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The next time you meet Elliott is at the Luau. It’s the first time you visit the beach which sounds absurd but given how much work your Grandpa’s farm has needed- you didn’t have much spare time to adventure or leisure beyond your demanding fields. Despite this, Leah was adamant you attend the annual summer festival- citing the potluck’s dire need of your quality produce and so of course you went. Carefully selected package of your best ingredients in hand and the small hope of seeing Elliott blooming in your chest alongside the seasonal flowers.
There was also your not so slight curiosity of wanting to see Elliott’s fabled cabin on the beach. You’d read about the creative’s of old being sent away to recover by the sea, and your fairytale image of Elliott’s idyllic, inspired life compared to the toil and sweat of your own was endlessly intriguing. It was only this morning when you’d debated hanging up your hoe and watering can for good when you stepped out your door to find a murder of crows murdering your freshly sprung seedlings. The idea of making a living indoors off of paper and ink was incredibly appealing to trying to scrounge one out of the dirt while battling the obnoxious dark winged raiders of the sky.
The mischievous birds and their troublesome squawks fade when the air of the beach strikes you as you exit the worn path leading through the fringe of forest between the town’s river and the sand. Scented with saline gusting off the glittering waves and across the glorious spread of food and drinks that the townsfolk had brought together for the Governor’s perusal- you forget all your stresses for the wind on your face and the joy of small town life before you. The mouthwatering mix of all the delicious looking dishes distracts you for a while. After speaking with Gus about his special fruit punch and finding out some interesting things about Sam’s dedication to his community from Seb- you eventually make your way over to a small cabin close to the stream that connects to the sea.
The sun bleached wood is held together with rusty nails and the worn mesh of a tattered fishing net. The knotholes in the planks look like it’d be drafty during the colder seasons. An old lantern hangs beside the door, with a squat wood table beneath that looks ready to collapse beneath the planter atop it. A shriveled, dried up husk of what was once probably a plant sits in the cracked top soil. It’s such a sad sight that you can’t help but cringe.
Leah waves you over to where she and Elliott stand at his door when she spots you after you greet Pierre and Caroline. Clutching your container of soup ingredients, you can’t help but admire the red headed pair. The wind threatens to pull even more strands free from Leah’s braid but she doesn’t seem to mind- too delighted at your presence. Still donning her painting overalls- a colorful mess of stains adorn her and you wish that soil could be as beautiful on you. Standing beside Elliott- who looks as though he’d only just set foot out of his home. His hair was a little unruly- but given the ocean wind- it was hard to tell if he’d just rolled out of bed or this was just a constant trouble of living beside the sea.
“Ahh, we’ve been expecting your arrival, dear farmer,” Elliott announces, tipping his head to regard you while Leah hauls you into a hug. When she pulls away, her eyebrows wiggle playfully- her face carefully positioned away from Elliott’s gaze but perfectly centered for your regard.
“What’s this?” Leah asks, collecting the container from your hands and removing the lid. Inside the package is a selection of your highest quality ingredients.
A bundle of iridium quality radishes, a handful of hot peppers from your latest harvest that had made your lips go numb with how spicy they’d been and a basket of ripe, striped tomatoes that you’d plucked only an hour before.
“Wow, look at these,” Leah remarks with admiration, holding them up for Elliott’s regard who offers a deep hum of appreciation.
“You really like red, huh?” Leah says, throwing you a wink that has you stuttering for words while a smile plays across Elliott lips. A careful turn of his head allows his hair to fall from behind his ear- properly hiding the soft laugh he allows himself.
“They’re beautiful,” Leah says, “So fresh,” she adds, reaching to collect a tomato and admiring its plumpness.
“Careful,” you say, “The peppers are hot,” you warn- Leah still had paint smeared over her cheek from this morning’s canvas creation- and you feared she’d touch her face after handling the peppers.
“Good looking, thoughtful and talented, this one,” Leah remarks of you to Elliott with put-upon shock, as though she were only discovering these qualities of you.
