Chapter Text
The first snow of winter had come early that year.
By the time evening settled over Pelican Town, the roads were painted white and the windows of the saloon glowed amber. Boots stamped slush from the floorboards every few minutes as townsfolk ducked in from the cold, cheeks kissed pink from the wind.
At the back corner booth of the Stardrop Saloon, three people occupied what had become something of a permanent claim.
Leah sat with one leg tucked underneath her, auburn curls spilling over the collar of her coat while she gestured over her wineglass. Across from her, Elliott was lounged with one hand pressed to his chest as though personally wounded by her latest argument.
Across from them sat Harvey.
He had long ago accepted his role in these debates: unwilling moderator, occasional referee, and frequent victim of Elliott’s tendency toward dramatic speeches.
“I’m simply saying,” Elliott declared, “that hyperbole is a key ingredient in making any story interesting. Art should be larger than life.”
Leah snorted softly, “And I’m saying that sometimes simplicity is what makes art interesting. A reflection of real life.”
“Art requires romanticism.”
“No, it requires honesty.”
Harvey hid a smile behind the rim of his coffee mug. Outside, the wind rattled harshly against the windows. Gus was wiping down glasses behind the bar while Emily laughed loudly at something Shane muttered beside her. A fire crackled in the hearth near the arcade machines, covering the saloon with the scent of ember and wood.
“You’re both intolerable,” Harvey sighed into his coffee.
This happened nearly every Friday evening, and truthfully he liked it. There was comfort in routine and familiar voices. The warmth of company after a long day at the clinic brought him ease, especially during winter. Darkness always arrived too early and the town felt quieter than usual. Leah was midway through accusing Elliott of “turning real people into metaphors” when the saloon door opened again.
A gust of cold air swept inside. Harvey looked up swiftly.
The farmer stood in the doorway, brushing snow from her sleeves. A thick scarf wrapped around her neck, the ends damp with melted snow. Her sweater was littered with white flakes. Strands of hair had escaped from beneath her knit hat, slightly windblown and curling from the walk into town. Harvey watched as she removed her scarf slowly, revealing flushed cheeks from the elements. She smiled at Gus while crossing toward the bar.
A warm feeling settled low in Harvey’s chest.
He paid attention to things he shouldn’t about her. Small details.
He watched as she flexed her fingers after removing her gloves. There was a faint crease between her brows when she was deep in thought. Exhaustion lingered in her posture after difficult farm days, though she always tried to hide it.
Tonight, she looked tired.
Harvey found himself wondering if she’d spent the day repairing fences again or tending to animals in the cold. He remembered her mentioning frozen irrigation lines earlier that week during her checkup. Really, he remembered far too much about her.
The scarf today was colored dark green. It was new, maybe. She always tucked loose strands behind her left ear when concentrating.
“Harvey?” Elliott’s voice cut through.
Harvey blinked a few times.
“What?”
Leah joined in, “You’ve ignored us for a full thirty seconds.”
Before Harvey could defend himself, the farmer accepted a steaming mug from Gus and turned toward the booth. Her gaze found them almost immediately. She smiled a genuine smile, endearing enough that Harvey’s stomach flipped. She crossed toward them, boots thudding softly against the wooden floor.
“Evening,” she said.
Leah crossed her arms. “You’re late.”
“It’s snowing,” she countered.
“You live two feet away from town,” Elliott replied.
The farmer shrugged out of her coat with a laugh. “Still further than any of you.”
Harvey took the coat like clockwork when she handed it to him. Still, his pulse betrayed him instantly. It was absolutely pathetic. He carefully hung the coat on the edge of the booth while she settled beside him, close enough that he could feel lingering cold radiating from her sleeves.
“Thanks, Harv,” she said softly.
”No problem.” His throat tightened for no good reason.
Leah leaned forward immediately, slamming her hands down on top of the table. “Perfect timing. Settle something for us.”
The farmer held her drink between both hands. “Oh yikes, this sounds fun.”
“Elliott thinks art that imitates life too closely is boring,” Leah explained.
