He knew it was stupid.
Frank never fancied himself as a dapper, suave, or charismatic type. He took his coffee black, put butter on his grits... He was a simple man who liked simple things.
He was friendly, hardworking, and honest, but he had a farm to run, and it didn't leave much time for anything else. He didn't expect that to change throughout the years; that was the life he chose. That was who he was.
Not this.
The farmer couldn't help but find himself double-checking his clothes for loose strands of straw before he left his property in the evening. The red hair he was combing was thinning; he let out a sigh as his reflection reminded him that he was past his prime. Running his hand over his jaw line, he decided not to trim up his beard – he didn't want to look like he was trying too hard, after all. He rolled up his shirt sleeves tidily, feeling rather silly for caring that it was done right. Against his better judgment, Frank dabbed a hint of musk cologne on his neck, feeling a strange combination of bravery and shame for doing so.
It was stupid, after all.
He'd absentmindedly strum on his guitar, trying his best not to focus on the clock and lean to the left a bit to get a better view of the guest traffic. Every evening, he'd find himself wishing that Wayne would choose a different table or at least take off that blasted hat while he ate so Frank could see past him and stare at the entryway of the Garden Grill. However, Westown was a place full of people who were creatures of habit; he knew Wayne would do neither of these things.
And Frank was also aware that his stomach would never stop jumping every time he heard the doors creak open.
But he also knew that she would always come and give him that kind, soft smile and a wave. She'd smell of rosewater and whatever it was she cooked for her daughter to eat before coming over. She would breeze over the details of her day in that sweet yet smooth alto he had grown to associate with comfort and give him the warm hug he had been craving all day.
It was a customary greeting. It was stupid to give it any more thought than that.
Stupid.
And yet there he was, fumbling with his guitar pick as he awaited her accompaniment.
Perhaps there were worse things to be.
0o0o0o0
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I'm not very far in my file of the game, but I was just a couple days in when I decided I liked this pairing. :)