“How’s it feel to be Yoba’s favorite to shine upon?” Leah asks, playfully bumping your shoulder before she disembarks with your ingredients.
“I’ll give these to Marnie from you but not before Shane tries a pepper,” Leah says with a grin, “He’s the town authority on spice levels for the soup!”
“Oh, thank you!” you say before she’s bounding across the sand. Elliott laughs in her wake before he shifts his weight- unintentionally making you aware of his height. His crown nearly hits the top of the door frame of his cabin. His shoulders are almost as wide too. Elliott stands with his hands clasped regally behind his back and you wonder if it's to hide the ink staining his skin the way yours are always shoved into the pockets of your overalls due to the eternal dirt stuck beneath your fingernails.
The wind gusts off the waves- a soothing sound against the chatter of the townspeople and the music of the dance floor beyond them. Elliott regards them with warm amusement.
“I woke up late, stepped out the door and found myself in the middle of all this hubbub!” Elliott admits with a bashful smile, and you’re a little thrown by his use of such an antiquated word- but something about the old, worn cabin behind him and the fancy clothes he dons makes it feel well suited. Like a romance lead had stepped out of the pages of a novel and found themself in Pelican Town.
“I forgot that today was the Luau,” Elliott adds and you smile. Leah wouldn’t let you forget it. She’d harangued you about attending for weeks.
“If it weren’t for Leah knocking upon my door, I might have slept through the entire thing,” Elliott says, answering your earlier pondering of whether he’d just rolled out of bed. How he manages to look so regal having just awoken is a little astounding. Your own battle to wake up at the same time as the sun crested over the mountains every day made you glad you lived alone for now. You would be a gremlin compared to Elliott and his effortless good looks.
Did he even own a set of lounge wear? Yoba shines, even a pair of sweatpants??
Not that you’re imagining waking up next to him- Yoba shines, you were not.
Deciding a quick change of subject was overdue- you blurt out the first question that comes to your mind.
“Were you up late?” you ask, suddenly wishing you’d eaten a pile of sand instead of asking such a loaded question when you realize all the possibilities of Elliott’s exhaustion.
Perhaps he’d had a late night at the Stardrop? Perhaps he’d brought someone home with him?
Leah wouldn’t try to set you up with someone that wasn’t single. But you didn’t know her well enough to know if she’d try to set you up with someone looking for something non-committal…
You try not to scour the beach- looking for anyone that could be missing- anyone that may still be shacked up in Elliott’s cabin as your imagination runs wild. It seems giving yourself a little extra free time may have been a mistake. Maybe all these long days under the sun had damaged your brain–
Elliott sighs heavily at your question, a small frown tugging at his handsome features before he replies.
“Just as I lay my head upon my pillow for the night- another idea for my novel struck me like lightning upon the sea in a storm,” he says with a shake of his head, “With such an intensity- a quick succession of scenes in my mind’s eye that I spent all night trying to scribble them down.”
While you couldn’t relate to Elliott’s writerly plight- not even in the physical sense- you were always out like a log at the end of every day from the sheer physicality of your work- you empathized with his dedication.
Before you can ask what his book idea involves- Mayor Lewis calls for everyone to gather around the soup barrel. A few moments later, the Governor tries the soup as everyone waits with bated breath. After decreeing it the tastiest soup he’s ever had- the party resumes with cheerful congratulations all around.
Elliott’s plight from the night before is forgotten for the feast that is laid out before you. Leah takes forever to decide before finally she piles a plate with salad and goat cheese from Marnie’s farm while Elliott opts for crab cakes and Tom Yum soup from Willie’s potluck contributions. Once you’ve all eaten your fill and you’ve stood on the pier admiring the sea, Leah strategically disappears once more.
Elliott offers to return your plate- large hand collecting it from yours before he stands and retreats to the tables where Sam stands scrubbing- steadily working his way through the table piled high with dishware beside him. A furrowed brow and deep frown on his youthful face while he’s up to his elbows in suds. Mayor Lewis scowls with arms crossed behind him and you can’t help but wonder what sort of trouble Sam had got up to. Only later would you find out he’d snuck up to the sound equipment near the dance floor and pushed the button on the power bar before running off with it. You’d been too involved with Elliott’s presence to be aware of the going-ons beyond his orbit. A meteor could have fallen and you wouldn’t have noticed.
