Three
The afternoon sun shone flat and low in a monotonous gray sky, seeping through the glass ceiling of the spa as Shane floated, lifeless, in the depths of the pool. The heart-hammering need to suck down air slowly faded as he recovered from thirty inefficient, sputtering minutes of swimming laps.
But he'd done it.
Despite his burning lungs, the heated water relieved the ache winter had blown into his right knee. He lingered in the warmth, carefully testing the old injury. The scars running up either side of the knee were fading, but damn it if the joint didn't do a fine job of announcing every change in the weather. Even soothed by the heat, it was slightly stiff as he rinsed off, changed, and braced himself for the numbing, invigorating outdoor cold.
He strolled south, back into the town proper, feeling deliciously loose and fluid from the workout—slightly buzzed, almost. Yet no matter how good he felt now, he fell into the same trap every time: swim enough to finally start feeling better, enough to feel he deserved those easy nights at the saloon, then forget about swimming for weeks on end. Gridball had been the only consistent, positive thing he'd had growing up, the one thing he'd dedicated energy and focus to with an iron will.
Apparently, the trauma and fallout from his injury had wrecked more than just his knee, and stolen more than just his ability to play. Before had been great; after was nothing but disappointment.
"But this time," he muttered aloud. This time he'd stick with the workouts and physical therapy. He held his current swimmers-high in his mind, knowing he'd need to use it as ammunition tomorrow, when he'd have to ignore the allure of the comfortable, quiet saloon and a cold beer in front of the warm hearth.
And even if it meant having to walk through the snow to the spa, he vowed to make the trip at least two days a week until Cindersap lake was warm enough to swim in.
Two trips a week. Only eight weeks til summer. Sixteen trips. He could do that.
His problem was that could didn't always mean would.
He crossed by the old community center and cut down through the park, keeping out of the way of the folk frantically preparing the square for the Spirit's Eve festivities. He'd dropped Jas and her smirking jack-o-lantern off at Vincent's for a sleep-over earlier, on his way up to the spa. It grinned wildly at him now from Jodi's front porch as he walked by. He peered through the gleaming front room windows, half-expecting to find Jas waving at him; but this late in the afternoon, Jodi had likely gotten Jas down for pre-festival "quiet time".
He glanced at his watch. 5 pm, plenty of time to get cleaned up and scrounge something for dinner before Spirit's Eve kicked off. His stomach tightened, again, as he asked himself what the hell he'd been thinking, setting a meet-up with Jen.
… almost like a date.
Suddenly, he wanted to throw up. She'd kissed him, and he'd almost— almost —kissed her back. He'd barely stopped himself. Indecision bubbled in his stomach, making him even more queasy. He wanted to see her again, and yet he wasn't sure if he could face her; he didn't know what to do. It wasn't the actual physical stuff that worried him—he'd dated plenty once upon a time—it was just the the time. He'd never been so drawn to someone so quickly, and good ol' fashioned lust was snarling his thoughts.
Because the simple truth was that Shane had wanted Jen since the moment she'd asked him inside for coffee, that day he'd brought her chickens. Even though he still barely knew her, he burned with it. Memory of her standing shrouded by mist on the pier and framed in sunlight in the chicken coop twined itself into fantasies that snaked, unbidden, into his dreams. More than once he'd awoken in the middle of the night, flushed, panting and as hard as a rock. His thoughts were too intense, too fast. And yet—there they were.
With Steph—with her, it had been the familiarity that comforted him. He'd always been a bit of an afterthought for her, just a neighbor and a constant friend as she dealt with with Jas' good-for-nothing dad. Steph would crawl into Shane's room via the fire escape of their apartment building to let off steam whenever she'd been in crisis. And Steph had lived in crisis… another irresistible trap. Still, he'd taken the scraps she'd given him and thought it was love, when really each of them was just using the other as a placeholder for something… something...
Not that it mattered. The cancer struck hard and lingered long, and Jas was all he had left of Steph now. He still saw Steph in Jas' face, in her stubbornness, but being out of the city had shaped Jas into a kinder, softer, somehow more resilient being than her mother had been. Jas would grow up caring about other creatures, and not just herself. It was probably the one good decision he'd made in the last few years, bringing Jas out here.
But Jen. That burning. Maybe not a good decision. If he'd dodged her kiss, this could all have been avoided—
Except that was nothing but a lie, because this wasn't just lust. He wondered about her, wondered where she was when she got that faraway look in her eyes, and why she'd come to Stardew Valley, and whether she liked chickens more than rats and if she'd ever gotten the hang of fishing, and that led to—standing there and letting her take his hand and kiss him and wanting more of all of it.
He gripped his hair in his fists, silently commanding his heart rate to slow. He wasn't going to spiral into a panic. He'd get home, have a relaxing shower, have a drink to unwind, and be fine.
