The Stardew Valley Fair spread lavishly across the town square. Visitors lined up at ticket booths, food stalls, and ring tosses, courtesy of a traveling carnival company. There were red-and-white game tents lined with stuffed animal prizes, manned by workers dressed as ringmasters and strongmen. Most numerous of all were the colorful grange displays; an unprecedented turnout had them branching beyond the festivities, winding paths through local businesses.
Shane had come early to help set up the animals. Marnie spent the morning bustling between a hundred tasks, while Lewis made an annoying habit of stopping by every twenty minutes to note what a fine job he was doing. Now the fair had been open an hour and the work was done, but Shane still tried to look busy. If visitors thought him a handyman rather than one of the ranchers, perhaps they wouldn't talk to him. He was kneeling beside the pig pen pretending to secure hinges when a clear, familiar voice chimed out.
"Shane? It's Shane, right?"
A glance over his shoulder produced a pair of pointed, flat black shoes.
And a drop in his stomach.
Did William's mother ever fucking leave town? Or did she rent a room at the B&B, and only pretend to live in Zuzu?
Today, Angie Bauer was the model of casual chic. Her tailored jeans and striped shirt were made breezy by a loose yellow sweater. She held a paper cup of coffee in one hand, and a bulky, gem-blue bag rested on a crooked elbow.
Shane had a flash of his own mother. She'd been a hippie—and not one who wore exotic clothing meant to look earthy, while being just as fashion-conscious as the society woman before him. No, Jessica had been a patch-it-up, 'let the bottom of your skirt drag in the dirt' hippie. Her hair had been straggly, white, and long. She'd never be caught in pearl combs like Angie.
"Uh, yeah," he said, standing, dusting his hands on his jeans. "N-nice to see you again."
Then he caught on the dark-haired man at her side. He had to be close to Shane's age. In tan trousers and a green polo, he was handsome in a forgettable way, yet his sleek appearance—more country club than country—made him a suitable fit beside Angie.
A new Cameron-like appendage? How many makeshift sons did this woman have?
Though Shane had at least showered that morning, he hadn't shaved in days and a scruffy beard was filling in. His eyes were dry, probably bloodshot. He was definitely advertising his hangover on his face.
Great.
Angie brightened at realizing it was her son's farmhand she'd seen from behind.
"Oh, thank goodness!" she said, shifting her purse. "Henry? This is Shane. He works for my son. Shane, this is Henry, a friend from town. David had something come up, and Henry gallantly offered to escort an old lady to the fair."
Shane shouldn't have eaten breakfast that morning, seeing as it now churned in his stomach. He remembered Angie's words from their first meeting: Cameron's an old friend, Shane.
His eyes settled on Henry, on the trim clothes, the handsome features, the expensive haircut. Probably went to the same place that did Cameron's fancy-ass fade. Men like this went to a stylist, not a barber. And they had professions, not jobs, which showed in their polished leather shoes.
For a guy as alternative as William, he sure did like the clean-cut types, didn't he?
Angie sipped her coffee, looking at the animals. "What lovely creatures. I'm sorry that I can't dawdle. William gave us directions to his grange display, but surprise, surprise—my son isn't answering his phone. Could you tell me where the produce booths are?"
"Um. Over there." Shane jerked his head toward the Stardrop Saloon. "Main square, on the right."
Angie beamed. "You are so helpful! Thank you, I'd be lost for ages."
"Nice to meet you," said Henry, giving Shane a nod and smile.
Trip on a cow pie.
Shane returned to his bogus job of inspecting the hinges once they were gone. Children squealed in the distance, and he saw Jas dragging Vincent to the rabbit cages.
He moved on to the next hinge.
Perfect.
All the hinges were fucking perfect.
This wasn't even a thing.
Sighing, he looked up. Marnie was seven or eight booths down at her grange, and at catching Shane's eye she stood and gave an exuberant wave for him to come over.
"The animals look set," she said, brimming with energy. "Do you mind sitting the booth for awhile? You can keep an eye on the pens from here, and I've promised to meet Lewis again, now that we're in full swing."
"Okay."
"Thank you!" She grabbed her clipboard and a canvas tote, then hurried off to the square.
Shane sat on the creaky folding chair. His body felt like an empty tin can.
God, this whole thing was surreal. The community coming together for wholesome family fun. Tourists flooding into their little hamlet like so many pieces of grain funneling into a bin, shaken down from the surrounding cities. The crisp autumn air that was full of laughter and 4-H sounds: chickens clucking, goats bleating, the ding! of someone winning a prize. A breeze that scattered dry leaves to the cobblestone, wafting scents of hay and warm cinnamon.
It was idyllic.
It wasn't fucking real.
Marnie had caught up with Lewis, now walking hand-in-hand with him to admire the granges. It was a corny fall festival—not exactly the romance of the flower dance or moonlight jellies—but for Marnie it was the perfect place to be. Her face glowed as she stole glances at Lewis between chatting with the vendors. Tucked into this quaint notch of life in the valley, dating a man central to its social hub? That position was made for someone like her.
Because she'd gotten out. She wasn't like the rest of them.
