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Chapter Text

The community centre smelt strongly of damp and decay. It was as if it were a physical manifestation of the decline that the town had faced in recent years. Lewis stood facing the empty, crumbling fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, his head bent, and his eyes closed, a rolled up presentation board to his left. Something had to be done about this situation, and who else would the people of Pelican look to other than their stalwart Mayor? He was the one to offer them salvation, he was—

“Lewis, why on earth have you had us meet here and not Pierre’s like usual?” a voice questioned indignantly from behind him.

“Yeah! Don’t you know it’s bad for Maru’s asthma?”

“Uh, I don’t have asthma…”

“Really? Huh, you seem like the kind of person who would.”

Lewis’ brows furrowed as he scowled. It was a shame that the people he intended to save were the most stubborn, contrary, pain in the—

“Can you please stop acting all dramatic? We want to know why you’ve brought us all here.”

Finally, Lewis spun round. Before him, sitting on folding chairs and looking various degrees of bored, confused, and irate, was the entirety of Pelican Town. Even the two oddballs from the so-called ‘adventurers’ guild’ had made an appearance, though they sat in the gloom of the furthest corner, no doubt to maintain their mystique. Lewis was just glad he couldn’t smell them from here.

“I have gathered you all here today for a slightly different town meeting,” Lewis began and was immediately interrupted by Robin, who was holding up her hand. Lewis wasn’t sure why she’d bothered with the gesture when she went ahead and spoke anyway.

“Is the difference that we’re having it in a place that I strongly suspect has asbestos?”

Demetrius immediately looked horrified. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have brought the gas masks!”

“Why do you even have gas masks?” Shane grumbled from the row behind.

“I knew that lab was suspicious!” hissed Pam. “This is like one of them Breaking Bads!”

Demetrius looked thoroughly confused. “I don’t know what Breaking Bads are, Pamela—"

“Of course you don’t,” muttered Sebastian from where he lounged (in a way that Lewis could only describe as insolently) with the other surly teenagers.

“But I assure you there is nothing untoward about my reasons. I handle a lot of spores and—“

“People, people, please!” Lewis used his best public speaking voice, hands outstretched. The gravitas he hoped to achieve was somewhat undermined by the fact his suspenders appeared to be held together by what suspiciously looked like duct tape. Nevertheless, the people of Pelican quieted down, if a little reluctantly.

“We have gathered here today,” he paused in the vain hope of generating a bit of suspense but when he saw Pam opening her mouth to speak again he hurried on, “To discuss the farmer.”

This at least had a few people perking up in their seats. Lewis smiled, pleased to finally have their full attention.

“As you may be aware, the community centre is one of the few places the farmer has yet to stick his no—uh, I mean yet to explore,” he quickly corrected himself.

“Yeah no kidding,” Pierre piped up. “You wouldn’t believe where I found him the other day! He was rooting around the back of my bookcase.”

“And why pray tell, Father, would he be interested in such a place?” Abigail drawled, eyes narrowed to match the twin expression on her mother’s face.

Pierre had gone an interesting shade of red but Lewis chose to ignore this. “Indeed, he does have a rather, uh, inquisitive mind,” Lewis chuckled awkwardly. “But! I believe all here would agree that his positive attributes outweigh these… oddities, tenfold!”

There were glances exchanged in the audience and a few nods, with responses varying from reluctant to enthusiastic.

“Best spuds I’ve seen in years,” Pam declared. “Joja taters taste like dirt. Bad dirt.”

“Pam, all dirt is bad dirt,” Sam said.

“Shows what you know, city boy,” Pam retorted with a snort.

“Yeah, Pierre, tell the farmer he’s a lifesaver,” Gus chimed in. “The food at the Stardrop has never been better.”

Pierre radiated pride as though he’d grown the crops himself. “Of course! I’ll make sure he knows he’s got a fan. After all, you’re looking at his exclusive distributor.”

“Got any hops yet?” Shane asked.

“The farmer’s latest harvest doesn’t have hops but I’ll put in a word for next season.”

“Good. Can’t keep making beer out of whatever Joja’s been calling ‘hops powder.’ It tastes like despair.”

