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elizaviento · 1 year

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Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine (Part 12 of ?)

(Stardew Valley — Shane/Female Farmer/OC)

This chapter is rated mostly SFW — 3452 words. Just the tiniest bit of dirty talk.

Note: :)

(FYI: Additional chapters of Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine can be found in the Stardew Valley Fic Masterpost link in my blog description. Or, you can click the #green on the vine strawberry wine tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

"Hey, man – your girlfriend just walked in," Sam said, rounding the corner as Shane slashed open the top of a cardboard box with his dulling boxcutter.

"What?" Shane pinched his brow as the younger man emerged through the gloom of the back stockroom.

"Yeah, she's talking to Morris, and she looks, I dunno, kinda pissed?"

Shane sighed, unsure if he wanted to address the girlfriend comment or wonder aloud why Morris would be talking to her. He decided on the former.

"She's not my girlfriend," he mumbled, retracting the blade of the boxcutter and shoving it in the back pocket of his uniform shorts. And, technically, she wasn't. At least, not yet. Payday loomed ahead, Friday seeming like years away instead of days, and he planned to buy the biggest, dumbest bouquet he could afford.

"Whatever you say, my man," Sam replied with a chuckle. "Anytime she's ever come here, it's to find you, so…" The younger man shrugged, a lopsided grin finishing the sentence for him. "Want me to go see what they're talking about?"

"No," Shane responded, pushing past Sam to crack the stockroom door just enough to catch sight of Kristen and Morris standing next to Claire's register. The cashier, as usual, stood glassy-eyed and nearly nodding off while the tense conversation unfolded mere feet away. Shane knew that Kristen had a hand in the store manager's transfer to Pelican Town several years prior, but the stance they displayed hinted at something a little more complicated.

"Think he's hitting on her?" Sam asked. Shane figured it was a lousy attempt at a joke, but the insinuation caused his hackles to rise, and he flushed, overwhelmed by an emotion he couldn't quite name but recognized as a mixture of protectiveness and jealousy.

"It's questionable if Morris is even human," Shane replied, eyeing the man as he loomed over Kristen. "I doubt he has the capacity to love anything other than Joja."

Sam snickered as he approached Shane and peered through the crack above his head. "I think she can take him. Wanna bet?"

Shane scoffed but couldn't deny that the mental image of the farmer socking his shitty boss in the jaw almost had him standing at half-mast. But just when he was about to turn down that hypothetical bet, his walkie-talkie crackled to life, startling him enough to slam the stockroom door closed as if he and Sam had been caught witnessing something untoward.

"Shane Davis, you're free to go to lunch. Oh, and you have a guest at the front of the store. Best not keep her waiting."

"She ain't your girlfriend, my ass," Sam laughed, clapping the shorter man on the shoulder. "Damn, can't believe Morris is actually letting you go to lunch, too."

"Yeah," Shane agreed. "Can you finish unpacking these while I'm gone?"

"No problemo, pal."

"For real this time," Shane amended, narrowing his eyes. "Morris will blame me if he comes back here and finds they aren't."

Sam nodded, well aware that their manager seemed to harbor some sort of a grudge against his co-worker. "Yeah, man. Promise."

Shane thanked him and cautiously exited the stockroom, peering left and right as if he would be ambushed by Morris or a bothersome customer at any second. Finding the coast clear, he made his way toward the front, hugging the outside wall until he reached the row of cash registers and cut across them toward Kristen from the side.

Stepping out into the noonday sunshine hand in hand with the farmer felt surreal on a level that Shane had never experienced but also more natural than he could have imagined. Despite his protests that he wasn't ashamed of the townsfolk knowing they were involved, he caught himself scanning the immediate vicinity for wandering eyes and whispering voices. Shame still had nothing to do with his misplaced caution. Well, at least not for himself.

Shifting his eyes to the side as they strolled, Shane attempted to absorb how Kristen's hair shone like fire in the sun and how her freckles darkened ever so slightly. The sway of her hips as she walked, the chiffon of her sundress swishing around her thighs with each step. The red tinge of her lipstick and how it reminded him of lip prints on a shot glass while fat snowflakes coated cobblestones under the moonlight.