Shane sat, stale booze on his breath, slumped in a crappy chair at a festival he had no business attending. His dad's words sucked at his thoughts like a parasite.
Some things ain't never gonna change.
This morning he'd treated himself to five shots with his coffee, instead of his usual three. He'd been nicely drunk while setting up, but now that it was gone he felt hollow, detached from everything.
Behind Marnie and Lewis, Angie buzzed through the granges like a bumblebee in her bright yellow and stripes, Henry at her side. They were almost at The Bowery's booth.
For the first time all morning, Shane looked that way. William was small in the distance, his back turned, tweaking his display. Probably twisting a jar of layered beans because it'd been a millimeter off or something, which in William's world was against the fucking law.
Shane's tired, hungover brain gave a delayed lurch.
The law.
Lawyer.
Blinking, he looked back at Angie and her polo-ed shadow. Henry— the lawyer from Zuzu. The guy she'd been trying to set both William and Shane up with, when she'd come over for lunch the first time.
So that was it? William jerked Shane off last week, and now he'd asked mommy dearest to set up that date after all?
Like anyone could blame him. William had to be dying for a hit of sanity these days. A week of space from Shane and he'd probably realized what a vortex of shit he'd gotten sucked into; finally remembered he lived in a world of men who didn't all run off like dramatic babies after sex.
They all fucking belonged. Marnie and Lewis, in the heart of small town life. Angie and Henry, in the elite circles of Zuzu. William, a bridge between both those worlds.
Then Shane, a useless lump no matter where he was.
"Oh, what a lovely design! Look, Trevor, at the egg sunrise!"
An elderly woman and young boy stopped in front of Marnie's booth. The woman gave a warm smile from under her purple and red hat. "Did you design this, son?"
"My aunt," Shane said flatly.
"How creative!"
The boy tugged on the woman's sleeve. "Grandma, can we please play the fishing game?"
She nodded, eyes still traveling over the eggs. "I suppose…you've been patient while Nana looks."
"Yes!" he cried, jumping and pulling on her hand.
As they crossed to the games on the other side of the fair, Shane could only think: two more people who belong.
Where did he belong? Probably back on 88th avenue with Corey. Back in a house with musty carpet, and a fridge empty but for cheap beer and condiments. A TV on top volume that blasted biased, angry news, punctuated by slurs of agreement from his drunk dad. Shane walking in late, also drunk from stopping at the bar after his shift. Accidentally slamming the door too loud, and Corey yelling, "KEEP IT THE FUCK DOWN!" over his blaring television.
That's where bottom of the barrel people like him belonged.
"You think you've finally got what it takes this year, Bill?"
William looked up from the final touches on his grange to see Pierre standing with crossed arms. It wasn't just the presentation that gave him pause. It was the list of goods the signs advertised. It was the unified tattoo-styled labels on his jams, salsas, juices and specialty oils next to the colorful layout.
Just like in poker, those tapping fingers told William the general store owner was nervous.
Good.
Retailers had an advantage over small farming operations; the rules only stated that items had to be local. It wasn't hard to source local when you ran a general store, and the last two years, Pierre had swept through the competition like a produce-festooned broom. Not this year. William was going to snatch the trophy out from underneath the smug shithead, and then Pierre could suck The Bowery's big, award-winning dick.
"Oh, I guess we'll just have to see, Pierre."
See you pout like a baby when I win.
Caroline and Jodi came up as he was folding the tablecloth smooth.
"Goodness, William," Jodi breathed.
"It's very impressive," Caroline agreed, wrapping a hand into Pierre's elbow. "Isn't it, dear?"
Pierre sniffed and readjusted his glasses. "Well, it is certainly...meticulous. See you at the judging, Bill."
William gave him a half smirk as the three of them walked on.
The Stardew Valley Fair was massive this year. He ran the side booth next to his display, and it wasn't long before he'd gotten some potential contacts for supply contracts.
"Will!"
His smile at hearing his mother's voice died when he looked up.
Who in the hell is that with her?
He was one of his parents' crowd. Polo. Clean-shaven. Fucking winged leather loafers. Had to be a lawyer—only a lawyer would be clueless enough to wear winged shoes to a fair. Even Ma had been practical enough to wear flat Jimmy Choos today.
He leaned down and accepted a coffee-flavored kiss on his cheek, whispering, "Where's Dad?"
She pursed her lips, waving her coffee cup. "Something came up at the office."
That was a familiar as fuck excuse. Then again, the fair was on a Monday, and Mondays were when everything seemed to hit the fan for the financial district. He shouldn't have been surprised.
"Right," he said, recalibrating.
"But," said Angie, grabbing Mr. Replacement's arm, "I did bring a friend! Henry, this is my son, William. William, this is Henry Aldrich Jr. He'sNelson Aldrich's boy."
"Hello, William." Henry held out a manicured hand. It felt baby-soft in his callused fist, and William kept a pleasant expression plastered to his face while his pulse throbbed with fury.
Ma beamed in cheerful pride over Henry's shoulder. "I thought that you could show us around."
William had been counting on this networking opportunity, and with Shane working for Marnie today, he didn't have anyone else to man his booth.
