. 

Jodi spoke up again, this time with a warning in her voice. “Fine. Harmless fun. With a nice, handsome, farmer.”

Big mistake, Jodi.

“Oh, so you think he’s handsome?” Robin bombarded her with questions that turned Jodi a similar shade to Caroline.

“Wha— no! I’m married too. We’re all married. Just an observation.” 

Caroline couldn’t help but chuckle as she watched Robin torment Jodi. 

“You know, he’s quite rich. I spend time on the farm for work. It’s something stunning.”

So much for exercise.

Chapter Text

Wednesday morning was quiet. Too quiet, almost. With Pierre’s closed, the store was still and the house even stiller. Caroline sat in the sunroom with her tea, the steam curling up past her face as the sunlight spilled through the windows and warmed her and the plants.

Her eyes kept finding themselves drawn to the daffodils and the Spangle. Even now, it brought a grin to her face. She sipped her tea, as if to hide her expression from herself.

And then Jodi’s voice came to her again. That sounds like flirting. You’re married.

She watered the Spangle, and in a moment of distraction, spoke to it. “It’s not flirting,” she whispered, like the petals would believe her. Robin’s laughter rang in her ears instead: harmless fun.

She took a long sip of tea. It was only fun. Just flowers. Just kindness. Nothing more.

Still, as the hours passed with no sound of the floorboards creaking, no gift arriving in her kitchen, she found herself strangely restless. The farmer couldn’t come today. The store was closed. She should’ve expected that.

But by afternoon, she had dressed herself like normal, and wandered into town. She stopped by the fountain near the ruined community center, sitting on the cool stone edge, letting the spray catch in the breeze.

She thought about fixing it up. Not her. Not Pierre. Nobody could, could they? Robin couldn’t redo an entire building. And who would even fund it?

And then she heard it — the quick, swish sound of someone running through tall and unkempt grass. She turned just as he came into view, running up the hill. His hair was mussed, his shirt clung to him with sweat, and in his hand—another spangle, this one red.

Her heart skipped.

He slowed to a jog as he reached her, chest rising and falling, dust clinging to the hem of his pants. Without a word, he held the flower out.

Caroline blinked, staring up at him in surprise.

“How did you know I’d be here?”

The farmer only gave a small, half shrug and gestured to the flower in his hands.

Caroline laughed softly, taking the spangle into her hands. “You’re ridiculous. Do you know that? Absolutely ridiculous.” She turned the flower in her fingers, the petals catching the sun. “And… very sweet.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The fountain bubbled quietly behind her, and the air between them was filled only with the hum of bees in the grass.

She patted the edge of the fountain. “Sit. You look like you’ve run all the way here.”

He hesitated, then sat beside her, elbows braced on his knees.

Caroline twirled the spangle, watching the way its colors shifted in the light. “Why flowers?” she asked finally, tilting her head toward him. “Why not… I don’t know, one of those funny stones you give Abigail, or a jar of pickles?”

The farmer glanced at her, then at the water. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, blunt as ever. “You like flowers.”

Caroline was quiet for a moment. “I do.” She gave him a sidelong glance and thought about Robin’s words again. “Careful, though. You’ll spoil me.”

He only shrugged again, as if spoiling her didn’t sound like such a terrible idea.

She let out a breathy laugh and tried to channel her inner flirt.. “You really don’t say much, do you? That’s probably why everyone likes you so much. You don’t talk enough to get yourself in trouble.”

The farmer tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching like he might’ve smiled.

Caroline felt heat creep into her face. That wasn’t very… flirty. That was something Robin would laugh at her for. She tried again, twirling the spangle between her fingers. “Well, you know, a lady can only accept so many flowers before she starts wondering what they mean.”

That got his attention. He turned toward her, brows lifted slightly.

Her heart stopped.

Oh no, maybe she’d said too much. She waved a hand quickly, forcing a laugh to smooth it over. “I don’t mean anything bad, of course. I just mean—well—flowers do have meanings, don’t they? Dandelions for wishes, roses for love.” She caught herself, stumbling over the last word. “And spangles are… heavily based on intent and delivery.”

