Author's note: Though I posted this on AO3, I neglected to cross-post here. And sometimes we all need a little Stardew Valley fluff in our lives. :)
One
Too damn early in the morning, Shane stumbled from his aunt's house. A splinter of sunlight rose over Stardew Valley, spearing him in the eyes. Cursing both it and the early hour, he clutched a mug of coffee for dear life as he let his feet take him down the familiar forest path to the Cindersap lake.
He hadn't seen 5 am in years, especially on a weekend. But nightmares had chased Jas into his room at midnight, and the cajoling required to calm her and get her back to sleep left him wired. And with the sunrise came the bird chatter trilling through his window—though now that he was out among the trees with the autumn air chilling his cheeks, the noise was soothing rather than annoying. He rounded the ledge of the lake, eager to reach the end of the pier and—
There was someone fishing from his spot.
Weariness burned his heavy-lidded eyes, but rubbing them did nothing to dispel the image of the mist-shrouded woman slowly casting out her fishing line, her movements so graceful that when the morning fog rolled between them, she could have been some sort of ancient, ethereal spirit conjured from the lake itself. Then the sun broke through the cloud and she swore as a fish slipped the hook, and she was once again contemporary: her sun-streaked brown hair done up in two messy buns, her tanned skin dark against the mist. She shrugged her shoulders in her oversized gray sweater, settling in to wait for another nibble on the line. Rubber boots obscured her jeans to the knees, as battered as the fishing basket waiting open at her feet.
Damn, he was tired. He blinked again, clearing his head, and was surprised to realize that he knew who this was, sort of. He'd seen her on the way to work, had possibly even spoken to her once or twice at the saloon. The woman renovating the farm just north of here, whatever her name was.
Shane stood watching her, hesitant to invade her solitude—even though, damn it, she was the one intruding on his favorite haunt. But he didn't want to tell her to leave, either, just as he didn't really want to leave, and so he hovered in a silent, uncomfortable impasse. A thought struck him, churning anxiety in his gut, and he was pretty sure that he was supposed to know her name, that she had introduced herself to him. But he didn't remember it. The only thing he knew about her, aside from where her farm was, was that she was maybe a few years younger than him, in her mid-twenties, new to the valley, and pretty in a vibrant, full-of-life way that intimidated him into silence.
"Plenty of room on the dock for both of us," she called, not bothering to turn toward him. Her voice shattered the silence, sending birds winging from their roosts in the nearby oak trees. "I promise I won't bite. Just like the fish."
Shit. He couldn't leave now she'd seen him, but small talk with strangers was his personal idea of hell. He drank a long swig of coffee before trudging out onto the frost-slicked dock. The mist eased from sight as he neared her, swallowing them both. He'd nearly reached her before he realized that she'd made a joke, that he probably should have laughed. He glanced down, mentally reaching for something to say, some topic of conversation, and noticed that the basket at her feet was empty.
"No luck catching anything this morning?" he asked, and mentally cringed. What a lame conversation opener. He flushed, waiting for the biting comeback he knew he deserved. Thankfully, she still didn't look at him as she shook her head.
"I've never been any good at fishing. But I found my grandpa's old rod out in the shed and thought…" she paused, glanced at him over her shoulder, and he found himself meeting her gaze rather than letting his glance slide down to her feet; for a moment, he couldn't look away from the forest-depths verdant green of her eyes. "Your name is Shane, right? I didn't think anyone would be out here so early. If I'm in your way, I can leave."
"Yup, it's Shane." He eased past her to sit at the far end of the dock. Hoarfrost burned cold through his jeans, but he ignored it as the spectacle of the lake took his breath away. Except for where her fishing bob nodded in the shallows, the lake was utterly still, mirrored as though overlaid with a skin of frost. Autumn wasn't quite old enough to freeze the lake solid, not yet. He said, belatedly, "You can stay if you want. I just needed to get out of the house."