“That’s precisely why we must keep the farmer here!” Lewis exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly as he seized the moment.

“Here, here!” Marnie clapped enthusiastically from the front row, beaming up at Lewis. When no one joined in, Marnie’s claps slowed and she began to blush ferociously. This made Lewis blush ferociously in return. There was muffled laughter and groaning from the rest of the assembly.

“The Mayor’s awkward love life aside,” Robin sighed, “I actually think Lewis has a point.”

“Me too!” Penny agreed enthusiastically before looking absolutely horrified as everyone’s attention shifted to her. “Uhm… it’s just… well, things have gotten better with him here.”

“Fewer monsters, for one,” came the gravelly old voice of Marlon from the back.

“Yeah, and some actual real-life changes too,” countered Shane sarcastically, earning glares from the ‘Guild’ of two. “I’ve cut down on my drinking.”

“You’re in the saloon every night,” Pam pointed out, a little hypocritically.

Shane shrugged. “Sure, but now I leave while I can still walk straight.”

“He’s helped with my robot designs! Penny only got mildly electrocuted this time,” Maru beamed at her friend, who hesitantly smiled back, eyes full of fear.

“The farmer has become my muse,” Elliott announced, his voice dreamlike, hand clutched to his chest. His theatrics caused Leah’s eyes to roll.

“Yes, yes, and all of that is truly a testament to how important he is to us, without a doubt,” Lewis acknowledged impatiently. “Which is why we need a plan!”

Lewis took this moment to unroll the presentation board beside him. In large bubble letters was written: OPERATION: KEEP THE FARMER IN PELICAN TOWN.

He gave them all a moment to take in what was written. It took longer than he had hoped. Finally, Emily gasped, breaking the silence that had fallen over the community centre.

“But how are we going to do that?” she exclaimed.

Lewis thought the question a little obvious but was glad for the opportunity to explain further. “Well, if we think of this meeting as Phase 1, I think the best way to proceed initially is to… gather data on the farmer,” he finished.

Dr Harvey narrowed his eyes. “Do you mean… spy?”

Lewis immediately sputtered. “Well, I—uh, well—”

“Yeah, this sounds… shifty as hell,” Abigail opined, then broke out in a grin. “Count me in.”

To Lewis’ horror, Sebastian and Sam wore matching, what he would describe as evil, grins.

“No! Nothing so insidious!” Lewis corrected hastily. “We need people who can observe the farmer, learn what he likes, what he dislikes, what might make him stay in Pelican Town for good. Subtly, of course.”

“Subtle, huh?” Shane grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Guess that rules out Pam.”

Pam gave an exaggerated snort. “Oh, please. I could be subtle if I wanted to. I’ll just invite him for a drink and work my charm. Nobody’s smoother than me after three rounds of pale ale.”

“I don’t think this is about getting him drunk, Mum,” Penny whispered despairingly.

Pierre stood from his chair, chest puffed out. “As the farmer’s exclusive distributor, I’m clearly the best choice. I’ve already built a professional rapport with him, and I can—”

“Oh, give it a rest, Dad,” Abigail interrupted. “The farmer doesn’t even like your prices.”

Lewis cut in quickly before Pierre could defend his margins. “Let’s focus, people! We need volunteers with specific skills.”

“I can take notes!” Penny offered eagerly. “He’s been donating fresh produce to the school lunch programme, so I could casually ask what other crops he’s planning to grow.”

Lewis wondered if providing lunches for two children could be counted as a ‘programme’.

Elliott was the next to stand up with a dramatic toss of his hair. “As a writer, my observational skills are unparalleled.”

“By observational skills, you mean finding poetic ways to tell him how good his arse looks in his jeans,” Sebastian said with a sly smile.

Elliott scoffed, drawing himself up to his full height. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, young Sebastian.” But the blush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “I assure you, my intentions are strictly… professional.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, smirking wider. “Sure they are.”

“Why not just ask him what he likes?” Maru asked. “Seems easier than, you know, all the sneaking around.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Abigail grinned. “I think we should lure him into the mines. If he loves fighting slimes as much as I do, he’ll stay for sure.”

