Chapter Text
Year 1
Spring 3
“I’m giving up on love, I’m moving off-grid, and I will spend the rest of my days putting the energy I usually save for worthless men into tomatoes!”
This was your bold declaration to your city friends when you received the news that your grandpa had left you his farmland in the valley. At first, they didn’t believe you. You’d announced you’d given up on love so many times in the past, after all.
But this time, when you insisted that men were better in fiction, you meant it to the depths of your soul. Your last failed relationship had been the final straw to break your back, and Grandpa’s gift could not have come at a more perfect time. With two suitcases and a box full of romance novels, you set off to romance retirement, determined that the only boyfriends you will ever have again will be the romantic leads in the steamy novels you read.
You’d spent the first three days on your farm, clearing up the land that had been neglected for too long. You spent the first two evenings in the farmhouse, reading books on farming. On the third evening, you determine you are due for a date.
....With a fictional man, of course, and the beach is the perfect setting to make his acquaintance.
As you descend the sandy path to the empty shore, you can’t believe how quiet the area is. It’s like your own personal oasis, perfect for reading without any distractions. You pass a small cabin, but pay it no mind; you are too busy admiring the seashells that glisten in the sand. If this were a place you could have to yourself often, it might just become your favorite reading spot.
The moment you have the thought, however, a door opens loudly behind you, and you whirl around to face the noise. For a moment, you wonder if the handsome rogue on the front of your romance novel has somehow magically transported himself to the shack on the beach... because what could only be described as a Harlequin Romance cover model exits the small structure and steps onto the sand. He is fashionably dressed, egregiously tall, and were that not intimidatingly handsome enough, his red hair is long and luscious, billowing over his shoulder in the salty breeze.
“Ah,” is all he says when he sees you. It sounds more like a wistful exhale than an actual word.
“Hi,” you say, your tone embarrassingly high. The wind blows some hair in your face, and you anxiously tuck it behind your ear. “I’m—”
“The new farmer we've all been expecting,” he finishes for you as he steps closer with curiosity in his gaze, “And whose arrival has sparked many a conversation!”
“Oh.” You can’t hide the disappointment in your voice. You’d been hoping to find solitude in Stardew. The last thing you want is to be the topic of town fodder.
He grins in delight at your monosyllabic response, and you can’t help but feel dazzled by the sight of it. “I'm Elliott,” he says, offering you his hand. He uses his other hand to gesture gracefully to the little cabin behind him. “This is where I live.”
You shake his hand once, dropping it quickly to avoid thinking about the length of his fingers for too long. “I live on the farm.”
He tilts his head, his dazzling smile unrelenting. “Yes. I know.”
“Right. Yeah.” With a nervous swallow, you adjust the book in your grasp, wondering if you should use reading as an excuse to end the conversation before it gets any more awkward.
“A fellow book lover I see!” he exclaims when he catches sight of the vintage paperback.
You quickly hold it up against your chest, trying to hide the cover from his view. “Oh, um, yeah... I had some time to kill—”
“I’m a writer!” he continues, his tone elated. “The sweet friction of pen and paper is the music of my soul. That's why I chose this beach as my home, so that I could have peace and quiet to do my work.” Swiftly, he snatches the book from your clutches, his eyes flashing with surprise as he reads the summary. “Excellent taste,” he murmurs appreciatively.
It is such a bold move that you find yourself blinking repeatedly in shock for a moment before you realize what he’d done. You take the book back before he can gauge the same similarity that you have between himself and the cover model. “What genre do you write in?”
“Romance.”
“Oh, fiction! Nice!"
He raises an eyebrow at your words. “Yes, fiction, though I often find myself inspired by real life… After all, romance could also be non-fiction.”
“Not for me,” you reply too confidently.
He looks both bewildered and enticed as he takes a step back, assessing you fully. “A romance reader who doesn’t believe in love?” he muses to himself, his eyes flashing with mischief. “How intriguing.”
Oh, no. “Trust me, I’m really not intriguing,” you assure him with a growing panic. “I’m just a boring old farm girl who reads a lot in her spare time. Speaking of which, I should probably get back to it. The farming, I mean. I don't think I'm up for some reading, after all.”
It’s clear to both of you that you’re anxiously escaping, but he lets you go with the excuse. “Well, farm girl, I hope to see you around sometime soon. I’d love to learn more about your fluctuating appetite for romance and books.”
You pause your strides with your confusion, turning back to him slightly. “You mean… my appetite for romance books?”
“No,” he doubles down with a saccharine smile, “Your appetite for romance… and books.”
“Heh,” is all you get out before marching back up the path. You grit your teeth, chanting no, no, no in your head as you go. It’s only your third day in the valley; you cannot let yourself get carried away with any thoughts that threaten your love retirement, even for a tall and handsome writer who finds you intriguing.
Elliott can go ahead and save the romance for his books. You won’t be falling for it.