"You look really pretty today," he said, glad that the statement sounded as normal as he rehearsed it in his mind.

"Oh… thank you."

She blushed – actually blushed – and Shane was suddenly teleported back to 7th grade, starry-eyed and cooing over the prettiest girl in class. A girl who would ultimately end up his girlfriend but would break his heart weeks later. A girl who would, despite teenage angst, remain his best friend. A girl who would honor that lifelong friendship by making him the godfather of her beloved daughter only months before she died.

When Shane opened the door to the Saloon — holding it open for Kristen so she could enter first — he was relieved that Emily's smiling face was the only one staring back at them. This early in the day, traffic was sparse regardless, but the lack of other patrons meant he could pretend they were all alone.

"Gus is pulling your pizza from the oven now!" Emily said, fetching a couple of glasses from below the bar. "Take a seat, and I'll bring it over soon!"

Kristen made way toward their usual spot, but Shane gently tugged her toward the corner booth instead, heart fluttering when she caught his eye and smirked.

"This is cozy," she remarked, settling in on his opposite side. The plastic bag she'd been carrying crinkled as she sat it beside her, and his imagination soared with what could be inside.

"Uh — yeah," he agreed as Emily approached, sat two glasses of water down in front of them, and left without a word. Shane's eyes briefly followed the waitress until she turned and shot him a knowing wink. "Thanks for ordering the food."

The farmer stared at him for several endless seconds before replying, "Thanks for letting me hold your hand on the walk over here." Her own hand landed on his bare knee under the table, inching slightly upward, nails lightly scraping through his leg hair. Shane flinched reflexively, unprepared and never expecting such a bold move in public. "Last night was so sexy."

Shane's eyes darted toward the bar and then around the remainder of the deserted Saloon, paranoia creeping up his spine like a slithering swamp creature no human had ever laid eyes on. When he found Emily casually slicing their pizza and loading a tray with the pan and plates, he relaxed, if only slightly.

"Kriss."

"Sorry," she said, retreating her hand. Shane found himself regretting such a prudish response when the warm print of her palm cooled almost instantly. He suppressed a shiver even as he noticed the burn again spreading across her cheeks. "I guess something about you makes me feral."

The confession shot a lightning bolt straight to Shane's dick, and he felt it twitch like the fingers of a reanimated corpse in a bad zombie flick. He was momentarily speechless, still astounded that a woman like her could find anything sexy about a guy like him.

"Babe, I'm barely keeping my shit together here," he said, attempting to soothe her silly insecurities. "I'm grateful for the pizza, but uh —" he took another cursory glance at their surroundings, calculating he had just enough time to utter the filth sitting on the tip of his tongue before Emily was in earshot, "— I'd be just as happy eating your pussy for lunch."

"Oh, fuck off," she giggled, covering her face as Emily slid the tray between them.

"One supreme pizza with extra cheese and peppers!" the waitress announced, shattering the sexual tension like she was wielding a sledgehammer.

The remainder of their time in the Saloon was spent with leisurely conversation not unlike what they'd usually shared, interspersed with Kristen bumping his foot under the table playfully, her hand finding its way back to his knee, and the occasional sexually suggestive remark that had Shane feeling slightly delirious. He couldn't recall the last time the buds of a full-fledged relationship had begun to bloom, petals unfurling slowly and then all at once, displaying proudly for all to see. Even while serotonin spiked his brain and giddiness bubbled in his chest, he knew he could just as easily fuck it all up – crush the sprouting bud under his heel and grind it into the dirt without even realizing, akin to stepping on an ant unfortunate enough to cross his path on his routine stroll to work.

"Hmm, you ready to go back?" Kristen asked. Her hand had finally sought his under the table, their fingers interlocked, merged in the invisible void between them.

"Not really. But I'm sure Morris will call me soon if I don't."

"You still coming over after?" she asked, peeking at him from below her lashes. Shane thought she looked so heart-achingly beautiful just then and wondered how he had ever managed to contain himself since he'd laid eyes on her in this very Saloon over two years ago.