"Maybe after we get through with the judging? Then I'll be free."
Henry gave a low whistle. "My god, man," he said, impressed. "You designed this?"
William nodded.
Handing him her empty cup, Angie pulled out her phone to take a few pictures. "Oh, it's wonderful, son!"
William sniffed her coffee then took a sip. It was too sweet, but he'd been up since three and it served her right after tossing a stranger on him with no warning.
"Are these also going up on the wall?" Henry asked, standing closer to William as she changed the angles of her phone to fit the entire display.
"Well of course."
"The wall?" William asked in a flat tone.
"Oh, you know." She flipped her thumb over the pictures. "I like to keep a record. Henry, honey, take a few with us in front!"
She handed Henry The Single Lawyer her phone, and William stood next to her.
"Why is Shane all the way on the other side of the fair?" she asked as Henry took the shots.
William felt his ears get red at the bald-faced question.
"Uh," he said intelligently. "What?"
She rolled her eyes and stepped away from the display, taking back her phone. "I asked why your employee is on the other side of the fair, you goose. Those loud farm machines are doing a wonder on your hearing."
William sat at the booth, stacking jam jars. He was over there because it was away from William, of course. Officially it was to help Marnie, but he wasn't stupid. Shane was avoiding him. William had hoped to see him later tonight when the fair was breaking down, to feel out the weather before it burst on his property tomorrow morning. Apparently the universe had heard his plan, snickered, then dropped a mom and Henry shaped turd right in his lap.
"His family's ranch has a display, and his aunt is doing a lot of the set up. She needed him more."
Angie brightened. "Oh, do you think—"
Before she could finish the question, her phone went off. She frowned. "One moment, boys."
She walked away, a finger in her ear as she tried to get reception in bumfuck wonderland.
"When Angela told me you were going to be presenting at the fair, I didn't expect such artistry," Henry said, his tone sincere.
His mom's formal name was like a record scratch.
"Angie," William corrected.
Henry blinked stupidly.
Strike one, my dude.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Her name is Angie," William said. "She hears you using the full version, and you'll be blacklisted from her parties faster than you can wipe shit off those nice shoes."
Henry flushed, and William bit back telling him to fuck off with any pleasant expectations. Where the hell had Ma pulled this soft idiot out from? Was there something about him that screamed, 'Please, give me moronic twinks, I beg you'?
"Good catch," Henry said. "I won't forget."
William smiled at some people passing by. "You know, if you want, I can meet you and Ma at the food court after they do the judging. I really need to stay here. This is my biggest market of the year."
Henry picked up a jar of blueberry jam.
"Three fifty a pop, huh?" he said, turning it from side to side. He looked at the signs William had posted. "And forty for a case? How many cases are you trying to sell?"
William frowned at the sudden interest. "Not just the jam. I've got beer, wine, honey—"
Henry waved a hand. "Yes, yes. Your portfolio is diversified. How much would the total gross be if you were to sell every one of those boxes, hmm?"
William narrowed his eyes. "Four thousand," he said, snapping out a number that was twice his expectations.
"Done." Henry pulled a checkbook from his back pocket. "Who do I make it out to?"
William stared at his beautiful pen and watch. They were gold, like the stud in his right ear.
"The Bowery," he said, taking a card from the stack on his table. "And...perhaps we can do further business."
William knew the Aldrichs. Henry Sr. was the grandfather, who'd inherited his fortune from a rich mother. His son Nelson—or "Nel" as the old fuckers at the club called him—was a womanizing toad. There'd been a handful of rumors over the last five years that he'd pushed his attentions on secretaries, who'd all mysteriously left for better opportunities.
According to his mother, Henry was supposed to be different. A self made fucker, working his way up into a respected law firm. But it looked like the high-handed, control-freak nature of the family was still tightly ingrained.
William sifted through his options as Henry wrote the check.
The most attractive idea was throwing a fit and telling him to fuck off, but Ma was here. It was her first fair, and the best one to showcase his work. He didn't want to cause problems. Was he outraged and insulted? Sure. But who gave a fuck when he might be able to turn this to his advantage?
"You have a lot of clients, Henry?" he said, mind working furiously through his emotions, drop-kicking the shame into a box and locking it down. "Corporate law?"
Henry blinked, caught off guard.
Strike two, jerk off. Don't underestimate me because I'm out in the boonies. My blood is the same ugly blue as yours. Just because I'm in coveralls doesn't mean I didn't grow up sucking from that same money teat.
It made William's stomach sick, negotiating like he was purchasable, but the fuck if he wasn't going to do this on his terms. Sell a man a beer and get drunk for a day. Get a contract for a brewery, however…
"Um, yes. Yes, actually," Henry said, answering his question.
"You could buy today's output. But, I have another idea."
"What are you proposing?"
"You put away that checkbook," William said in an even voice, "and agree to look over a contract. I'd like to be the supplier for your practice's gift baskets."
He met Henry's eyes. The man was like a Ken doll, all plastic edges and polished beauty without a drop of authenticity in his soul. Maybe the hot rich guy waving fat wads of cash worked for some people, but not him.