"Well, thanks." She glanced at her wrist watch. "I should probably head back up to the farm anyway. Need to haul some pumpkins up to Pierre's."
He nodded and sipped his coffee. "I guess I'll see you around, then."
Which came out sounding like a dismissal, and far more gruff than he'd intended. He maybe should have asked her about her pumpkins or farming or—hell—even why someone who was no good at fishing would bother getting up before dawn to try it. But backtracking to fix what he'd said, he knew from painful experience, would only make it worse. He cleared his throat, and kept his eyes fixed on the rose and golden morning light gleaming off the water.
She'd already packed up her gear and disappeared up the rocky path leading to her property before he realized that not only had he not heard her goodbye, he'd forgotten to ask her name.
A week later, Shane hauled a crate of chickens up to the farm girl's house. Marnie's neat cursive curled on the invoice taped to the top of the crate, proclaiming,
Jen Evans
Briarly Farm
Leghorn chicken (2)
Jen Evans. The name swam in his mind with foggy, half-hearted familiarity. But at least now he didn't have to ask for it.
"Thank you, Marnie," Shane muttered to himself, grateful to be out of the you-know-my-name-but-I-don't-remember-yours and is-it-rude-for-me-to-ask-again mental ruts his thoughts had been wandering down ever since Marnie had mentioned that she'd sold two of her best layers to the new farmer.
"Gave her a discount because her grandfather was one of my best customers before he passed," Marnie had said at breakfast, grinning as she laid the invoice down next to her half-finished plate of eggs and bacon. "Hopefully she'll take after him. There's lots of space up at Briarly for raising animals, even if it is a bit run down now."
"Run down?" Shane frowned, not liking the idea of sending any of their chickens to live in squalor. "I'll take 'em up, then. Make sure that the coop looks okay. Last thing I want is for some of my girls to wander off and get eaten."
"That's sweet of you, Shane," Marnie said, and he wasn't sure whether she was referring to his concern with the birds' safety, or his willingness to do the chore. Either way, she covered her obvious surprise with a smile. "That'll free up some time in my schedule. I was going to run Jas into town to play with her little friend Vincent, and then probably stop by the saloon—"
"Sure." Shane had pulled a jacket over his dark hoodie and drained the last bit of his coffee before swinging by the coop to pick out which chickens to send. Two of the best layers, as promised.
"If the farm's not up to par," he told the chickens now, huffing a little as he climbed the rocky bluff separating Marnie's ranch from Briarly farm, "you're coming back with me."
The last lingering warmth from that long-ago cup of coffee drained from Shane's system as he topped the rise and got his first good look at the little farm. 'Run down' wasn't an exaggeration.
Jen Evans had evidently cleared the swath of land immediately adjacent to the path, but a stone's throw away, overgrown grass, scattered driftwood, and crumbling stone walls obscured what once had been cultivated fields. The forest grew thick right up to the edge of two small ponds, a mess of dried out vine and weed that would take forever to clear out. Dying autumn leaves obscured the worn dirt path, crunching under his feet as he headed toward the small cluster of buildings on the northern edge of the property.
A small field of corn and other unrecognizable crops abutted what Shane thought was the chicken coop, and beyond that a small house lay nestled under the eaves of the mountains. The lights in its windows gleamed warm and welcoming in the gray afternoon, and Shane cut across the wild field toward it, eager to escape the cutting wind.
He left the crate on the house's rickety front porch. "I'll be right back, girls," he said, turning to knock on Jen's door. He stepped back, waiting. The door was freshly painted a rich brown, flanked on either side by small bales of hay stacked with pumpkins, ears of corn, and small gourds.
She'd probably grown the decorations herself, he realized, twisting to look over his shoulder at her small corn field. He grinned at the picturesque scene of a scarecrow standing vigil at the far side of the waving corn, crows lining up on the wooden fence but not daring to come any closer. The farm was itself was quiet, and peaceful, and Shane didn't want to ruin it by rapping again on the door or shouting to see if anyone was home.