"Yeah, babe." He felt breathless, as if his chest would cave in at any second, lungs deflated. He hated wondering what label to assign to her now. Hated wondering what label she'd assigned to him. They were two grown adults; it shouldn't be this complicated, right? All he knew for sure was that if he couldn't latch his mouth to the soft expanse of her inner thighs again soon, he'd implode. "Want me to bring anything?"

"Just yourself," she replied, releasing his hand so she could root around in a hidden pocket of her sundress. Shane scrambled when she tossed a wad of crinkled bills on the table, attempting to pull his worn leather wallet from the back of his shorts pocket. "Don't! I told you this was my treat. If you're up for it, you can take me out for a real date this Friday."

"Huh?" He was acutely aware of how moronic he sounded as the word left his mouth, still flustered from feeling like a freeloader.

"Harvey got me an appointment with that surgeon in Zuzu on Friday afternoon. Wanna come with? I'd rather someone drive me than take the bus."

"I have to work, Kriss," he answered, rubbing the back of his neck. For some reason, he felt ashamed. A deadbeat stock boy doesn't usually get days off when he has a little mouth to feed.

"You've been full-time at Joja for what, 3 years now? More? You have paid time off, Shane. Knowing Morris, he probably tries to guilt you into never taking it."

"Uh —" he floundered, realizing she was absolutely right and feeling even more imbecilic because of it.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure you get this Friday off."

"Kriss, you can't just run in and start fighting my battles," he said, harsher than he'd intended. Her brow furrowed, and her eyes squinted the way they did when she was about to challenge him. "I'll ask him. Whatever you said earlier might still have him ruffled enough to agree."

Her gaze pitched to the side as she wrapped her fingers around a loose curl that had escaped the braid flowing down her back. Unease blanketed Shane like a shroud, all too familiar with her visual cues of distress.

"Fine," she relented, albeit reluctantly. "But if he gives you shit, let me know, Okay? I mean it."

"Morris always gives me shit. Why are you so concerned about it now?"

His tone had shifted to sharp and accusatory while questions swirled in his mind. Why had she left Joja? And what the fuck was up with this sudden feud with Morris? She continuously dodged the subject, and Shane never felt the need to press because it wasn't his business. But now that she insisted on inserting herself in such an invasive manner, he felt he was owed an explanation.

"I'm sorry, you're right," she yielded with a dispirited sigh. "I'm just feeling protective of you, I guess. I don't like the way he treats you."

Shane sucked a ragged breath between his teeth, the hostility slithering between his ribs swarmed away by a kaleidoscope of butterflies pummeling their tissue paper wings against his rapidly beating heart.

"It's alright." He shuffled in the booth, fidgeting while his mind scrambled to come up with something more substantial to say. "I'll put in the time and let you know."

Figuring that was an acceptable middle ground, he stood and motioned for her to follow, boldly taking her hand as soon as she was by his side despite a smattering of townsfolk who had also wandered in for lunch. He was planning to formally ask her to be his on Friday anyway, so fuck it.

❦❧🍓❦❧

"Shane, we have a truck delivery scheduled on Friday. You can't request time off at the last minute," Morris chided as Shane stood on the opposite side of his desk with a PTO request slip in hand.

"I already asked Sam if he'll cover, and he said yes. What's the problem?"

Rolling his eyes, Morris snatched the slip from Shane's hand and scanned it quickly. "You didn't provide a reason for requesting time off. That's required per Joja policy."

"Uh. A friend needs a ride to the city for an appointment. She can't drive right now," Shane answered. Morris' obvious obstinance for the sake of it was already wearing on his patience.

"Ah, I see. Mrs. Jarret?"

"Who?" Shane asked. He was quickly transitioning from irritated to agitated.

"Oh," Morris scoffed, a smug expression replacing stern disappointment. "I guess you don't know your friend so well, after all, hmm? I meant Ms. Wynand."

"Okay…" Shane hedged, wondering where this little display was leading.

"I knew her rather well prior to my transfer. Perhaps she can tell you the tale sometime. Perhaps on Friday. Your time off request has been approved." With an exaggerated flourish, Morris signed his name to the slip, ripped off the carbon copy on the back, and handed it to Shane, a crooked grin splitting his face nearly in two. "Now get back to work."