"Why, William! This is gorgeous!"
Marnie's cheerful voice broke through the tension bubble with a snap. William swiveled his head to see her and Lewis approaching. They were like a gust of fresh air. He shook Lewis's hand, a kinship with the slightly shabby mayor springing up in him. William and Henry might share origins, but Stardew was his real home.
Lewis tilted his hat up as if to make room for his eyebrows. "You've outdone yourself this year, m'boy." He put a hand conspicuously to his mouth, stage whispering, "And between the three of us? You've outdone Pierre as well."
Marnie beamed. "I've got Shane running the show so I can take a gander at all these beautiful displays. Yours is so creative!" She nodded toward the opposite end of the square. "Can't see it too well from here, but Jas helped design ours."
In the distance, Marnie's grange stood out against the colorful produce booths. White, tan, and brown eggs created a muted sunrise, the darker eggs making a circle in the center, growing brighter as the sun spoked out. It was cradled by golden hay that gave the illusion of glowing rays. Shane sat beside it, hands in his pockets, slouching and staring at the ground as people mingled around him.
William pulled his eyes away, afraid that if his gaze lingered, he'd out them both.
"Thank you so much." He nodded to Henry. "Henry, this is Mayor Lewis and his girlfriend Marnie. Marnie is my neighbor. Henry is my mom's friend, all the way from Zuzu."
"Hello," said Henry. "Nice to meet you both."
Lewis met him with a hearty handshake. "Pleasure!"
"Is this your first time in the valley?" Marnie asked kindly. "Certainly a beautiful day to see it."
"It is, ma'am. Actually, I was just trying to convince this handsome fellow that he should show me around." Henry flashed her a sunny smile.
William kept his face even at the clear manipulation. No wonder his mother had pinged on this joker; he was just as driven as she was.
Marnie gave William a coy, in-the-know look, eyes dancing. "Well, don't let us interrupt!" She touched Lewis's shoulder. "Let's leave these boys to it."
After they were gone, William's mask dropped and he faced Henry, who was clearly enjoying the negotiation.
"Well?" William asked.
"You know, I'd love for you to convince me. Hard to do that if we're stuck at this booth all day."
"I'm not someone you can just write a check for, Aldrich. But if you wanna do business? Sure. We can talk."
Henry's eyes wandered his body. While William hadn't dressed with seduction in mind, he hadn't wanted to meet up with Shane for the first time in nearly a week looking scruffy. His hair was pulled back with the sides freshly buzzed. His t-shirt had the Bowery Logo on it—a stylized B over a cornucopia of produce and canned goods—and outlined a figure fit from years of manual labor. His jeans, while faded, fell neatly over clean boots. He could have been Mr. August for Gay Country Living.
"I'll agree to talking...but only if you promise you'll think about more later," Henry said, slipping his hands in his pockets.
William raised an eyebrow. "We'll see."
He snagged a brown leather jacket off his chair and shoved on a wide brimmed straw hat, covering his hair and tattoos in the motion. If the guy wanted an eye-full so bad, he could look at long sleeves and a hat.
As he'd closed down the booth, Ma returned, beaming.
"Good news," she said. "Funding was approved for the children's wing at St. Monica's. Sorry that took so long, but I couldn't sit on such amazing news."
Her enthusiasm bolstered him. He could survive the fair with the two of them for the next few hours.
"Great news, Ma," he agreed.
"Well," she said, pleased that he'd closed up. "We ready to go?"
Reluctantly, William abandoned The Bowery's booth, hoping the business cards he'd laid out would be enough to create the contacts he'd been making in person.
They passed a lot of granges first. He shook hands, introducing his mom to the different operations that existed in the valley. He knew almost all of them; helping Lewis on the planning board had made that inevitable. He let his guests try the different jams, juices, and fresh fruits. There was live music in one corner, Sam's band playing a bunch of cover songs. Some people even danced. All afternoon, they meandered through the booths, moving between handicrafts, local artwork, and food vendors.
Henry, William was learning, liked to flash his wallet.
Which was fucking annoying.
Angie accepted the drinks he bought them with thanks. She was a hummingbird of interest, fascinated by the hanging quilts and locally made jewelry, twittering when Henry purchased a piece she'd been admiring. William had been handed the bag, trailing his mother and her friend as they ooh'd and ahh'd over handmade candles and artisan soaps. The load of things he was schlepping grew with each stop.
When Ma was around he had someone to talk with, but William wasn't sure how to interact with the arrogant man alone. On the one hand, he'd feel like he'd won if the bastard would just agree to the contract. On the other, it was clear Henry was way more interested in taking a walk on the honky-tonk side than in doing business. Ma's presence kept a civil tongue in William's head. Still, it didn't keep Henry from shamelessly flirting at every opportunity, and the more they wandered, the tighter the muscles in his neck and back got as he held himself in check. Giving Henry the rejection he deserved would only ruin Ma's visit.
They slowed next to an antique's tent, a huge mirror on two carved arms reflecting him back with his mother on one side and Henry on the other, standing closer than any stranger had a right to. He gazed at his trapped expression and flexed his jaw. It wasn't the first time he'd whored himself out to get what he needed. It looked like it wouldn't be the last either.