He studied her for a moment, then nodded, like he accepted her explanation.

Caroline cleared her throat, staring very intently at the fountain. “Anyway. It’s just nice, that’s all. To feel noticed.”

The words hung in the air longer than she meant them to. Caroline twisted the spangle again, admiring the petals instead of glancing at him.

The farmer only sat there, steady and unreadable beside her, elbows on his knees.

She blew out a slow breath, forcing her shoulders to relax. “Well,” she said, as if dismissing herself, “I should probably get back before anyone wonders where I am.”

That was a lie; she went to the fountain every Wednesday. Nobody ever came looking.

When she stood, he stood too. He didn’t say anything—just gave her the smallest nod before heading off across the grass and up to the mountains.

Caroline pressed the spangle to her chest, heart pounding against it. “Harmless fun,” she whispered to herself. But she didn’t quite believe it.

Caroline slipped back into the shop, the spangle still warm in her hands. She meant to duck upstairs, to her room or the sunroom, but she didn’t get three steps in before Pierre’s voice cut across the counter.

“Caroline? Where’d you get that?”

Her breath caught. The flower must’ve been obvious—too perfect, too vibrant to be mistaken for something she’d plucked from her garden. She held it closer to her chest, heat creeping up her neck. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a flower I found.”

Pierre stepped out from behind the counter, frowning as he reached for it. “Nothing? That’s not nothing—that’s a Summer Spangle. Fresh, too. You don’t find those just lying around.” He plucked it from her hands before she could protest, turning it between his fingers like merchandise already tagged with a price.

“Pierre—” she started, but he wasn’t listening.

“This’ll sell well. Maybe to Emily, she likes bright things like this. Or better yet—next time the farmer stops in, I’ll tell him I found it up in the mountains. He’ll pay good money for it. Always giving out gifts.” Pierre smirked at his own cleverness, already heading back toward the counter.

Caroline stood frozen, hands still curved around the absence of the flower. She wanted to say something, to reach for it, to tell him it wasn’t for sale. But the words stuck in her throat.

“Why don’t you grab me a pot with some nice soil in it? I’ll keep it right up here by the counter and keep it fresh.”

She nodded, unable to do much else, and headed to her sunroom, to grab one of her empty pots.

Chapter Text

Thursday came with a heavy sun, and Caroline made her way into town to find Jodi in the square. Jodi’s face brightened when she spotted her.

“Caroline! Come to dinner tonight. You haven’t really been around Kent since he’s been back.”

Caroline hesitated. “Err…” The idea of eating with them was tempting. Jodi was a good cook. Kent was nice enough.

“I want the people I love to get to know each other a bit more.” Jodi leaned in a bit, as if she was hoping the appeal to Caroline’s feelings would get her to agree.

“Okay. Sure. 5?” It would be fine. Abigail would be at the saloon, playing with her friends. And Pierre would be… well he’d probably be spying on Abigail, under the guise of grabbing a drink.

“Perfect. Sam won’t be there—“ Caroline’s attention got pulled away from Jodi, as the farmer appeared. His bag was bulging with what looked to be fish as he approached them, sand in his hair and stuck to his face.

“—fish tacos. I know you just love them—” Jodi stopped talking as she realized there was another presence. “Oh. Farmer. Nice to see you.”

Caroline opened her mouth for a greeting, but another spangle—dark blue—was pushed into her hand. Her mouth shut with a pop. “Oh, thank you. Someone might think you’re trying to woo me.”

Jodi kicked her leg, arching her brows high. Caroline went red.

The farmer, still wordless as ever, stood for a second, before digging in his pocket. Almost as an afterthought, he handed a large, sparkling, diamond to Jodi.

“Oh, you're such a sweetheart! I really love this!”

It was Caroline’s turn to arch her eyebrows as the farmer dashed away like he always did. “Is that a diamond?”

Jodi’s face went the same shade as Caroline’s. “Oh, Yoba. I just accepted a diamond from a man.”

