(Ford x Reader) Hickory Pines

CH. 6 Working With Lemons

I run my fingers along the fuzzy carpet of the van, using it as something to focus on. I never imagined I'd be living with a stranger—aren't parents always warning us about that? Yet here I am, headed to Stanford's lab. I huddle closer to the machine beside me. The air is filled with silence, much like so many moments before. But I'm not surprised; both Stanford and I seem to be introverted types.

"So," he starts, clearing his throat in an attempt to break the silence. I shift my attention to him, but he avoids making eye contact. "Since we're moving in together, I think it's only logical for us to get to..." He pauses, watching my expression. "Know one another?"

I let out a sigh. "Hopefully," I say, focusing on my hands as I continue tugging at the van carpet. "Sorry for thinking you were going to kidnap me, by the way."

"It's not a prob—" Stanford stutters, then falls silent. "You thought I was going to what?" My cheeks flush with embarrassment, and I kick myself for letting that slip. "Nothing! Nothing—" I hurriedly change the subject. "Just tell me about yourself." I smile, waiting for his response.

He shakes his head in disbelief, almost amused, as his fingers drum along the edge of the steering wheel. "After a series of events I won't get into, I graduated from Back-ups-more University with a PhD, multiple doctorates, and a one-hundred-thousand-dollar grant for my research in Gravity Falls. I moved here in 1974, so I'd say I've lived here..." He hums in thought. "Five and a half years?"

My jaw drops. A one-hundred-thousand-dollar grant? A PhD? Multiple doctorates? I thought he was just a passionate eccentric who happened to be right. But this is his whole life? He seems so accomplished. Am I even qualified to be in the same van with him, let alone moving in?

I find myself leaning forward to hear more. "My research focuses on the paranormal and unusual activities in this area. As you might have guessed, I'm highly dedicated to my work. It's all I do, especially since I've hit a roadblock recently." He glances at the rearview mirror, then quickly turns his attention back to the road for safety.

I huff in annoyance. "I really wish I had my act together like that. I'm an author, and I love what I do! But I'm a college dropout, working at a gas station during the week just to keep the lights on. I've been eating nothing but ramen for the past year and struggling to finish my novel. It feels like everyone around me is already succeeding."

I notice Stanford inhale, and I wonder if I've offended him or gone too far. His brows furrow and his lips purse, but to my surprise, he breaks into a gentle smile.

"At least you're dedicated," Stanford says, his smile turning into a smirk. I blink and look down at the van carpet in shame. He continues, "I didn't get where I am today by smelling daisies or getting a full eight hours of sleep. I got here through hard work. Sure, things could've been better—" He takes a deep breath, a cold edge creeping into his tone, then exhales. "But I made lemonade with the lemons I was handed. Work with your lemons."

I can't help but chuckle at his analogy. "My lemons?"

Stanford grins. "That's what I'm sticking with, so yes, your lemons."

I gasp as the van shakes. Stanford startles and adjusts his glasses to see better. "We're on the dirt road," he explains. I nod and peek out the window. The stars make the scene serene, but I can't shake the longing to be back home. Still, maybe if I work with what I have...

I glance at Stanford for a moment, then let out a sigh. Maybe things won't be so bad?

For the first time, we sit in comfortable silence until the van finally comes to a stop. I feel a wave of carsickness from the bumpy ride. With a click, Stanford opens the front door and steps out. I look for the sliding door handle, leaning awkwardly as I search, when suddenly I stumble back, hitting my head on something hard and probably important. I fall onto my butt. Stanford snickers but quickly clears his throat to hide his laughter.

"Do we need to get any of your things tomorrow?" he asks, extending a six-fingered hand to help me up.

I decide not to take it, scooting off the side of the van and brushing myself off. "Not really. I was already sleeping on a couch anyway."

"Ah..." he responds, slipping his hand back into his pocket. He gestures for me to lead the way.

Looking around, I can't deny how beautiful it is. It's secluded, which makes me feel better about us both being introverts. The woods really steal the show; the trees are arranged perfectly along the property's edge, and the stars are fully visible without light pollution. Even though it's autumn, the trees are a deep earthy green. It's why I love pine.

I reach the front door first, opening it and holding it for Stanford to step inside. A part of me hesitates, feeling a mix of anxiety and sadness at leaving the beautiful scenery behind. I think it's both. Stanford briefly acknowledges me before stepping in.

"Welcome! I guess," he says, gesturing around his home. I follow him inside. It's a bit scattered, but comfortable. A long couch sits by a window, and an armchair faces a small TV. The living room connects to a kitchen, and a bookshelf in the corner features a numpad. Everywhere I look, I see something scientific that I don't understand.

Will I ever understand?

"I don't feel like I should touch anything..." I mumble to myself. Stanford overhears me and replies, "I'd prefer you don't." The tension from the car ride returns, and I find it increasingly difficult to resist poking at something. My fingers glide along the long, light blue couch; its silky texture feels inviting. This will probably be where I sleep.

"Sleep calling you?" Stanford muses, setting a few items on a nearby table—mostly things from his pockets. With how cluttered the table is, I half-wonder if he's hiding a secret black hole in his clothes.

After running from a horde of gnomes, getting no sleep the night before, and having to move to a strange place, sleep doesn't sound too bad. Stanford nods, as if he knows exactly what I'm feeling. "Goodnight then, Y/N. I'll be in my room."

Do I really look that bad?

Once he finishes emptying his pockets, I watch him slowly back away, glancing at me skeptically as he heads toward a hallway. He disappears around the corner, leaving me alone again.

Taking advantage of the solitude, I lay back on the couch. I pull the floppy disk from my jacket, holding it in front of my eyes. The moonlight streams in through the open window, illuminating the disk as I flip it between my fingers. I toss it, catch it, and then set it on the windowsill.

Work with my lemons.