It was hot. It was noisy. He had a fucking headache, and kept getting interrupted by idiots who couldn't read body language.
Shane rested elbows on his knees, rubbing his temples in a moment of stillness between the throngs.
"Shane?"
He looked up, relieved to see it was Marnie.
"Are you all right?" she asked, frowning. "You should take a break and get some lunch. The food is amazing. I've gotten my rounds in and can man the booth again."
On the far end of the square was a beer tent, serving up hot dogs, nachos, and frothing brews to a long line of people. Shane'd had his eye on it all morning. If she was offering…
"Okay," he mumbled, standing. "Thanks."
Marnie took his seat, rolling her ankles and closing her eyes; a look of tired contentment.
Much as he wanted that beer, he hesitated before leaving. Going to the tent meant passing William's grange, which had been weirdly abandoned all morning. He glanced around until spotting Angie's bright sweater; she, William, and Henry were at a craft booth in the distance.
William had spent weeks prepping his design. Then today he hands over the reigns to his business cards?
Because that makes fucking sense, Shane thought dryly, heading for the tent. At least he could get reasonably trashed without alert. No one batted an eye at noon beers when you drank them under an awning with fifty other people.
Though he hadn't intended to stop at William's grange, the deserted booth drew him in. He'd seen the blueprints for the design, but until now hadn't seen it put together. The array of colors and textures was masterful, easily the best at the fair.
Shane knew he'd played a part in its existence. His help on the farm had given William the time needed to lovingly tend to each crop and craft. Yet being here and staring at the art, he felt so removed from it.
He picked up one of the business cards with the Bowery logo and phone number.
However much grunt work Shane put in, this was William's success. Maybe he'd inherited a farm, but The Bowery had been built from the ground up, and in a few years William had turned acres of wild, uncultivated land into a thriving business. Shane? After stocking soup cans for a decade and a half, he'd stumbled into this job by accident. A chance meeting. Luck, not hard work.
"Hmm," said a voice from behind. "Good use of color."
Shane turned. A man in a Stardew Valley Annual Fair shirt was addressing an identically-clad woman, who scribbled notes on a clipboard.
"It certainly is the most detailed," she said. "The farmer put the entire valley in the box. It looks as though he captured a topographical map."
She took a slice of apricot from the sample jars William had left out for the judges.
"Points for style and color," the man said, helping himself to a pickle spear. He took a crunchy bite. "Taste, too."
They murmured praise, jotting several more notes before moving on.
Once they were gone Shane returned the business card to its cradle, eyes drifting over the scene again. Like the judges had said, it was a map of the valley, and between the mountains and rivers he could see the town, the farm, the spa. A lump rose in his throat. William deserved to win. He wasn't sure why it struck him so hard, but it was critical someone besides Shane recognize the backbreaking labor William put into his work. Even just a ribbon or title, he had to get that recognition; particularly now, when Shane couldn't give it to him.
Last week he'd tossed a pile of applications in the trash. Maybe that was a mistake. What was he going to do tomorrow? Go back to the farm, and pretend he hadn't noticed Henry? Pick up where they'd left off?
Where did they leave off?
They hadn't spoken in days. William was giving him space, because Shane was a freak who couldn't take a good lay when it was handed to him on a silver tattooed platter. No reason to let his bed go cold in the meantime.
Shane shoved his hands in his pockets and walked toward the long line of the beer tent.
It had been hours of walking, and William and Henry were left alone while Ma dug through a clothing booth.
"Sure you don't want to shop with her?" William asked as they leaned against a fence.
"I doubt this provincial little hamlet knows very much about fashion."
William's eyebrow twitched. Of course he was a snob. Needing a break from Henry's privileged opinions, he cast his eyes over the crowded walkway until catching sight of the beer tent.
"You thirsty?" he asked.
"Oh, yes." Henry followed his gaze to the big banner, then his shoulders slumped. "But that line is so long."
William pushed off the fence. "I got it."
Before he could leave Henry's side, an insistent hand snagged his elbow. "I want the light beer. Something low calorie, okay?"
William grunted an acknowledgment and slipped to freedom. From the queue he could see the sign at his booth. No one stood in front of it. If this hurt his bottom line, so help him God…
As if God had heard, he realized Shane was standing in the row parallel to him. He stood like a depressed stone: hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, face tired. Probably not sleeping well with the extra work for the fair. Still, his clothes were clean today, so he'd already put in more effort for Marnie than he had for William all last week.
His stomach churned in discomfort as he waited for Shane to notice him. Had he seen him with Henry? Did he know that he'd come with Ma, and William hadn't invited him? Maybe he could escape his capture and clear things up before the end of the day; it'd be nice to start tomorrow with a clean slate.
He glanced back and saw Henry still at the fence, lost in his phone screen. Emboldened, William coughed.
"Hey, Shane," he ventured.
Shane turned his head, then froze.
"Hey," he replied stiffly.