But as though his thoughts had summoned her, Jen's laugh drifted down the lane between Marnie's ranch and Leah's cottage. And there she was, her bright red sweater drawing his eye to where she sat atop Leah's split-rail fence. Leah leaned against it from within her yard, shading her eyes as she grinned up at the farmer, sharing a joke. Jen's little supplies wagon rested, forgotten and empty, near Marnie's front porch.
He forced himself not to stare as he bee-lined to the front door, and found it locked. He flushed, wondering if they were laughing at him. He imagined Jen telling Leah that she'd kissed him on a whim and he'd just stood there as dumb as a rock. Leah would murmur that a half-broke stocker at JojaMart wasn't worth Jen's time...
He fumbled his keys from his pocket, cracked the door—and told himself to get a grip. Jen wasn't the type to gossip, and even if she was, Leah wasn't the type to judge. He pulled the door shut again before squaring his shoulders and striding over to the two women.
He forced himself to speak first, and made his gaze touch on both of their faces as he said, "Hi."
Leah and Jen glanced over at him, friendly. They looked fairly alike, except Leah wore her slightly-redder hair in one long braid thrown over her shoulder, and today Jen's sun-streaked hair hung unbound down her back. Leah waved, diminutive and waif-thin, almost insubstantial under her heavy winter coat. But her sunny attitude was always an unexpected departure from her starving-artist-woodswoman persona, and her smile lit up her face as she greeted him.
"Hey Shane."
Leah had one of those quiet voices that made him go still, and lean in to listen. He ran his hands along the peeling wood of the whitewashed fence, uncomfortable at being under her intense gaze. Still, his own aloofness never seemed to bother Leah, giving him the courage to glance between the two women and ask Jen, "Were you waiting for Marnie? She's already gone to town to set up for tonight."
"What? No," Jen groaned good-naturedly, and slid down from the fence. Her face was paler than the last time he'd seen her, almost wan, and dark circles marred the skin under her eyes. She rubbed a hand across her forehead as though soothing a headache. "I really need to buy some hay. My feeder's busted. I probably mis-loaded it or something."
"Oh. I can help you with that," Shane said, grateful—for once—for JojaMart's training; the acquiescing sentence sprang to mind from rote memory, smashing his nervousness. "At least—I can get you the hay. Marnie might have to help with the feeder."
"Well, I should go inside." Leah said, pushing off the fence with a curious glance between them. "I just remembered I left my potluck for tonight in the oven. You two have fun."
"See you tonight, Leah," Jen said with a little wave as they watched the reedy woman cross her neatly-manicured lawn. She turned toward Shane, hugging herself. She smiled at him and nodded toward the ranch. "Shall we?"
Shane led Jen through the front hall into Marnie's small shop off the kitchen, ushering her in before him before he shut the door against the rising wind. Marnie's flower-patterned curtains hung open, letting the weak natural light illuminate the room. A charred log lay smoldering in the fireplace, lending a little warmth to the otherwise lifeless house. Being in the house alone with Jen suddenly made the homey, comfortable space feel damnably small. He cleared his throat to break the tension slowly winding its way up from his belly.
"So, you just need the hay?" Shane asked, stepping around the business counter.
"Yeah. Four bales or so will hold me over for a few days. That's all I can cart up on the wagon, anyway."
He winced as he inspected the ancient cash register, tentatively punching its worn keypad to ring up her purchase. It was so old that half of the screen cut out, leaving him unsure if the commands he punched in were even accurate. "To be honest, I never use this thing. Might be better for me just to leave a note for Marnie."
She laughed. "Whatever's best."
He loved her laugh, even if it made his stomach clench more painfully. "I can get the hay loaded for you, though. It's just—" The phone chimed from its holster on the kitchen wall. "One sec."
Before he reached the phone, it cut to voicemail.
"Shane?" Marnie's breathless voice rang out from the answering machine. "I know this is last minute, but I think I'll be staying in town tonight." At Lewis' no doubt, Shane thought with a shake of the head. "If you could check on everyone in the barn before coming to town, I'd really appreciate it. I milked all the girls before I left, so they'll be good until tomorrow. Can you top off feed and water and make sure everyone is tucked in? I'm just worried it'll snow." Marnie thanked him preemptively and rang off.
Shane glanced again at his watch. It'd be dark soon, and running around after dark to corral errant livestock was low on his list of life pleasures. He turned back toward the little shop, but found Jen hovering in the doorway of the kitchen as though hesitant to enter the house proper without an invitation.
"I've gotta run out and check the animals before it gets dark. Do you mind waiting in here a few minutes before I grab that hay?"
