*VERY SLOW BURN*
A chance encounter at the Night Market leads to a steamy exchange between the new farmer, Caira, and a man named Harvey, who both assume the other is only in town for one night. When Caira learns that Harvey is in fact the town's do...
"'I just thought you should know'," I mutter in disgust, flinging my arm forward with excessive force. "Why would he even say that?"
The farm cat, the only member of my passive audience, is more concerned with watching the hook on the end of my fishing line go sailing out over the water than listening to me whine about my personal life. I can't blame him. I'm getting sick of it myself and yet I continue to beat the horse that has long since been dead.
It's been several weeks since mine and Harvey's cozy little chat in the general store. I had hoped that by acknowledging what had happened between us, we could start a 'new' beginning as friendly-but-not-too-friendly neighbors who might chat about the weather every once in awhile but don't interact much beyond that.
But then he had informed me that he didn't regret what we did. A comment that was possibly meant to make me feel better but instead has lead to me dissecting it from every angle. As much as I've tried to move on from it, it stays in the back of my mind like an itch I can't reach.
I gnash my teeth and grip my hands around my fishing pole. "He could have just left things alone, but no, he had to go and say something like that."
The cat meows at me impatiently, his wide eyes boring into the spot where my hook entered the water.
"If you're such an expert, you do it then," I grumble to him.
"You have to give 'em somethin' to bite," a man says from beside me. I look around at Willy, who owns the fishing shop I've been parked outside of for nearly an hour now. I met him that night I first went to the bar. It doesn't seem like he and I have much in common, but I feel oddly comfortable around him.
"Here, I got somethin' that might help." He takes the fishing pole from my hands and starts reeling in the line. I don't resist; I had thought I'd practiced enough fishing in my ponds over the winter but the bucket I brought with me to fill with fish is depressingly empty.
"What do you call him?" Willy asks, nodding at the cat, who has began weaving around his legs and making a strange chattering noise.
"Annoying," I respond bitterly. "You can keep him if you want."
Willy barks out a laugh. The hook emerges out of the surface of the water and Willy carefully snags it. He pulls a bit of bait out of his pocket, which explains the fishy smell that's always surrounding him, and spears it on the sharp point.
"There, that should do it." He hands the pole back to me. I cast it once more, hoping my technique isn't too horrible.
Willy's bait is more than effective. Within ten minutes, I've already snagged two fish. Willy passes me the rest of his bait despite my attempts to dissuade him.
"Keep it," he says with a toothy grin. "Just promise me you'll come back to the shop to buy more sometime."
He heads into town after that, humming a tune under his breath. It's strange, being treated with so much kindness everywhere I turn. This type of interaction was a lot more rare in the city.
"Paws off," I chide as the cat swipes at a sizable fish I'm hauling onto the deck. "That one is dinner."
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