William focused on the line moving in front of him, so he wouldn't blurt out something stupid like I miss you, or, So when I get rid of this asshole, can we please go drink and fool around at the docks?
"Saw your family's booth," he said, seizing for a safe subject. "Jas outdid herself designing it. You put it together for her and Marnie?"
Shane shrugged, staring at a spot on the ground. "Helped."
"It looks good."
William doubted he'd just 'helped'. They'd passed by the grange on his mother's whirlwind exploration of the fair, and he hadn't missed the careful angle that each egg had been set. The shells were shiny and clean, wiped clear of any debris. The shades of ombre might have been arranged as a group effort, but Shane's meticulous memory and eye for detail was evident in the display.
He hadn't shared more than a 'hi' in days, though it felt like months. They were side by side, yet with no actual connection, the wall of unspoken confusion between them like a barbed-wire barricade. Had last week happened at all? It was practically a dream. No way he'd let Shane leave his bed without figuring out if he'd ruined things between them. Then again, they'd been so drunk. Chalk that up to one more Bauer fuckup.
As if he could hear William's self-berating, Shane glanced at The Bowery's booth, face flat. Probably disapproving of his apparent abandonment of the farm's grange. His spine stiffened with guilt. Maybe Shane had seen Henry, and in his characteristic silence was thinking, 'What are you doing with this clown?'
William searched for an explanation. Yet there he was, infected with family and responsibility.
Itchy from obligation, he checked over his shoulder. His social wart wasn't at the fence anymore. Hope sprang eternal; maybe Henry had wandered into another booth. Regardless, it was a moment of freedom from his clinginess and William had one chance, if he didn't blow it. In for a dollar, in for a mint.
"Let's hang out after this."
Shane lifted wary eyes.
Encouraged, William said, "When the judging is finished, do you think that maybe we could—"
"Will." Henry slid next to him, huffy. "This line is taking forever. I'm bored. When we get done with this, we should go find Angie."
William's back molars ground together. Damn his timing.
"You're busy," Shane mumbled, stepping up again as his line moved. Henry's cheerful and obnoxious chatter drown out anything else he could have said, and William watched helplessly as Shane got his beer.
Busy.
It felt like a deserved slap. They hadn't spoken in days and then when they did finally get a chance to speak, William'd brought Wannabe Perry Mason, the city so slick on his clothes it was a miracle he didn't slide when he walked.
Shane thought he wanted this? Clearly he didn't understand as well as William had hoped.
"Of course," he muttered. Not that Shane could hear him. He'd already walked off, one hand deep in his hoodie pocket, beer to his lips as he escaped.
They were next. William ordered, then bit the inside of his cheek as Henry laid down money for the drinks. After, he dragged William back towards where his mom was finishing her purchases. The hand was uncomfortable pulling on him, too possessive for a fucker he'd just met a few hours ago.
"There you boys are," Ma said. "They're going to be announcing the grange winners soon. Why don't we drop stuff off in Henry's car and go get the results?"
"Sure thing," William said, drinking deep on his beer. It wasn't going to help much, but at least it would keep his mouth busy from saying anything offensive.
"Oh, this is exciting," Henry gushed as they meandered towards the main event. "Do you think you'll win?"
What did it matter? Right now William felt like he was losing no matter what a trophy might say.
Shane downed his beer, silently fuming.
William wanted them to hang after this? What fucking drugs was he on to think Shane had any interest in forming a tricycle with him and his date?
Maybe he thought a third presence would make Shane behave better. Henry the lawyer—now with peer mediation.
That stupid sexy brown jacket. Those stupid jeans, hugging William's hips just right, with no sign of the sweat or grime that clung after real work. Of course some city-slicker with a cowboy fetish would be all fucking over that. Right now, Henry was probably feeling William's arms under his jacket; that muscle visible whenever he chopped wood, hauled loads, or dragged out the hoses. And if Henry was close enough for that, he was definitely close enough to know how good his cologne smelled.
Shane drained the rest of his beer and walked away from Clint's booth, where he'd been browsing the knives.
"Uncle Shane!"
Jas came careening around the corner, toppling into him. If his cup hadn't been empty it would've spilled.
"I ran out of tickets," she said, breathless, "and me and Vincent haven't even seen the fortune teller yet!"
She'd forgiven him for their spat, partly because Shane—feeling guilty—had chosen to give in to her whims all day.
And the little twerp knew it.
He dug in his pocket, pulling out yet another five dollar bill. "Here."
She squealed. "You're coming, right?"
"Huh?"
"To get your fortune told."
"I've gotta get back to the booth, kid."
"No you don't, Aunt Marnie is there. Come on. How else will you know if you're supposed to let me have a kitten?"
This was not a particularly strong argument in the mystic's favor, but Shane had no energy to argue.
The clairvoyant's booth was a gauzy, incensed affair. LED candles glowed from pillars of spooky-looking wax, and a veiled Gotoro woman sat behind a crystal ball, gesturing for them to sit down. Jas and Vincent went first. Throughout their readings Shane zoned out on the deep purple chiffon, dotted in glitter, that skirted the teller's table.
"And you, sir?"