Caroline crossed her arms, careful not to crease the flower. “So now you see. It’s just a normal th—“

Jodi cut her off with a hushed and panicked whisper. “I just cheated on Kent! He just proposed to me, and I said yes!”

Caroline watched her friend with something akin to disbelief. “He didn’t even get on a k—“

“Caroline! How do I break it off without telling Kent?!”

Caroline stared at Jodi, her lips parted, unable to form a response. Finally she managed, “Jodi. He gives gifts to everyone. It doesn’t mean anything.” Ow.

Jodi clutched the diamond to her chest like it was burning her.

“Caroline, I’m married.”

“You’re married to a man who’s been back for almost two seasons.” Caroline’s tone was sharper than she meant, but she softened it. “You’re just nervous. He gives rocks to people. Even… pretty and sparkly rocks.”

Jodi didn’t look convinced, but she pocketed the diamond quickly, her eyes darting between her house and the saloon, as though Kent might step out at any moment.

“I’ll see you tonight.” Jodi stepped back, hand pressed against the sagging pocket, as if hiding it from the world.

Caroline sighed as she twirled the spangle in her fingers, returning to the store. She was lost in thought, too busy thinking about how she hadn’t gotten a diamond, to remember that Pierre had already taken one spangle.

His voice called out to her from the counter.

“Caroline! Good job.” He bounded over to her. “You must be an amazing forager.” It was a compliment, but it didn’t feel like one.

His lips pressed against hers quickly as his fingers slipped the spangle away from her. “Go grab me some pots and soil. Haha! I’ll be rich if you keep this up.”

He turned around with a smile on his face, not noticing the way Caroline’s breath picked up.

If you keep this up.

Caroline rushed up to her tea room, passing by Abigail who was just stepping out of hers and Pierre’s room. She didn’t stop to think about it, as the door slammed behind her.

She took a moment to gather herself.

That was her flower he just took. Her pots he wanted. Her soil. He didn’t pay for those. She had money for her plants. Not a lot. But enough.

And she didn’t even protest it. Yoba, he’d changed so much from when they got married.

She sucked it up and brought him what he had asked for, just barely glancing at the pot sitting on the countertop beside his register. It didn’t look bad. Just… not colorful, like when he took it.

Pelican Town was the type of place where villagers left doors unlocked until they didn’t want to be bothered, Jodi definitely wanted to be bothered today.

When Caroline stepped into Jodi’s house, her mouth started watering. The smell of cumin and fried fish hit her hard. She made the right decision coming over.

Jodi yelled from the kitchen. “Caroline, you made it! Take a seat.”

The table was already filled with ingredients. Tortillas, cabbage, salsa and more. Caroline dropped into a seat, not even bothering with politeness as her stomach growled. “They smell wonderful.” When she made it, it didn’t smell quite as good. Not with the ingredients.

Jodi emerged from the kitchen with a container of fried fish in her hands, and a ‘kiss the cook’ apron tied around her waist. “Praise me.”

As she sat the fish in the center of the table, Kent popped out of the bathroom, hands still drying on his paper towel. His posture was stiff, shoulders held too straight. “Good to see you, Caroline. It’s been… a while.” She noticed, but didn’t comment on the way his eyes flicked from her, then between Jodi and the window.

“Yes,” she said. “Welcome home, Kent. It must feel strange, being back.”

He gave a small laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Strange, yes. But not bad.” As Jodi sat in her own seat, taking off the apron and hanging it over the back, Kent leaned down and kissed her cheek.

Jodi laughed and turned to kiss him properly. Caroline looked away, out of respect, and maybe something a bit more.

“I’m glad we can all sit down together. Sam’s out with friends, and Vincent’s at Marnie’s with Jas, so…” She reached under the table for something.

“Vincent,” Kent echoed, his smile faltering. He sat heavily across from Caroline with a sigh. “He’s getting so big. He was just a little bean when…”

Jodi touched his arm lightly while sitting a bottle of wine on the table. “He’ll be home tomorrow. He’s got years before he’s out of the house.”

