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Will smiled to himself as he glanced over to the passenger seat of his pickup. Today was an unusually quiet drive, thanks to his daughter Abigail's newfound interest in some book he found at a yard sale. Peter Pan, maybe? That wasn’t right. He snuck a glance at the book cover while Abigail had her nose buried in it.
Right. Percy Jackson. Something with lightning. Will thought she was awfully interested in it despite the absolute deathly fear of storms she had. Possibly the bravest and most perpetually terrified of everything kid he’d ever met, which wasn’t a very big candidate list.
He came to a stop light and snapped out of his thoughts. Luckily, he hadn’t missed the turn this time. It was the next intersection over.
As they pulled into the rough gravel parking lot of the park, the rich smell of fresh fruit, vegetables, and baked goods. He thought he smelled some potato soup cooking up somewhere in the distance.
Abigail, who was almost done with the book despite getting it two days prior, looked up and saw they arrived. She comically groaned and pretended she was in pain like an old man.
“Come on, kiddo. You know the drill.”
Abigail tossed her book onto the driver's seat and hopped out of the truck. She frequently almost fell out due to her unfortunate shortness. Will found it a little funny.
After a solid half hour of set up and an extra few minutes of struggling with the chairs, they had their table set up.
Strawberries, raspberries, beans, cucumber, zucchini, rhubarb, tomatoes, anything he could grow he grew. Along with a variety of desserts and baked goods Abigail made. He was particularly wary of the tomato-bean cake combo she told him was ‘fine, Dad, stop being such a baby’. He disagreed.
Will checked his watch for any sign of spare time. It was 6:30, and the market ‘officially’ opened at three. Nobody listened to that rule, so he was effectively shit out of luck. He rubbed at his tired eyes. Abigail stared at him expectantly.
“Okay. Fine. You got $20, dont spend it all in one place.”
Abigail’s face split into a wild grin and she practically ripped the bill out of his hands. She gave him a quick hug, and was off to god knows where.
As the hours passed by, Will made sales, Abigail returned with a fresh lemonade, and on two separate occasions a worm she found, and what Will thought was possibly the most coma-inducing candyland looking slice of cake he had ever seen. That was almost certainly from Sherry judging from the sheer size of the piece. Sherry always liked giving Abigail a little extra.
“Excuse me, sir?”
Will flinched out of his thoughts. Must have spaced out again. Fucking brain.
“Of course, sorry. Questions?”
“I cannot seem to find any of the dishes you have listed here,” he helpfully pointed at the taped down printed paper, “and I must admit I’m quite curious.”
He took in the person asking the question at a very slow rate. The man was tall, short hair, had a funny accent, and was wearing a tailored suit of all things. He was to put it mildly not dressed for the particular occasion.
“Oh, sorry. They um..” Will glanced around at the table, “they sold out unexpectedly.”
The rich, expensive, and very fancily dressed man chuckled. Will felt a little hot.
“Tomatoes are often overlooked for their culinary versatility, I would very much like to meet whoever came up with such a creative treat. They certainly have a talent for it.”
Will processed the request a little late. He tried to place the accent. Romanian? German? He had no idea.
“Hey Abby? Come here!”
Abigail rushed over from some unknown dark corner of the area with a very large cookie half stuffed in her face.
“This man here, uh, what's your name?”
“Hannibal.”
“This Hannibal is interested in your baking,” he leaned over and whispered, “they sold out by the way.”
Abigail's eyes widened as she registered the man in front of the table and quickly turned around to eat the rest of the cookie at an inhuman rate. She turned back with a face covered in crumbs.
“Hi. I’m Abigail.”
“Hello, Abigail. I’m Hannibal Lecter. I hear from your father here you made all of these dishes yourself?”
Excitement dawned on her face as Hannibal asked his question. Will was familiar with that look. Now, Hannibal wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
“I did. Did you try any of them? My favourite one is the crisp. Dad says I put too much crisp and not enough fruit but he’s bad at baking so he doesn’t know anything.”
Hannibal kneeled down and listened intently to Abigail’s ranting, hands folded and completely still. Will wasn’t looking.
“Do you want to see what I made last night? It's good.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Hannibal watched as she ran off to get her back and presumably a snack she made the night before.
Will snorted.
“You’re in for the long run now, Mr. Lecter.”
“Please, just Hannibal. And it’s a pleasure to be witness to such passion.”
Will looked over at Just Hannibal’s face and hated what he saw so deeply it made his heart flutter. Genuine amusement and interest for his daughter's interest. It was attractive.
Stretching his limbs and hearing a familiar sickening crack along his spine, Will checked the time once again. 4pm already. He’ll have to pack up soon and get Abigail to walk on his back again.
Twenty minutes later, Abigail still on a rampage and subjecting Hannibal to an onslaught of unnecessary baking knowledge, Hannibal’s watch beeped at him angrily. Abigail paused.
“My apologies, Miss Abigail, I must be going soon. I have a patient waiting for me. I must say that the piece you gave to me was exquisite, I’ll have to ask for the recipe.”
She grinned and swung her hands back and forth.
“Secret.”
Hannibal laughed, fully this time, like Abigail was the funniest person he had ever met.
“You wound me, Miss. I suppose in that case I will just have to go about my business and get what I came for. Let’s see..”
The Grahams watched Hannibal walk away with too many bags of too much of everything they had available with their jaws dropped. Abigail looked at the large sum of money he paid. She looked back at Will. Dread filled him. He knew what was coming.
“I wanna try some new recipes.”