Looking around from where you perch on the end of the pier, the beach has cleared considerably. Shane and Gus are dismantling the tables while Jodi gathers the palm leaves from the ground. The younger folk aside from Sam have left. When Elliott returns he doesn’t return to sitting at your side.
“Would you care to take a walk with me? My legs are stiff from sitting at my writing desk all night,” Elliott asks, looking somewhat tired.
Rising, you join him and Elliott takes the lead- striding back down the pier then towards his cabin at a meandering pace. Almost as though he wishes not to rush the journey.
“The fresh air of this valley is good for body and mind. A quick stroll outdoors always invigorates me,” Elliott says and you nod in understanding. One of the main reasons you’d moved here was for its rural setting. The city made you feel choked. Trapped. Caged in by gray buildings and smog.
“When did you move here?” you ask and Elliott swivels towards you, his broad shoulders pivoting and although he doesn’t move towards you, somehow he feels closer. There’s a note of surprise in his face- as though he isn’t used to direct inquiries. Careful reflection enters his face next- his jaw ticking before he speaks.
“Last summer,” he responds, and it’s rather vague and cryptic given his usually flowery speech. It makes you wonder if this is a topic better to avoid but he continues with a heavy sigh.
“Despite last night’s writing spree- for which I’m sure once I lay my eyes upon the pages of my notes I’ll detest every word with my entire being- another year has passed and I’ve nothing to show for it,” Elliott remarks sadly, gaze somewhere beyond you- his emotions churning like the waves.
Seeming to realize his morose musings, Elliott laughs dryly before his eyes crinkle upon you in a more sincere manner than the laugh that echoes out of him. As though he were hollow- the stuttered vibrations of his laughter striking somewhere lonely and meeting itself over and over. It’s such a vastly different sound than the way he’d laughed earlier today at Leah’s awful jokes.
“I hope you’ve come to think of this place as home,” Elliott says- some small hint of hope in the words, despite the fact you’re not sure he believes it for himself- if only for your sake.
“Is your new farming life panning out as you’d hoped?” Elliott asks, and his interest seems genuine. It doesn’t hold any outside motives- Mayor Lewis seemed intent to task you with every odd job and responsibility that you’re almost certain should be his. Restoring the community center of all things- something that should have never fallen to ruin in the first place. You had to wonder what monetary incentive or other profitable interest had captured Mayor Lewis’s attention while Pelican Town began to rot around him. And then there was Pierre- desperate for business in the shadow of JojaMart. You suspect he’s put a few of the gifts you’ve personally given him up for sale in his store…
Of course there were other townsfolk not invested in your farm to help carry the economy of Pelican Town. The younger folk, while celebrating your successes- didn’t look as harshly upon you when you struggled. Elliott was the same now. It’s nearly a relief with Clint’s “I could use the cash” and other like sentiments from Marnie, Robin, Willy and the rest. You could empathize- you were trying to make a living too. But it was stressful, you could admit. The pressure of Pelican Town upon you as though resurrecting your Grandpa’s farm and the grief you dug up alongside the slim profit wasn’t its own powder keg of stress.
Elliott awaits your answer without judgment or pretense. Green eyes open as the sky above.
“I’m not sure if it feels like home, yet,” you admit as the bench beside Elliott’s shack of a cabin offers some shade from the sun. Before you sit upon the bleached wood- you note the river and the remnants of a bridge leading towards a gleaming set of tide pools just beyond. Mentally, you make a note to repair the pathetic boards one day. After all, you’d like to visit the beach again. Especially to see Elliott- the most coveted beach treasure of all in your mind.
“Sometimes, it still feels like I’m visiting my Grandpa’s house,” you continue and Elliott listens thoughtfully- long legs extending out beyond yours as he folds himself onto the small bench beside you. Somehow he’s still taller than you even when seated and this realization has your feet kicking up the sand beneath you to give yourself a distraction.