When no one answered, Shane hefted the crate and wandered toward the spacious, newly-constructed chicken coop. Stacks of stone bricks led down to the coop like guiding cairns, stationed for later construction into a path. He was just reaching for the coop's door latch when a black blur of a dog charged out of nowhere, barking up a storm.
"Shit!" The chickens screeched and darted in the crate, shedding white feathers that rained down as Shane lifted the crate above his head. The young collie dog danced around him, torn between barking at him and sniffing, and in the next moment the coop door swung open, catching him in the shoulder.
He swallowed his curse as he turned, found Jen Evans' staring at at him, eyes wide. She clapped a hand over her mouth before saying, "I'm sorry! I didn't expect anyone to be there. Nugget, quiet!"
The dog shushed, and gave him one last disgruntled sniff before disappearing back into the coop. Shane lowered the crate to shield himself from Jen's eyes, and tilted the opening so she could see down into it. The distraction worked, and she looked from him to the two disgruntled chickens inside. "I, um. I brought the chickens you ordered from Marnie."
She beamed up at him. "Really? I only put the order in yesterday." And then, her attention bouncing back to him so fast it was startling, she asked, "Are you sure you're okay? I didn't get you too hard with that door?"
"I'm fine." He shrugged away her concern, even though he could already feel the bruise rising on his shoulder. "Where should I set this?"
"Just in here. Robin is finishing with the feeder."
"Automation, nice."
"Isn't it? I had no idea how much of that sort of stuff was available for farm work. It's expensive, but the sprinkler system alone saves me so much labor it's worth it."
Shane followed Jen inside, sighing as the coop's warmth enveloped him. A red-headed woman, the town carpenter, grinned at him as he entered. "Shane! Haven't seen you in a while."
"I keep busy," he said absently, looking past her into the coop. He whistled low, impressed. "This is nice. Lots of room for these girls." He set the crate on the straw-strewn floor, under one of the coop's two heat lamps. The dog rushed over, sniffing and wagging her tail like crazy, but didn't nip at the two chickens as they flew out of the crate.
"Good girl," he said, crouching to rub the dog's soft, perking ears. "Guard them, don't bite."
She woofed in reply, and bounded off to snuffle the ground beneath the low shelves where the two chickens scratched in the hay, getting to know their new surroundings. When he looked up, Robin had gone. Jen leaned casually against the door frame, arms crossed, watching him with obvious bemusement. The light streamed in behind her, haloing her before glittering off the motes of hay and dust churned up in the air, and fuck she was attractive.
He blushed, realizing he was still staring at her, caught off guard and off kilter as the word sexy tumbled through his mind like he was some sort of adolescent. He stood, wiping the dog hair from his hands onto his jeans. "I guess… I just wanted to make sure the coop would work for them. But you've done a good job setting things up."
"I'm pretty excited, I've never had chickens before," she said, reaching into the feeder to scatter two handfuls of grain on the dirt floor. "I'm looking forward to home-grown omelets. Fresh eggs, my own mushrooms and peppers and tomatoes, the works."
"Chickens mostly take care of themselves if you know what they need. I run Marnie's coop, so—ah." He hesitated, hoping that didn't make him sound too pathetic, then redirected the conversation back to something he was at least confident about: the chickens.
"These are two of our best layers. It'll take them a few days to settle but then you should start finding eggs, I'd guess within a few weeks. Although with the cold settling in, it might take longer, so don't worry. Pixie likes to bury them in her nest, so you have to hunt for them. She's a little wild."
"Pixie?"
Shane smiled, and pointed from one chicken to the other, naming them. "Pixie and Mama Girl. Jas named them, and at her age I'm just glad they aren't called Cluck or something," he added, stepping over to scratch Mama Girl on the back, between her wings.
"That's adorable. I'm guessing Jas is the little girl I saw running around the ranch yesterday? She seems pretty shy."