"Actually," Jen said, lifting a finger in inspiration. "Marnie promised me a tour. I can help you with the animals if you show me how. Make it go faster?" She smiled, slightly. "Besides, I need the practice. I made enough from harvest to have Robin start on my barn next week."
"Really?" Shane lifted his gaze to hers in surprise. The intensity of it seared him, sending his glance skittering off again toward the back door. "Sure."
He brought her through into the barn, a long corridor lined with indoor-outdoor stalls, their outer doors thrown open to give the animals access to shared pasture. Heaters worked overtime at each end of the long hall, and the swinging overhead lights battled the gathering dusk. The scent of hay and manure and cow soothed him as he gave Jen a brief overview of how Marnie had set up the barn.
"So we've got the cows, goats, and sheep in here. Chickens, ducks, and pigs are through the next section, and horses a little farther on." He waved his hand at a set of closed double-doors at the far end of the hall before ducking into an alcove loaded with bags of feed set atop wooden pallets. "This is the feed room. Feed buckets are labeled by species. Give a scoop of the right mixture into each bucket while I get the stall doors closed and do a headcount, then I'll help you with hay—it's usually two flakes per stall. Make sure the grain bucket gets closed up tight or else the birds and rodents will get into it. Alright?"
Jen was already reaching for the feed scoop, face so scrunched with determination that he almost smiled. "Right."
One goat refused to come inside without hefty bribery of sweet feed, but he managed to close up the barn before full dark. By the time they were finished with the hay, he was freezing and beyond simply hungry. Somehow, despite the work, Jen never let the conversation lull; she asked him so many questions it was dizzying, and he gave up with a laugh after showing her how to check the automatic water heaters built into each water trough.
"I'm not sure where Marnie bought those little heaters. You'll have to pick her brain some time. She knows all these little tricks and cures—" He broke off as his stomach gave a painful, long, and ridiculously loud growl.
"Hungry?" Jen asked, glancing at him sidelong and clearly trying not to laugh.
"Just a little," he said, suppressing a smile. Christ, he hadn't smiled so much in years. "Marnie made a huge mystery casserole for the festival and there's lots of leftovers. You're welcome to have some—it's the least we can do after you helped with the chores."
"Anything hot sounds divine right now. Are we supposed to bring a potluck to Spirit's Eve?" Jen asked as she copied him and pulled her muddied boots off at the back door. "I didn't make anything."
"After they run you out of town on a rail," he said, struggling to keep a straight face, "I promise I'll try to talk Lewis into un-banishing you. I don't know if he'll bend, though; forgetting to make a potluck is practically a felony."
She rolled her eyes at him, grinning, then bent over the sink to wash her hands. "See if I save you any of whatever wonderful dish I make for the next festival."
"Just don't forget that I'm partial to spicy things," he suggested, then dodged as she threw the dish rag at him.
They brought their plates of casserole into what would have been the living room in any other home. Here, bales of hay were stacked nearly to the ceiling next to boxes of supplies Marnie intended to sell. The fire still burned warm in the hearth as they sat cross legged before it with their plates on their laps. Shane was so hungry that he finished his whole plate in mere minutes, before leaning forward to prod life back into the flames.
He had the fire back to a roar before he realized Jen was watching him. She leaned against the wall, one arm propped on a bale of hay, head tilted back, eyelids heavy as though she were on the cusp of drifting to sleep. And she looked… She looked like she liked what she saw while watching him.
Shane cleared his throat, hoping that she thought it was the fire heating his cheeks. "Do you want a drink? We've got cola, beer, wine…"
"Something with caffeine would be best," she said, her voice idle. Comfortable. "Otherwise I'll never make it to the festival."
"Good point."
Marine's leftover breakfast coffee had boiled down nearly to a sludge. He tossed it down the sink, and brewed a small, fresh pot that quickly filled the house with its fragrance. He had the presence of mind to grab a shot-glass of cream and a handful of sugar packets before he brought out the steaming mug of coffee.
"I have no idea if I put the right amount of grounds in, but I tried to make it strong," he admitted as he passed it to her.
She took a testing sip, and her eyes went wide. "This is just what I need." Still, she didn't seem inclined to move even with the infusion of caffeine, so he left her alone to sip her drink before the fire while he went to take a shower.
A very cold shower.
When he was done, he found her sleeping by the fire, out cold with her hands still encircling her empty coffee mug. He tugged it from her fingers as gently as he could and tucked a blanket around her shoulders. And then, possessed by some sort of competitive need to balance the scales between them, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
The memory of her warmth stung his lips as he sat back against the bale of hay next to her. He stared unseeingly at the fire for who knew how long, heart hammering in his chest as his thoughts whirled and obsessed over Jen.
And for the first time in half a dozen years, an ember of hope flared to life within the darkness.