The remainder of Shane's shift was spent scowling at cans of artificial green beans and bottles of yellow sports drink suspiciously resembling piss. One by one, he shoved them on the shelves, hardly aware of Sam skirting by occasionally with rock music blaring so loud through his headphones that he could be heard from a mile away. By 5 pm, Shane's jaw ached, and his head throbbed from grinding his teeth for hours on end, stewing over the cryptic bullshit hanging between Morris and his would-be girlfriend like a stationary pendulum. One tap and it would swing to and fro, shattering the illusion he'd caught himself in like shards of mirrored glass.

You're doing it again. You're trying to sabotage something good by assuming the worst. It's not like they fucked or something.

Determined not to let his sour mood ruin the rest of his evening, he clocked out, avoiding his co-workers, and briefly considered a stop at the Saloon for one beer. Maybe two.

You really want her to taste alcohol on your tongue when you kiss her? he thought, even as his feet itched to take the familiar path toward the Stardrop. Or would you rather get whiskey dick instead? Yeah, that'll be real fucking smooth…

Admitting to himself that he was, indeed, planning to take Kristen to bed as soon as he walked through the door, he recalculated his trajectory — a straight shot from the footbridge, through town, past the bus stop, and right into her arms.

Having something else to focus on, his previous doomsday broodings fell by the wayside, replaced by an old song he'd mainly heard through the crackling of FM radio as a teenager. The lyrics looped in his mind while visions of a girl with mocha skin and glossy raven hair pressed record on her tape deck, imprinting the song on a cassette tape that Shane would wear out over the years. A memory of that same girl donning a wedding dress, dancing to those lyrics with a handsome man on her arm and Shane smiling from the sidelines. Sometimes… sometimes, it didn't hurt to see them again, if only in his memories. Sometimes remembering them felt like coming home.

Uncharacteristically unburdened when he knocked on the farmer's front door, Shane inserted the key into the knob directly after. He figured Kristen would always chide him for knocking when he could enter at any moment, but that simply felt intrusive.

"Hi," she said, catching him off guard. She was standing just far enough from the door that it didn't smack her in the face when he opened it. He first noticed that she looked deathly pale, almost as pale as when he and Harvey had found her semi-unconscious in the kitchen just 4 days prior. Next was that both of her hands were tucked behind her back as if she were hiding something.

"Hey," he replied. Kristen took a measured step back, just enough to allow him room to close the door behind him and stand eye to eye, approximately a foot apart. "What's uh — is everything okay? You look sick."

Her eyes widened in response, her expression resembling a mix of panic-stricken and terrified, and Shane felt as if he were suddenly doused in pure adrenaline, fight or flight gripping him by the balls. Naturally, he was a fighter.

"Well, I do feel like I'm about to barf, so…" She trailed off into a giggle that sounded forced, as if someone were holding a loaded gun to her temple.

"Kriss, what the —"

Before he could finish, she flung one of her arms forward from behind her back, the soft crinkle of tissue paper reminding him of when Marnie stuffed gift baskets and bags with the useless garnish. Only now, it was delicately wrapped around a gigantic bouquet of flowers and thrust inches from his nose.

"I know this tradition is dumb and outdated," she began, voice wavering. Shane gently pressed the back of one hand against the bundle and slowly pushed it to the side so he could see her face, now splotched with red patches as a blush attempted to force its way to the surface. "But, I don't know. I think it's kind of sweet and romantic. I asked Pierre to bring his nicest one, but I didn't realize it would be so big. Sorry. But it's beautiful!"

She stopped babbling then, her eyes locked with his, still holding the bouquet toward him. Shane opened his mouth to reply but only gaped like a fish, literally stupefied.

"What's wrong? Do you hate it?" she asked, face crumpling the way Jas' did when she was two seconds from sobbing. "Oh god, it's too much, isn't it? This is pathetic."