Kent nodded, though his jaw worked as though he was grinding the words down inside himself.

Jodi poured them all a glass in silence, and a small tick, tick, tick, filled it. Kent frowned. Then he was unplugging the old clock on the wall.

“Sorry,” he muttered, returning to his seat. “Couldn’t stand it.”

Neither Jodi nor Caroline had anything to say.

They ate in relative quiet for a few minutes, with Caroline wolfing down her favorite meal and going back for seconds. Jodi filled the space with chatter. “Caroline, how’s Pierre? And Abigail? Her and Sam are hanging in the Saloon tonight.”

Caroline nodded. “They… keep each other busy.”

Kent cleared his throat. “The tacos are good, Jodi.”

She beamed. “Thank you. I did perfect the recipe.”

Caroline rolled her eyes as she finished off her plate.

Kent cleared his throat, reaching for his wine. “So… what’s new around town? Anything big?”

Jodi hesitated, her hand tightening on her glass. “Well… the farmer’s been doing a lot. Farming…”

Caroline perked up before she could stop herself. “Yes. He farms. Lots of nice veggies. He’s nice.”

Kent nodded slowly. “I’ll have to speak to him sometime.”

Jodi gave a little laugh that sounded too sharp. “Hahah. He’ll come around sometime…” She poured another glass for herself.

Caroline’s lips quirked up as she thought about the next time she’d see him. Maybe he’d hand over another spangle.

Right. For Pierre to take. Her lips returned to their original state.

Afterward, as they lingered at the table, Kent leaned back in his chair. “It’s good to see people again. Friends. It’s much better like this.” He patted Jodi, her leg, almost her pocket, and she jumped. She tried to play it off, but Kent noticed.

She sent a panicked look at Caroline, who just shrugged. He didn’t propose.

“Can I take some home?” She gestured to the last three pieces of fish in their tortillas, already loaded with toppings.

Jodi nodded slowly, glaring. “Take it all.”

Caroline, in an almost childish move, stuck her tongue out quick enough that Kent missed it. “Thank you, Jodi.” She finished up her wine and loaded the tacos into the nearest Tupperware container, completely ignoring the venom in Jodi’s gaze. “I’ll bring this back. Promise.”

“Of course.” Jodi stood to escort Caroline to the door.

“Bye Caroline.”

“Bye Ken—“ Jodi pushed Caroline towards the door. Once they were out of his earshot, she smacked Caroline’s arm.

“Absolutely no help. Abandoning me,” she hissed. Caroline barely held back the laughter.

“He didn’t propose. He knows you like diamonds.”

“And? He’s handsome and I’m married! An orange would’ve sufficed!”

“…so you do think he’s handsome.” And the door shut in her face.

Caroline slipped back into her own house later that night, balancing the Tupperware in her hands. The shop was quiet and dark, but she didn’t need to guess where Pierre was.

Upstairs, she changed into her pajamas, sliding beneath the covers. She’d just settled when the door creaked open and Pierre stumbled in, humming some half-forgotten tune from the Saloon. His boots thudded against the floor as he kicked them off, then he crawled into bed beside her.

“Caroline,” he slurred, burying his face against her hair. His hand slid over her hip, clumsy and too heavy. “Missed you.”

“Pierre… it’s late.” His hand traveled under her nightgown and up to her chest grabbing roughly and using it to pull himself closer against her back.

Caroline was stiff as a board and still as a stone. Then she shifted away, tugging his hand out of her nightclothes.

“I’m tired,” she whispered. “You’re drunk. Go to sleep.”

Pierre scooted after her, to the middle of the bed. She heard a small metal rattle, his belt unbuckling. And then it stopped, replaced by his snoring.

Caroline let out a sigh of relief and tucked the covers around herself, creating a small barrier between her and him.

Chapter Text

Friday was normal. She woke up before Pierre, untucking herself and slipping into the kitchen. She made some oatmeal for her family, and slipped into the sunroom before Pierre had even sat down.