“I know it’s boring,” chimed Elliott.
Leah bit back, “And I think you’re pretentious.”
The farmer slowly looked between them. Harvey watched amusement flicker across her expression.
“Oh,” she said carefully. “One of those conversations.”
Elliott placed a hand on his chest again, miming removing a knife from his heart. “Please rescue us from Leah’s cynicism.”
Leah laughed and rolled her eyes. The farmer hummed thoughtfully.
Harvey tried not to stare at the way the firelight caught against her face. He tried not to notice the tiny snowflake still melting in her hair near her temple while she pondered her response. Failed entirely.
“Well,” she began at last, “I’m no artist. However, as an enjoyer of art…I think it just depends on your audience.”
Leah immediately pointed at her. “Exactly.”
“But,” the farmer continued, glancing toward Elliott, “life does inspire art naturally. Any dramatized works are usually a commentary on life.”
Elliott straightened.
Then she added, “I love cheesy rom-coms, slice of life…I even enjoyed watching the history channel with Harvey that one time.”
It was true. During her first summer here, the farmer and Harvey had lunch in his apartment with the history channel ongoing behind them. It had piqued her interest enough that she moved from the table to Harvey’s couch, still eating what was left of her chips. They stayed there for two hours watching a segment on irrigation. It was one of Harvey’s fondest memories.
Elliott considered the farmer’s words for a long moment.
“…so either of us could be correct. How underwhelming.”
The farmer grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Harvey smiled into his coffee before he could stop himself. She always did this. She settled arguments without making anyone feel foolish. She slipped so naturally into conversations that the entire room seemed to shift around her. She belonged everywhere effortlessly, which was absurd, considering she’d only lived in Pelican Town for a little under a year.
Harvey still remembered her first week vividly. The farmer had harbored an uncertain look in her eyes at the clinic. There were plenty of awkward re-introductions. Bruises lined her body from overworking herself on the farm. Not to mention, she apologized every time she came in injured. Now she moved through town like she’d always been part of it.
She’d quietly rooted herself into everyone’s lives.
Leah took another sip of wine. “Speaking of underwhelming, how’s the farm surviving winter?”
The farmer groaned softly.
“It’s fine. There’s less work to do in terms of crops, so I’m going a bit stir crazy. This has been my fourth time out at the saloon this week.”
“I’m just happy you are getting to rest properly,” Harvey said before he could stop himself.
Her expression softened slightly when she looked at him.
“I may have over done it this year,” She leaned back into the booth. “But believe me, it was necessary. Winter’s just… strange. No crops to obsess over. The animals are fine, but suddenly there’s time.”
“You say that like relaxing is painful,” Leah assessed.
“It is painful,” she emphasized, wrapping both hands around her mug. “Honestly, I think my body finally realized how exhausted it was sometime around the fifth day of winter.”
“That explains why you nearly fell asleep during lunch last week,” Harvey said. “You were visibly nodding off.”
“I was resting my eyes.”
“You snored once.”
Leah burst out laughing.
The farmer looked horrified. “I did not.”
Harvey’s lips twitched. “Very softly.”
Leah added, “The last time I stayed at the farmhouse I could hear you snore all the way from your bedroom.”
The farmer cradled her face in her hands.
Elliott lifted his glass. “To the valley’s hardest-working farmer, finally defeated by almost a full year of basic human exhaustion.”
The farmer blinked in surprise. Then a softer expression crossed her face. “Wow,” she murmured. “I guess it has almost been a year.”
Harvey looked at her. One year ago, she’d been a stranger stepping off a bus. Now she sat shoulder-to-shoulder beside him in the saloon, laughing with his friends like she’d known them forever.
Everyone raised their drinks.
“To almost one year of your Pelican Town residency,” Leah said warmly.
The farmer smiled and clinked mugs with them.
While Elliott launched into another passionate tangent about artistic suffering, Harvey found himself only half listening once more. Beside him, the farmer laughed softly into her drink.
Harvey could hear nothing else.