He looked up to candlelight reflecting in the woman's eyes. Done with the children, she had one hand out for his tickets. He handed the stubs over, which she dropped in a silver goblet.
"Ah," she said, delicate fingertips dancing over her crystal ball. "You are…troubled."
Give this lady a promotion.
He stared at her, impassive. As if his issues were too much for the ball to handle, she slid it aside and reached for her tarot cards instead. She shuffled, golden bracelets jingling, then placed them on the table.
"Please, cut this deck."
Jas was on the edge of her seat. Shane warily cut it, knowing he owed it to her to play along.
The first card flipped was an upside-down woman holding a large gold coin.
"Hmmm." The word vibrated in the teller's throat. "Your work has caused you much trouble as of late. Your job has taken you away from your family. You are isolating and remaining in the background, when you should be seizing life." She gave him a penetrating look. "There are those who would help you with your loads, but you are unwilling to let them in."
It was bullshit. Horoscope crap, like in the newspapers—lines vague enough to apply to any working adult. Her mention of his job was a stupid coincidence.
Still, it made Shane more uncomfortable than he wanted to admit.
She flipped the next card: three cups in a pyramid, the top one overflowing with water into the two beneath. Her hand hovered over the image.
"Wonderful friendship awaits you. You must lean into those around you to find strength. Indulge in the things that bring you joy, and do not cut yourself away from those who would nourish your heart."
Shane stared at the card, heart pounding even as she flipped the next to cover it.
The things that brought him joy? Right now, that'd be blowing off this booth and going back to the beer tent. Keep cycling to the back of the line with each refill, until he couldn't stand anymore.
It was in the stars, William, he could say, when he showed up plastered tomorrow morning.
The woman's fingers waggled over the final image, six wands that formed a twelve-pointed star. "You are going through a time of great confusion, but you will emerge through it successful if you do not allow guilt or fear to hold you back. That success will let you be your truest self. Please embrace pride in your achievements, and hold your head up."
She suddenly grabbed his wrist in cool fingers, eyes boring into him. "You are worthy of the attention you earn."
Then, as if coming out of a trance, she blinked and let go. Her hand swept across the table, clearing the cards in a smooth arc. "May the spirits smile upon you this year."
The icy imprint of her fingers remained, and Shane rubbed his wrist, angry at the unsolicited touch.
Pride in your achievements.
Fucking horseshit circus mumbo jumbo. Well, joke was on her. Shane's only accomplishment was not killing himself.
Jas and Vincent bubbled in excitement as they left, comparing the cryptic phrases she'd fed to their impressionable minds. When they turned from the booth—the blinding daylight assaulting Shane's eyes—Jas skipped up beside him.
"You," she said, mimicking the clairvoyant's earthy voice, "are troubled. You are confused." She gave him a mysterious look, waggling her eyebrows. "You want to give Jas a kitten."
The noise of the bustling crowd had returned in full. Shane felt like he was up among the trees, looking down on the whole scene.
Why not say yes? What did it fucking matter?
"Yeah," he said, brushing a hand over her windblown hair. "We'll get you a kitten, Jas."
She shrieked, immediately galloping back to Vincent with an outstretched palm. "I told you! Now pay up, Clark."
Vincent grumbled and reached in his pocket, taking out a cherry sucker to drop in her hand.
They darted ahead, bickering playfully while Shane followed behind. Isolating. Remaining, as he belonged, in the background.
Once they'd finally gotten to the center of the town square, Henry released William to check a text.
Focusing on the judging was less infuriating than thinking about how the last hour had looked to Shane. He glanced around but Shane was nowhere visible. Probably skipped out of the whole fair to drink in solitude, away from obnoxious blind dates and interfering mothers.
At the sound of the microphone feedback William jerked his attention to the front of the stage. His mother's hand slipped into his arm.
"You should be proud, no matter how it comes out," she said serenely.
He patted her hand, tense. Lewis marched up to the front of the stage, pulled on his suspenders with his thumbs, and beamed into the crowd. Then he perched a small pair of glasses on his nose and slid out a bright pink note card.
"Hello everyone, and welcome to the judging results! We've had a great turnout this year, so please give yourselves a big hand for coming out and making the Stardew Valley Annual Fair a success!"
There was a smattering of applause. Henry had slipped his phone back into his pocket and was clapping with a patronizing half-smile at the people around them.
"Now, we all know what we're here for, so I won't make you wait any longer. In third place we have..."
Ma's fingers tightened on his sleeve.
"Miller Farms and Fruits!"
Good for them, William thought. The Millers were a pair of brothers who'd been working their land for as long as Pops had owned his piece. They'd never tried for the grange displays before, and winning third place on their first attempt wasa marker of their fine production. William clapped enthusiastically as the dark-skinned farmers cheered and high fived each other. They hopped on the stage and held up the bronze medal together.
Lewis beamed at them, then looked back down at his card. William held his breath.
"In second place, Pierre's General Store!"
William's eyes widened. Had he heard right? Second place?
He whipped his head around in time to see Pierre snap his jaw shut from shock. Caroline patted his arm with a 'there, there' expression, but as quickly as his unhappy frown had slid into place, it was replaced by a friendly smile. He too went on stage and accepted the silver medal, holding it up to the cheers of his neighbors and friends.