She had a quiet sip of her tea, letting it warm her, before she tended to her plants.

First—the most important—the tea sapling. She only got multiple cups from the leaves when it was well cared for. And she needed as close to seven as possible.

She spritzed the soil with water and gave it a bit of plant food, same as always. Then she moved onto the next one with soil. The spangle. She took care of it well, though not quite happily. Every time she saw it, she just remembered the ones slowly perishing at Pierre’s hands.

And the farmer.

She attempted to finish quickly, trying to get the farmer out of her mind, which was proving very hard. Being surrounded by everything he had given her was bringing her back to it.

Eventually, she let out a sigh and slowed back down, unable to rush the care of any flower.

It wasn’t until all of them seemed to grow a bit taller, did she feel satisfied. She stepped back, and even then, she couldn’t get the spangles out of her mind.

She slowly slipped out of her room, and down to the store, where she peeked around the corner. She checked on the beauties, hoping Pierre had put in a little more care.

He hadn’t.

One was starting to wilt. The other was losing its color.

She straightened and walked by, past the counter for a closer look. Pierre was too busy with a customer—the writer down on the beach—to notice her. And she was right, though the one losing color looked much worse than she thought.

She stepped out the door, heading for the museum—her usual stop. And as she approached the bridge to cross the river, she was met with an odd, but not unusual sight.

The farmer, the one and only, fishing, taking up the entire bridge with his bait and bag and huge fishing rod. “Oh.”

He was tugging harshly on the rod, obviously fighting with a fish. It was actually a bit impressive. It took a few tries, with him easing the rod down, before pulling again, but he tugged a fish up out of the water and straight into his bag, not even waiting for it to stop wiggling.

Before he could cast the next line, she stepped up. “Hello.”

He glanced over at her and turned back without acknowledging her.

She blinked. “Farmer?”

He glanced over again, and set the rod to the side, with a slight nod.

Caroline hesitated. She was expecting his odd routine. He hands over something and she’s left standing there gobsmacked.

But now she was approaching him.

“Can I cross the br—“

He stepped aside before she could finish her sentence, and there it was. A light blue, maybe teal or turquoise, summer spangle sitting on the ground beside him, it was in a pot this time, not cut or carefully plucked. “Oh.”

She stepped past him to pick it up, and when she turned back, he had already cast the next line, and was tugging in the next fish.

“Thank you.”

But he ignored her, too focused on reeling in.

She stood by and watched, hoping for an opportunity to speak. Maybe ask about why he had so many Summer Spangles—or at least, that’s what she told herself.

She watched the way he pulled in the fish, never missing one. The way his arms flexed as he tugged, the way his jaw clenched when the line caught, the way his eyes brightened a bit with every fish he caught.

Before she knew it, it was growing dark. Hours had passed in just a few minutes. Not once did she make a move to speak, nor did she even think. How had she gotten this distracted?

The museum had closed, and if it hadn’t, she had no time for a book.

The farmer’s bag was nearly overflowing, part from fish, and part from trash he had collected. He made a small gesture in front of him, and she just stared blankly. He made it again, and again until it clicked.

He was telling her to move.

She sprung into action without thinking about it, walking past him, back towards where he had come from. He followed very close behind.

It wasn’t until they were in front of the store that she realized that he had just walked her home. And he hadn’t even asked. “You know, it’s rude to tell a lady what to do.”

He just shrugged and opened the door for her, managing to stay on his feet despite the strain on his back from the bag.

She let a small grin take to her lips as she stepped inside.

As the door closed, none other than Pierre slid from one of the aisles.

Damn that farmer.

He’d distracted her to this point again.

“You even planted it for me.” Pierre took it from her hands and added it to the collection before rushing back into the aisles. Not even a thanks.

That night, they actually sat down for dinner. It took some yelling on Pierre’s part, and a reluctant admittance that they had food from Caroline, but they all sat for the fish tacos.

Abigail plucked at the fish taco, a bit hesitant to eat. There was a reason she enjoyed staying out. She liked fish tacos, but her mother loved them. And when she saw her mother not eating her favorite food, she was set on edge.