Shane shook his head, still unable to articulate the barrage of emotions beating him senseless. He wanted to say so many things. He wanted to tell her that she was on the fringes of every thought that occupied his mind, no matter how fleeting. He wanted to tell her he never thought he could find true friendship again until she came crashing through his life like a wrecking ball. He wanted to tell her that the mere notion of losing her now or ever made his throat constrict like he'd swallowed a handful of wasps. But instead, he plucked the bouquet from her hand, tossed it on the tea table next to the door, and pulled her into a kiss. Tender yet yearning, his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling it loose from the braid as strands slipped between each digit. The farmer responded in kind, cupping the back of his neck with her good hand while the other settled on his hip.

"Does this mean you'll be my boyfriend?" she asked teasingly when the pair finally parted. The color had returned to her face, filling in between the dusting of freckles that he loved so much, relief softening her features until her eyes appeared almost doe-like.

Boyfriend.

Instead of recoiling from the juvenile term for a romantic partner, he rolled it around in his mouth like a piece of hard candy, allowing the sweetness to coat his tongue. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

"Yeah, babe," he answered, regarding her with adoration in his eyes. "I'll never understand why you chose me, but I'll be your boyfriend. I'll be whatever you want."

***** End Note: (:

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew valley shane #sdv shane #stardew valley shane x farmer #sdv shane x farmer #stardew valley fanficiton #sdv fanfiction #green on the vine strawberry wine

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elizaviento · 1 year

Text

Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine (Part 10 of ?)

(Stardew Valley — Shane/Female Farmer/OC)

This chapter is rated SFW — 3196 words. Feelings.

Note: Back to more bite sized chapters, at least for now. Smut chapters always turn into beasts, so I can't promise there won't be a few more in the future. Lmao.

*****

Shane always had trouble sleeping on the nights he was stone-cold sober, and this night was no exception, despite his physical exhaustion. The woman snoozing peacefully next to him didn't seem to notice when he tossed and turned, fighting against the old springs threatening to puncture a hole in his spine. He wondered how Kristen could sleep at all, let alone so soundly, on such a shitty mattress and began making plans to somehow secure her a new one before he recognized how silly it was.

How can you buy her a brand new mattress when you struggle to buy Jas clothes every season?

With a muted groan, Shane gave up and slipped out of bed as quietly as possible. At this point, he was convinced the farmer could sleep through much more than his joints popping and left knee cracking from an old gridball injury. Nevertheless, he practically tip-toed out of her bedroom toward the kitchen. His mouth felt like he'd been licking sandpaper and desperately needed a glass of water.

"Whoa! What the fuck —"

Shane pitched forward, pinwheeling his arms as something fuzzy and liquid swam through his legs, tilting him off balance, terror gripping his heart when he was sure he'd fall flat on his face. The agonizing howl of some hellish beast floated toward him in the darkness, a white smudge shooting from under his feet only to disappear in the total blackness of the kitchen ahead.

"Moody, you little goblin," he hissed, somehow steadying himself on an antique record player sitting flush against the back of the worn couch. Kristen once told him that her grandparents would put Frank Sinatra LPs on that very player and slow dance in front of the fireplace. The twinkle in her eye made it evident that she held those memories dear, and Shane hoped like hell he hadn't fucked up the old player with his oafish sense of balance set against the treacherous serpentine dance of a mangy cat.

His remaining steps toward the kitchen were delicate, his eyes scanning the floor for another white tumbleweed to roll across his path, determined to break his neck for daring to sway the farmer's attention. Shane figured the cat would always hate him, recalling a time when Moody swiped at him when he sat next to Kristen on the couch with the lump of feline guarding her lap.

"He's just jealous," she'd said, laughing at Shane's indignant expression. "He'll probably ignore me after you leave as punishment."

The decrepit pipes rattled when Shane turned on the kitchen faucet after fetching a glass. As it filled, his mind wandered, circling around one word again and again, dwelling on it as his memory leapt to the previous night and the burst of hostility that had caused him to shatter the tempered glass face of his shitty cell phone.

Jealousy.

Gulping down half the glass, Shane grimaced when the words he'd spat at Kristen during that short phone call resurfaced in his now sober head: Did you have fun with Alex? Why don't you ask him to move in with you instead?

He knew now that the implication was profoundly absurd, and he didn't blame her for refusing to acknowledge it. But, at the time, his alcohol-addled senses were sure the young jock would successfully smuggle his way into her pants.