“Things are going well on his-,” you pause to correct yourself, “My farm,” you say, and Elliott notes the way you swallow hard through the wave of grief before you continue. The burning accountability in your gaze as you stare at the darkening sand piling in front of your feet. “In a lot of ways it’s been better than I hoped,” you tell Elliott.
“I’m pleased to hear that,” Elliott replies with a warm smile and although the heat of the sun is great this deep into summer- you want to melt from his sincerity and how it shines from him. How, like Leah, he’s invested in your wellbeing purely for the sake of it and not simply because he wishes to profit from it somehow.
“You should come by sometime-,” you say- blurting out the offer before the reality of it hits you. Did you really want Elliott to see you sweating up a storm as you try to wrangle a stubborn stump out of the earth? Or have his possibly delicate sensibilities struck with the scent of cow manure and worms? Not that Elliott seemed delicate- in fact sat beside you all day, you had a new appreciation of how well built the man was. Even beneath the suit- the layers he covered himself within- was a broad, fit frame that you admired.
“I mean-,” you’re quick to backtrack- wishing to bury yourself in the little pile of sand your boots had disturbed- “Only if you wanted to-,” you hurry to say and Elliott laughs. The bench shakes and creaks as he leans forwards- large hand running down the length of his wide thigh while he tries to contain his amusement into something more poised.
“Forgive me, dear farmer,” Elliott starts and your heart drops- fearing you’d overstepped with your invitation and he’s about to rebuke your offer with more grace than you believe you deserve. Elliott stifles his laughter- tamps it down completed when he spots your crestfallen features, worry lancing through his own.
“It’s only that I was about to invite you to visit my cabin whenever you like,” Elliott says and relief crashes over you like a wave against the shore. “It’s full of spiders and sand that I can never sweep out in its entirety,” Elliott says with a small chuckle, “But I could use the company. And, I’ve encountered some beautiful shells in front here. I would imagine some of the rarer varieties could be quite valuable,” Elliott adds as though to avoid the implications of inviting you to his cabin for anything more than friendly companionship. The fact he offers something like shell hunting- tying it to some way for you to gain a profit when others might have hid their treasure finding hustle- only speaks more to his hospitable nature. Something in your chest cracks open at Elliott’s kindness. A warm, floating feeling flooding through you. If there was anything valuable on this beach- it was Elliott’s friendship, that you were certain. You wanted to hoard it.
“I would like that,” you say and Elliott smiles, his features soft in the setting sun’s glow. As though all of him were dipped in gold.
Together, you observe the sea where it meets sky in a dazzling array of shifting colors. Striking reds burn before orange and pink dance across the tall, puffy clouds and purple makes a brief appearance until finally the sun sinks beyond the waves. Everything becomes swirled with indigo before the stars begin to blink awake. Twinkling above, some so large and bright they appear reflected in the waves. Stardrops, you muse.
You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d spent so many hours not planting seeds or taking care of chickens or reorganizing your shed. Even when you were cooking dinner or washing dishes or showering- you still were thinking about the farm. But here, beside Elliott, you felt at ease. Mostly. There was the way your heart slammed to meet your ribs every time he shifted his position and made you aware of his closeness. Stealing glances at his ink stained hands. The way his broad frame ate up the space on the bench beside you until all your focus was upon him.
Eventually, Elliott sighs regretfully, as though he too didn’t wish the evening to end.
“A great idea can pass through your head when you least expect it... but if your mind is too busy you might miss it,” Elliott says as though he’d just spent a moment traipsing through your own thoughts. What wonderful things were you missing out on being so busy with the farm and all its upkeep? Something told you that the answer was in Elliott’s easy smiles. “Well, I really must get back to my work, dear farmer,” Elliott says with a polite nod before he rises and strides across the sand. The old door of his cabin creaks open and he retreats inside, leaving you to appreciate his absence and the end of a day that had been worth celebrating.
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