Pierre dug into his. The first bite made him pause, but instead of turning to Caroline, he turned to Abigail.

“Did you sneak ingredients from the store? This tastes mu—“

“What? I didn’t even help her cook.” She poked at the taco, and Caroline sat back nervously. It would’ve been good to mention they were from Jodi before dinner.

Pierre’s voice rose a bit. “And why not? You’re a girl. The least you can do is make dinner with your mother.”

Abigail just blinked at him, matching Caroline. He continued eating, quickly finishing off the taco, while he waited for a response. When he realized he was getting none, he continued, louder and more irritated.

“I let you live here. I pay for your college. Let’s be realistic here. You’re going to need a hus—“

Caroline finally cut in, absolutely hating the way Pierre spoke, especially to their daughter. When they first got married, he never said anything like that to her. “I actually got them from Jodi. Kent says hi.”

Pierre paused, and then stood from the table. “My point still stands. And invite them over some time. Maybe have Abigail cook with you.”

Chapter Text

Saturday was sad. Caroline had tea, and then stepped outside to have her conversation with Jodi. She didn’t look at the spangles, she actively avoided them as she passed. She was so sure they looked miserable.

Jodi was in her usual spot, glaring at Caroline. “Traitor.”

Caroline wasn’t fazed by it. “I see you’re still married.”

Jodi’s face softened. “Of course I am. Just a little hiccup isn’t enough to break us up. Kent… didn’t even seem worried.”

Caroline crossed her arms. “Because he didn’t even propose.”

“He did! He gave me a diamond and I called him a sweetheart!”

Caroline rolled her eyes. If she was being honest with herself, she was a little jealous. Spangles were nice—perfect, actually—but they weren’t diamonds. They weren’t as expensive. Pierre wouldn’t give her either.

She wanted someone to. Someone who wore straw hats and overalls and who was approaching from Marnie’s direction right now.

“Speak of the devil…” she gestured towards the farmer running up to them, and Jodi stiffened.

“Farmer! Oh. Didn’t expect to see you here. Hahaha!” Jodi laughed awkwardly. She received an odd look from both the farmer and her friend.

“It’s nice to see you again, farmer.” She tried to keep her face straight, but there was a brightness to her.

He handed her a purple spangle—no pot this time—while Jodi watched them nervously. “Oh, Hahah! I don’t suppose you have anything for me, do you?”

He paused, clearly not expecting to see Jodi, and Caroline felt a bit bad. But the farmer just reached into a pocket and pulled out a bag of grapes, much larger than the ones Pierre normally sold.

“For Vincent.”

Jodi’s mouth popped open. “For… Vincent?”

He nodded and sped off, leaving the women.

“Caroline?”

Caroline twisted the spangle in her fingers. “Yes?”

“…how does he know Vincent’s favorite fruit?”

Caroline just shrugged. “He knows this type of stuff.” She brought the flower to her face and sniffed. It was amazing.

“They’re so… big!” She picked one out of the bag and held it in her hand. It was like a small egg, just a bit squishy and a vibrant purple.

“He’s a good farmer,” Caroline said distractedly.

“So the diamond—“

“Your favorite.”

“And then grapes—“

“Vincent’s favorite.”

“And your spangle?”

“…my favorite.”

“Oh.” Jodi scratched her head as her face went a bit flushed. “So… no proposal?”

“…no.”

Jodi nodded. “I think I’ll just…” she backed away towards her house, hopefully for a conversation with Kent.

Caroline nodded and did the same, stepping into the store.

She should’ve tried to hide it before she walked in, but the thought of accidentally crushing it made her feel worse. So Pierre snatched it as soon as she was inside.

He plunked the spangle down on the counter, grabbed a pot, and started piling in soil from the sack she gave him.

Caroline lingered by his elbow, watching the way he pressed the roots too tightly. “You should use fertilizer,” she said gently. “It’ll take better that way.”