That says way more about you than it does about her. You need to fucking apologize and tone your shit down before you end up swatting at everyone that comes near her like an agitated fur ball.

Downing the remainder of the water in his glass in one final gulp, Shane refilled it to the brim and shuffled toward the bedroom. He didn't spot his arch-nemesis again on the return march and was glad he wouldn't end up kissing the hardwood anytime soon.

He found Kristen had rolled toward the middle of the bed in his absence, her arms and legs splayed like a starfish, a bush of curly hair completely obscuring her face from view. He would have laughed if he wasn't afraid of waking her. He briefly considered locating his damaged phone to snap a picture but thought better of it, not wanting to amp up the creepy just yet. As it was, Shane had no clue what sleeping together would do to their standing friendship. Were they even still friends?

Sex changes everything. Always has, always will. It was the main reason he'd refused her advances after their sloppy night of drinking last winter. He never would have forgiven himself and thought he'd probably never recover if she woke up the following morning with regret swimming in her eyes. The last true friends he'd ever had were long dead, leaving Kristen the sole person in his life he attached the label to. And, even then, he'd fought her tooth and nail.

Resting the glass of water on her bedside table, Shane attempted to inch back onto the mattress, this time on the opposite side. Luckily, she let him in without resistance and even sucked him into her orbit like an orphaned moon floating uninhibited through space. And he supposed that's exactly what he was, giving in as her arms wrapped around him and tugged him toward her center of gravity, locking him in place, orphaned no more.

❦❧🍓❦❧

Shane awoke again to blinding sunlight scorching a hole through his eyelids. Cracking them open, he noticed the curtains were completely thrown back, flooding the small bedroom with stark, unadulterated reality. He was also alone, and his clothes were folded neatly, placed at the foot of the bed.

Even while he lay curled up in Kristen's slumbering embrace during the night, his mind raced with questions demanding answers sooner rather than later. Well, more like one question in particular…

What are we what are we what are we what are we —

Scrubbing his eyes with his fists, he rose to a sitting position and immediately noticed Moody perfectly loafed on the farmer's dresser, green eyes narrowed, ears angled backward. Shane didn't realize a cat could look so downright spiteful.

"Think we can be friends?" he asked the perturbed feline. An exaggerated huff came from the animal as he shifted, tail swishing across the cedar top.

Feeling silly for trying to reason with a cat, Shane hauled his body from the bed and got dressed. The inviting aroma of fresh coffee wafted through the cracked door, and he was glad her brewing skills were better than her cooking.

"Hey!" Kristen greeted when he plodded toward the living room and found her sitting on the couch with a book in hand. A wide smile nearly split her face in half as she placed it on the coffee table, page down, and stood. "I was just about to head outside and check on the hens."

"I'll do that," he replied, suddenly feeling awkward, which annoyed him. He'd fucked her into oblivion just hours before, had her screaming like a banshee, and he was pretty sure she'd come twice . But now he felt tongue-tied, that phrase still rolling around his skull like a pack of loose marbles, clacking against each other, distracting him from behaving like a normal adult human being.

"Can I come watch?"

She rose from the sofa and approached him, her features soft and almost imploring as she confidently stepped into his personal space and wrapped her arms around his waist. A scent that reminded him of tiger lilies clung to her hair, making him feel nostalgic for a place and time he'd never experienced. Her openness in the wake of his budding insecurities soothed his nerves like a balm carefully smoothed over a burn, cooling and numbing them until the heaviness in his arms subsided and he embraced her back, all former hesitancies nonexistent.

"I wanna kiss you, but I haven't brushed my teeth," he said while rubbing slow circles on the small of her back.

"I want to do way more than kiss, but message received." She giggled — actually fucking giggled like a teenage girl, sparking something deeply buried in Shane's heart like the pop of static electricity strong enough to sting. "I have a few extra toothbrushes on the top shelf of the linen closet."

"Thanks," he mumbled. Stepping from her embrace felt like releasing a tether without a safety net, and he immediately wanted to scramble back into her arms.

Calm the fuck down , he chided himself as he strolled toward the bathroom as nonchalantly as he could manage. You can't get attached this fast; you'll freak her the hell out.

