Like his great-grandmother who was the first potter on Potter’s Lane, and his grandfather after her, he intended to stay put. He’d expanded the enterprise enough by adding the online store. Maybe he’d enclose his home’s screened porch at some point. Other than that, Elliott had no big plans.
Fern,on the other hand, she was brave, bold, a risk-taker, so unlike himithurt.
Glancing down, he smashed the heart on Liv’s message. Then he panicked and removed the reaction.
Noa sent the eyes emoji.
Able
I saw that too
Elliott
That was a fat finger moment.
Noa
Mhm
Liv
Casual vibes tonight btw. Fern loves a good party, but she’ll be beat from driving around this morning and unpacking all day
Able
Oh yeah, I saw her leave with her U-Haul when I was getting off shift this morning.
His bear growled, and Elliott almost asked Adam how his scent had gotten on Fern—in the group chat, then in a direct text. Both times, he got a fucking grip and deleted the message. She probably just said, “Hello,” and shook his hand or something. Hopefully.
Annoyed by the pendulum of emotions he was picking up on, and the fact it was only twelve-thirty, Elliott’s bear let out a mighty roar that sounded like indigestion to his human ears. God, his beast was antsy.
“Not willing to wait until tonight, dude?”
His bear huffed.
“All right. Fine. We can see if she’s home.”
A ceramic pipe wasn’t a great gift to give her in front of others. What if she was private about smoking? He could definitely come up with something better to give her at the party. And if she really did have to unpack allday... maybe she could use a pick-me-up now.
With his bear encouraging his behavior, Elliott lumbered out to his studio and considered his collection. He wasn’t sure what Fern’s style was, but he couldn’t go wrong with one of his favorite designs and a best seller, a pipe shaped like a fly agaric with a red-and white-glazed mouthpiece like a mushroom cap. Healmostbrought her a bong shaped like a vintage vase, but second-guessed himself. She might not like it.
He had a good plan. He’d toss the pipe and some bud in a bag and swing up to her apartment to drop it off.
His bear growled.
“Lunch. I can bring her lunch, too.” No. Lunch wastoomuch, it was weird. It was overboard.
His bear snorted, headbutting the inside of his ribs.
The weed did need to be hidden somewhere—it was legal but stinky—so lunch plus a pipe was actually a pretty good plan. Not overboard, just right.
Sneaking around Beckett Falls was an impossibility. Everyone had each other on speed dial. All of the adults were in one big group chat, for fuck’s sake. If he showed up in the village in the middle of the day without a damn good reason, someone would start asking questions. Everyone knew Fitz stuck to the valley unless a friend forced him up to town. Showing up solely to bring Fern a present would start rumors, even amongst the most laid-back members of the pack.
Bruschetta.
He’d go to the grocery store for supplies to make a fresh bruschetta for the party at Northrop. It was the perfect complement to his bread and a valid excuse to head into the village twice in one day.
On the silent drive, Elliott ran through his plan. First stop: Reads & Roasts to find a Tomlinson and learn which apartment Fern was in—there were two over the shop. When he was inevitably asked why he needed the information, he’d explain that she placed an order with him. She just got here; when did she order? Yesterday, when she arrived. What did she get? It was none of their business; he followed HIPAA. Did he need to? No. But as someone who valued privacy, Elliott attempted to offer it to others.He’d appreciate the same in return, thank you very much.