"She is. She's better with the animals than with people, which I totally understand. Um, giving scritches like this is sure to get you on Mama Girl's good side, and she'll leave the eggs right out in the open for you."
And then he realized that he was rambling about chicken personalities like a moron. He cleared his throat and glanced around the low building. It had plenty of perching space, but… "You'll need to sweep out at least once a week. They lay better if their droppings aren't everywhere. And on nice days you can let them out into the yard to scratch for bugs in the grass, and it'll save you on some feed costs."
"Hadn't thought of that," Jen said, swiping a gloved hand over her brown hair to knock out a few stray shafts of hay. "Thanks."
"No problem. We should leave them alone for a few hours, though. The crate and the dog stressed them out a little."
"Sounds like a plan. Come on, Nugget."
They followed the dog back out into the open. The bitter wind knifed deep, cutting straight through his jacket. He shivered and hunkered deeper into his hoodie, even as he relished the frigid, fresh air. It cut through the gray and made him feel somehow more alive. "Seems like it might snow. Or rain, at least."
"Snow this early in the year? I never saw snow back in the city until mid-winter."
"Autumn's almost over," he said, shrugging. And damn it all, now he was talking about the weather. A silence fell between them, and before he could think how to break it, she asked,
"So, you're Marnie's farm manager?"
"Not really. I'm her nephew. The chickens are more of a hobby thing."
She hugged herself and glanced around the farmyard, squinting as though suddenly pained. And abruptly, she laughed. "You know, I'm not quite sure what I was thinking. Moving out here, thinking I could make a living at farming. Now that I'm here, it doesn't feel really… real."
"I felt a little like that when we moved out here," he said, bending again to pet the dog just to give himself something to do. "Pelican Town is so different from the city. But you've got a nice spot here."
"You're from Zuzu City, too?" she asked, crouching next to him. The dog, Nugget, rolled over onto her belly, so overjoyed by their scratching fingers and the attention that soon she was back up again and dancing off to chase the crows, leaving the pair of them kneeling in the dirt.
"Yeah," Shane said, sitting back on his heels. "Been out here almost two years." Two years, a crawling eternity since his life had finally fallen apart. It felt like one long, unending haze.
Jen tilted her head to the side, clearly noticing his change in expression, but she didn't pry. Instead, she climbed back to her feet. "It's getting colder out. Listen, ah… do you want to come in and warm up, have some tea. Or coffee? It's the least I can do for the speedy delivery," she added as he frowned, unsure how to answer. "And, that way, you can tell me more about how to take care of the chickens? If you want to, that is."
She smiled. Something within Shane's chest tightened, and he realized that that smile, the way her face lit up with expectation—it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And he knew, somehow, that he would ruin that gift of a smile. So before she had the chance to look at him like that again, he stood and took a step back, wanting to run.
"I wouldn't want to bore you."
She rolled her eyes, as though she thought he was making a self-deprecating joke. "You wouldn't. It's just a cup of coffee. I mean, we're neighbors, we should probably get to know one another."
"I shouldn't," he said, and when her face flushed, her eyebrows lifting in surprise, he nodded south over his shoulder, back toward Marnie's property. "Marnie needs me on the ranch today. But, ah—if you need anything or have questions about the chickens, Marnie's number is on the invoice."
He retreated then, satisfied that he hadn't bungled that parting too awfully.
"Maybe another time," she called after him. "And Shane—" her voice ensnared him, forcing him to turn and look back at her. "Thank you for the advice. I'll let you know how it goes."
Right. The chickens. The only thing he was good for, anyway. The sun disappeared behind roiling cloud as she leapt up the porch steps and escaped into the warmth of her house. Nugget settled down on the porch like a monarch surveying their realm, but woofed happily at him as he cut once again through the field. The wind picked up at his back, blowing him home.
Its icy fingers ripped through the trees a moment before a spattering of raindrops turned into a deluge, each pelting drop a shocking revelation—too late, now—of how badly he'd wanted to join her for that cup of coffee.