However, thinking such a thing was simply inutile, considering he'd become attached to her much longer ago than he cared to admit.

Unsure what to do with the toothbrush he'd used when he was finished, Shane sat it in the cup next to hers. Staring at the twin brushes — yellow for hers and green for his — his eyesight began to blur and fuzz, like he was 10 years old again, trying to make out the hidden shapes in a mess of brightly colored squiggles printed on glossy paper. But nothing significant appeared from the haze except his inner monologue piercing through static, refusing to give him a moment's peace.

Should I ask her now or later? Should I even ask at all? She wanted me to move in two days ago, but everything's changed. Is she my fucking girlfriend now, or are we just friends who screw?

Girlfriend. The word sounded juvenile, even in his mind. He'd been in high school the last time he'd said it aloud.

Partner? That seemed better but held the same implications and required the same concrete confirmation. No matter what, it all came down to the same damn question again and again and again —

What are we?

He exited the bathroom with mint still clinging to his tongue, his expression as flat as usual. Despite the turmoil brewing within, Shane prided himself on keeping it hidden, at least while sober.

"Hey, Kriss. Um —" he began, shuffling toward her as she filled Moody's food bowl in the kitchen. The cat, too preoccupied to hate his guts for the time being, ignored him and crunched away at the kibble even before the last morsel hit the bowl.

"You found the toothbrush?" she interrupted, tossing the measuring cup on the counter and beelining toward him as if her trajectory was set for destruction. Shane quirked a brow and opened his mouth to reply but was quickly cut off again as she grasped the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. Unlike the simmering frenzy of their previous kisses, this one held a note of sweetness. Tenderness and warmth. An affectionate greeting exclusive to him alone.

"Sorry, what were you going to say?" she asked when she stepped back and released his shirt from her fist. The fabric was slightly crinkled, but it was the least of Shane's worries.

"Uh. Never mind," he said, deflecting intrusive thoughts in favor of regulating the quickening of his pulse and the flush toasting his cheeks. On the other hand, Kristen appeared completely unperturbed, returning to the kitchen to pour him a mug of coffee, handing it to him with an effortless smile.

The pair amicably performed the daily farm chores, side by side, even when Shane shot her sidelong glares and scolded her whenever he heard her hiss in pain. By mid-afternoon, he was convinced he'd never known anyone as stubborn as her other than himself.

"Where do you want these?" he asked, holding up two buckets filled to the brim with blueberries. Four more buckets crowded the porch near the front door.

"I don't care," she replied, weariness clinging to her tone as she plopped down on the steps. "You want to keep them?"

"I can't take your entire crop, Kriss." He knew she was being flippant but felt the need to rebuttal her regardless, the comfortable back and forth quieting the anxious monologue in his head.

"Fine," she groaned, tilting her head toward the front door. "Can you leave them by the sink? I'll wash them later."

"I'll do it now," he challenged and disappeared inside before she could protest.

The large porcelain farm sink in the quaint kitchen was something Shane wished they had at the ranch. Not that they grew an abundance of crops, but showering thousands of tiny blueberries with the hand sprayer as they sat in the oversized basin served as welcome visual white noise. Shane imagined bathing a flock of hatchlings in such a sink, teaching Jas to sprinkle droplets on their fuzzy heads to make them cheep.

"Shane?" Her voice cut through his meandering thoughts, and he realized he'd been washing the last batch of berries so long his fingers had pruned. "Can we talk?"

He couldn't accurately decipher her tone or expression as he craned his neck back to catch a glimpse of her standing behind him. Regardless, his pulse quickened, and adrenaline flushed through his limbs, making him unbearably hot in a matter of seconds.

"Yeah, sure," he agreed, attempting to appear unruffled as he dried his hands on a nearby towel and followed her toward the couch. She was already sitting, twirling a strand of hair around her fingers — an immediate tell that something was bothering her. When he sat beside her, he forced himself not to put an entire cushion between them, instead making sure their knees slightly touched.

"It's been a weird couple of days, huh?" she said, twirling the strand until it appeared painfully knotted around her finger.