Pierre didn’t even look at her. “You’re right,” he muttered, then reached for the cheapest fertilizer he carried. He shook a handful in, dusting the petals with chalky white grains.

“I meant… one of the quality fertilizers,” she tried again. “The flowers would thrive—”

He cut her off with a scoff. “Quality’s wasted on things that just sit and look pretty. What would you know about quality gardening anyways?”

Caroline’s lips pressed together. She stepped back, folding her arms as he patted the soil down with far too much force.

The petals drooped almost immediately.

Pierre didn’t eat breakfast on Sunday. Caroline didn’t think he did. She woke up after he was already in the store, tending to it. If she didn’t make it, he didn’t eat in the mornings.

When she sat up, she could already hear the prayers from the altar room. Jodi and Kent—and George—had already come in. That was two weeks in a row she hadn’t been out to greet them.

It was a bit tiring when she wasn’t religious. Jodi always made sure to bless her excessively on Sundays. Kent… she hadn’t spoken to him much on Sundays. Sweet guy, he was just so focused on getting to pray. He barely even noticed her. George wasn’t even religious. He was just old. But she guessed it was better to climb Yoba’s vine near the end instead of not at all. She wouldn’t, but still.

But today, she especially did not want to speak to Jodi. Not when there was a permanent frown on her face. There weren’t any fish tacos to help her mask it, nor could she sneak away to her sunroom without revealing it to people she didn’t necessarily want to know about it. No offense Jodi.

By midafternoon, the weight of those poor spangles and Pierre’s attitude pushed her outside. She slipped away from the house, up to the community center. She lowered herself under one of the old trees, taking in the smell of nature—grass, wildflower, berries and leaves.

Then her eyes drifted to the broken down building they all used for a landmark. It wasn’t quite as bad when they first moved there. It was brighter and safe to enter. The only thing that was the same was the clock over the entrance. And it was still working perfectly, almost as if it was magic.

She’d never been inside. She told herself she would one day. To explore what it used to be. Every time she walked past it, the thought went through her mind, and she never did.

“Caroline.”

She startled. The farmer was coming down from the mountains, bag on his back, hat shadowing his face. Wordless as ever, he set down a small pot before her.

Another perfect spangle, green and almost glowing, with soil flecked with something pale and grainy.

Fertilizer. Not the cheap kind either—the quality blend that Pierre refused to waste.

Caroline traced her finger over the rim of the pot. “You even… fertilized it.” Her voice was quiet, but she smiled. “Thank you.”

He nodded politely and rushed off. Not far, just to the community center. He opened the door and disappeared inside—something Caroline still couldn’t do.

Caroline sat there with her spangle until the shadows grew long. He never came back out.

When she returned home with the potted spangle, Pierre was about to lock up the store, as if he hadn’t even realized she was gone. He could’ve locked her out.

Instead of apologizing or saying it, he went straight for the pot, taking it into his hands and inspecting it.

“Where’d you get this?” He pointed to the soil with white flecks. “From my store? With my money? Is this fertilizer?”

Caroline’s breath caught.

It used to be their store, even with his name on it.

She managed a not-so-smooth lie. “No. It’s just… Just crushed eggshells from the compost bin.”

Pierre narrowed his eyes, like he didn’t believe it. Nobody would. But he did. He grunted, appeased. He didn’t even know enough to notice the difference.

She sighed softly.

He turned at sat the spangle with the others, fixing it to match.

Caroline hesitated as she headed towards the upper part of the house. “Today’s the last day of summer.”

“So?”

“…the moonlight jellies?”

They always went together. It was a family ritual, though Abigail always pulled away to stand at the docks while her parents stood on shore.

Caroline braced herself for refusal.

“I’m not going.”

“Oh…”

And just like that, she was shut down. She half expected it, but hearing it aloud made something in her chest feel hollow.

“I want to go?”

He turned to look at her. “Then go. Take Abigail with you. Maybe you can convince her to find a husband instead of her classes.”

The beach was quiet for having so many people. The loudest were the adults and their quiet murmuring instead of the children playing for once.