Everyone quieted as Lewis cleared his throat.
"And! It gives me great pleasure to announce that this year's first place blue ribbon goes to…"
He opened the envelope, a twinkle in his eye.
"William Bauer of The Bowery!"
Ma hugged him, screaming in excitement. William couldn't help the flush of pride and joy that ran through him, and he accepted congratulations from Henry, then Jodi, Kent, Gus, and Emily, who'd been standing nearby. The ribbon pinning led to photos, followed by his mom forcing him to pose in front of his award-winning grange again. Then she ran back to the car to charge her phone so she could call his dad.
Once more he found himself stuck alone with Henry. Only this time, instead of the shield of being a pack mule, he was responsible for entertaining. His jacket pockets were heavy from the tokens awarded to first place.
"You...want to play some games?" he asked as Ma's form faded in the distance.
"That would be lovely," Henry said.
They started out at a Milk Can Toss, where William found that any time they spoke Henry bulldozed over his words, rambling the entire time he threw balls at glass pyramids. They migrated to a fish pond, but as soon as Henry realized the prizes were goldfish, he began a diatribe on the inhumanity of keeping fish in a bowl. Next was a basketball game, which elicited a story about a sports team he'd represented, then a wheel of fortune which brought on yet another tale of fraud and chicanery in the courtroom. A round of mini golf, a ring toss, and a break for food later, William concluded a truth about Henry. The one thing he had going for him was that with minimum effort, he could carry an entire conversation all by himself.
He was waiting for a break in the current lecture—food standards for street vendors—when he realized they'd not been to the High Striker game, which had a wall of teddy bear prizes next to it.
A wave of nostalgia hit as he stared at the brown and black toys. There had to be at least forty of them, fur new and shining. When he was twelve, he'd accidentally thrown his favorite bear in the garbage. It had been a careless moment of cleaning gone wrong, and ever since then he'd found himself pausing at different toy shops, wistful to replace that which had been lost. But he'd never seen a similar style until now.
"Oh, are you a macho guy?" Henry asked, smirking at the High Striker.
"Nah," William said, embarrassed, slipping his hands in his pocket. "You wanna try though?"
Henry grinned then grabbed him by the elbow—damn, William wished he'd stop doing that—and pulled him over to a man shouting, "TIME TO SEPARATE THE MEN FROM THE BOYS! STEP RIGHT UP, STEP RIGHT UP!"
"How much to ring the bell?" Henry asked.
The carnie grinned and stepped back, gesturing to the sign. "For five dollars you get three tries, gents! But I warn you, no one has rung the bell all day."
"My date here has big arms," Henry said with a flirty grin. "C'mon, Will. Give it a try."
His date.
Well shit. That's what this was, wasn't it?
"I'll try. But these things are usually rigged. It's that guy who decides who wins."
The carnie's face flushed. "Excuse you, sir."
William shrugged at the false outrage. He knew scams when he saw them. Sure enough, as the man took the dollar William saw him hit a button turning off the rigged device on the game.
"If you're strong enough, you'll ring the bell," the carnie said loftily. "Let's see if you can put your arms where your mouth is."
William's eyes wandered down the side of the peg board and settled on a dark brown bear. He swore the little toy was identical to Rocky, that old plush friend he'd lost all those years ago.
"Alright then." He accepted the hammer. "Let's do this."
He lifted the heavy mallet up and over his head, high.
"Aren't we dramatic," Henry said, leaning back and fanning himself theatrically.
William lowered it, not hitting the bell just yet.
"Alright, bet time. I ring this bell? You tell Ma you're tired and ready to head home."
"That's not very business minded of you," Henry said, frowning.
But William wasn't done. His mom might like the idea of him dating someone close to home, but he was so ready for this fucker to leave. He was tired of the condescension, and with the win of the fair he didn't need Henry's money or contract. Still, despite his desire to tell Henry to go fuck himself, he knew that wouldn't make Ma happy.
"If I miss? We go back to my place and you can have your wicked way with me. Hmm? That sweeten the pot for you?"
Henry blinked, and it was clear he was intrigued.
"Deal," he said. "Though now I'm excited for you to miss."
William grunted, then raised the mallet and brought it down so hard the puck raced to the top, slamming into the bell with a clarion 'diiiing' that echoed around the entire fairground. He handed the hammer back to the cheering carnie.
"On the first try even! Good job, sir. Would you like a prize?"
He pointed to the Rocky look-a-like. "That bear."
Henry's face softened as the carnie pulled it down, and before William could reach for it, Henry seized it.
"Well," he said, smiling at the bear, "this does ease the sting."
William froze.
He'd never intended to give Henry the damn bear. It hadn't been for him. None of this had been for him. But what was he going to do? Snatch it out of his hands and whine like a child? Explain that he'd been looking for that bear for years, and it'd be great if Henry would hand it back? No. He couldn't do that, not while still being polite.
"Yeah," he said, mouth dry. "No hard feelings, right? I'll walk you out to the parking lot."