"Weird…" he repeated, trying the world on for size in his mouth. He supposed it wasn't wrong , considering how things had changed in the blink of an eye. He wondered what he would be doing right now if Kristen had just repaired the hole in the fence when he'd brought it to her attention weeks before. Most likely, he'd be playing video games with Jas and dreading work in the morning. Maybe he'd see the farmer in town on his way to the Saloon in the evening. Perhaps they'd share a plate of nachos, and she'd tease him while he playfully scowled at her from the rim of a beer mug.

"I'm about to sound like a complete psycho," she began, placing her hand on the knee kissing her own, "but I still want you to move in. Honestly, I've thought about it a lot… for a while. I get so lonely here on the farm and, I don't know — I think we'd make a good team."

He stared at her, flabbergasted, as she cast her face downward. The tips of her ears were almost the same fiery color as her hair, indicating that her usual confidence was being challenged in a way he couldn't comprehend. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, tell her that she wasn't helping with his mission of behaving like a normal person and not clinging to her like a parasite.

"I know me forcing myself on you has changed things," she continued, picking a loose thread at the bottom of his shorts. "But I don't expect you to be like —"

"Force yourself on me?" he interrupted, indignation flaring up from his chest so suddenly that he stood and looked down at her. He knew she was being purposefully obtuse, trying to lay all the burden at her own feet to absolve him of any responsibility should things go south, which only irritated him all the more. "Is that really what you think happened?"

She faltered, caught off guard by his sudden agitation, stuttering over her words before she said, "No, wait — I mean, I did dump everything on you out of the blue and then practically tackled you at the ranch…"

"And I guess you forced me to come here last night, too?" he said, pointing out the gigantic flaws in her so-called logic. "Stop. You're not this dumb."

She looked up at him then, her expression perplexed as if she couldn't decide if she should be offended or not. "Shane, you said earlier that you didn't want to tell anyone about me."

"Wha — no, I didn't!" He began to pace in front of the couch, actually confounded as to how she came to such an outrageous conclusion. "I said Sam was being a nosey little shit. You think I'm ashamed of you? You walked out the front door of the ranch yesterday morning in plain sight of Marnie! Yeah, I'm so fucking ashamed. What's wrong with you, Kriss?"

Shane suddenly wondered if this was what it was like dealing with him when his insecurities scurried from their hole simultaneously, scuttling about like a pack of ravenous mice, nipping and nibbling at the toes of anyone brave enough to approach. It was uncanny being on the receiving end, especially when the other person's insecurities were so outlandish that he felt lightheaded by simply trying to grasp them.

"I don't know," she replied with a shaky sigh. "I'm sorry." She sounded so dejected that Shane ceased his anxious pacing and focused his attention entirely on her. Something was clearly wrong. "But you're still avoiding my question, so am I really off the mark?"

"It wasn't a question," he pointed out again, frustration dissipating as he sat back down. Shane couldn't remember the last time he had to reassure someone who wasn't a child. Even with Jas, he was pretty terrible at it. But he felt himself softening around the edges, his hackles lowering when he recognized that Kristen was honestly afraid that she'd taken advantage of him… and that he might reject her. Again, it struck him how surreal it felt to have such an upper hand when he was usually the one sprawled face down in the metaphorical dirt. "And you couldn't be more wrong, even if you tried, Kriss."

His phone vibrated in his shorts pocket just as he reached for Kristen's hand, and he flinched, recalling all at once that he'd promised Jas they'd watch movies together that evening. Pulling the device from his pocket, he squinted past the web of cracks to make out a text from Marnie.

Shane, honey — Jas has already started making a trough of popcorn using that air popper Jodi let her borrow. Will you be home soon? I know you're busy with your little girlfriend and all. ;)

Shane groaned, eyeing the time above the texting application. He'd told Jas he'd be back by 4 pm and was already late.

Please don't send me a winking emote ever again. I'm leaving now. Be there in 15.

Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he regarded Kristen apologetically. "I gotta go."

"I know," she replied, standing as he did. Before he could react, she pulled him into another embrace, pressing her face to the column of his throat, crushing his ribs with the force of her well-toned arms. He slipped his loosely around her hips in return, fingers lightly stroking the strip of skin exposed between her shirt and jeans, wondering how fucked he truly was because he already missed her.

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