Abigail separated as soon as their shoes touched the sand. She ran off to stand with Sebastian and Sam, leaving Caroline and Pier— Caroline alone without saying goodbye.

Caroline could’ve followed her this time. On any other day, she would’ve gone to stand with Jodi, but she had Kent this time. And Robin was with Demetrius, too busy being enamored to even think about going over

So she stood in the same spot she always did, on the shore, a little ways away from Evelyn and George.

It was a bit chilly, and there were a few minutes before the jellies would appear. She was so used to having a warmth by her side that she didn’t think to grab a jacket.

She shivered lightly, until there was a warmth by her side. She glanced over, hoping Abigail had decided to come over for the first time since she was around thirteen.

She wasn’t disappointed to see the farmer instead.

“Hello again.” She turned to face him. This was the first time she’d seen him twice in a day after he’d already given her something.

He gave her a nod.

“Aren’t these candles romantic?” It was a bit different now that she was standing alone by the candles. But not quite alone.

The farmer just stood there, big boots and hat on, even at an event. His bag was almost empty though, just the tools he always had on him.

Odd guy.

Caroline tapped her arm awkwardly as they waited for the jellies to come out. “You didn’t want to go out on the docks?”

The farmer shook his head in the negatives.

“Abigail is out there with her friends. You’re friends, aren’t you?”

The farmer let out a small noise. It vaguely sounded like a yes.

She kept talking. “Pierre decided he would stay home tonight. So…” she sighed. “I’m alone tonight.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s just how it goes sometimes.”

She shifted towards the water and shivered again.

Without missing a beat, the farmer had an arm wrapped around her shoulder, attempting to warm her up.

She stiffened, but after a small glance around the beach, relaxed into it.

Harmless.

And Pierre wouldn’t care. He wasn’t even here.

Caroline was about to speak — ask why he was so close — but the water started to glow with blue and green jellyfish approaching the docks and shore. It was beautiful and familiar, and somehow entirely different from every other time she’d seen it. Like the first time.

She still spoke, but she couldn’t control her tongue, or the words her mouth formed.

“You gave Jodi a diamond.” The farmer didn’t move to give a response, so she kept going. “Why not me? If you just have diamonds to…?”

About halfway through the sentence, she realized what she was doing. She was basically begging him for a diamond. Her words trailed off, but it was too late. The farmer was already digging into his pocket.

He didn’t have a diamond, did he? Not for a midnight event on the beach. “No—nevermind. Just forget I said anything.”

But he pulled something out. A spiky piece of clear crystal. “Is that… quartz?”

He pressed it into her hand, taking care to not accidentally poke her with it.

“Oh… thank you?” She held it awkwardly, not exactly sure what to do with it. She didn’t have pockets. Nor was it particularly useful. But it was probably the closest thing he had to a diamond on hand.

“It’s very…” she couldn’t even find a descriptor.

“Tomorrow,” he said.

She glanced up at him, at his face illuminated by the jellies in the water. “Tomorrow? What about tomorrow?” It was the first day of fall. That was it.

He didn’t answer, instead just watching the jellies until their glow dissipated.

Her eyes shot back to the water real quick. She had basically missed the whole thing because she was so distracted by the damn handsome farmer.

The candles floating in the water standing on the beach began to go out one by one, as the villagers started to head back home, blowing them out.

Caroline saw Abigail coming back over the docks, and she shook the farmer’s arm off of her, trying to hide what had just gone on between her and the farmer. There should’ve been nothing wrong with it.

But there was one person who definitely saw. And it was Robin, who made eye contact as she and Demetrius passed.

Caroline stiffened again, maybe from the cold and lack of a muscular arm around her shoulders. Or maybe from the way Robin sent a smirk her way.

When she glanced back, the farmer was gone, and Abigail was almost in front of her. “Is that… wow, you’ve got killer intuition. I was kinda hungry.”

Abigail plucked the spiky little rock out of Caroline’s hand, and her mother let her. She could probably find a better use for it. And she wouldn’t actually eat it. Maybe.