“That’s your solution?” Shane said, rolling his eyes. “Let him die a horrible death being attacked by monsters? Brilliant thinking, Abigail.”

“Enough!” Lewis bellowed. “This isn’t about mines or poetry or—or slime! This is about working together to make the farmer feel at home. So, if you want to help, go and subtly observe the farmer, then bring your best ideas to the next meeting. Reasonable ideas, mind you. Got it?”

The townsfolk exchanged glances. Some wore devious expressions, others nodded reluctantly, while a few appeared completely zoned out. Lewis sighed inwardly. Coordinating this town was like herding cats... if the cats were sarcastic, opinionated, and occasionally armed with slingshots.

Chapter Text

Lewis wasn’t sure whether he felt impressed or, much more likely, apprehensive about the efforts the townsfolk had gone to. A few of the younger residents; Alex, Haley and Sebastian, were setting up and arguing over the old community centre projector, having apparently prepared powerpoint presentations. Others had brought notebooks, and Jodi had even arrived with her very own corkboard.

“All right, everyone, listen up!” Lewis called out in his best mayoral voice. Marnie had assured him that it sounded both strong and authoritative. “We’ve all gathered our intel, so let’s dive in. Who’s ready to share? I’m eager to hear what you’ve all discovered!”

Jodi stood, smoothing her clothes as though preparing for a board meeting.

“Well, I’ve been observing the farmer for a few weeks now.”

Abigail leaned back in her chair and mouthed, ‘A few weeks?’ to Sam, who shrugged helplessly.

“He’s quite the enigma, but one thing’s certain: he’s a workhorse.”

She gestured towards the corkboard she’d brought. It was crisscrossed with red string and plastered with photos, notes, and diagrams. The result bore an unsettling resemblance to the work of a conspiracy theorist. At its centre was a blurry photo of the farmer mid-swing with a hoe, boldly labelled Subject at Work .

“I’ve been tracking his routine,” She tapped at a photo of the farmhouse in the early morning light.

“He’s an early riser. Lights are on before the rooster crows. Every morning starts with coffee, followed by hours of picking up rocks from his fields while occasionally muttering to himself. And—” she paused, pointing dramatically at an image of a smug-looking chicken, “he talks to his animals as if they’re people.”

The crowd leaned in slightly, trying to get a better look, their faces a mix of curiosity and mild concern. Jodi grabbed a highlighter and circled a cluster of notes on the board.

“Now, the rock collection. This could suggest obsessive-compulsive tendencies or,” she switched to a different colour, underlining a scrawled note, “a deeper agricultural strategy. Personally, I’m leaning towards the latter, but we can’t rule anything out.”

As if this was the clincher of her presentation, she clicked the lid onto her highlighter with an air of triumph and turned to beam at her audience.

Eyes darted between the chaotic web of information and Jodi’s earnest expression.

“Freaky,” muttered Pam under her breath.

“Wow… well done, Mum,” Sam managed, his voice a little strained.

“I helped with the string!” Vincent piped up, smiling the smile of the innocent.

“That’s... very thorough, Jodi,” Lewis said, clearing his throat. His gaze lingered uneasily on one of her sticky notes that read, Humming frequency while planting corn: suspicious?

“Uhm, yes, well… Who’s next?” he asked, with a hint of pleading.

Sebastian raised a hand lazily. “Time for some real data,” he announced, pushing himself to his feet with his characteristic smirk. He strolled over to the projector and gestured for the lights to be dimmed.

The room quieted as he loaded a series of files onto the screen. Moments later, the glowing image of financial spreadsheets filled the space, stark and precise in contrast to Jodi’s chaotic corkboard.

“As it turns out,” Sebastian began, his tone dry and matter-of-fact as he pointed to the screen with a laser pointer he had apparently brought specifically for the occasion, “the farmer isn’t just scraping by. He’s thriving.”

He clicked through the slides, each one revealing increasingly impressive data. One chart displayed exponential growth in crop yields, while another showed soaring profits from livestock sales. A line graph demonstrated the farmer’s upward trajectory of earnings, a near-perfect incline that seemed almost implausible.

“Based on his profits from the first season alone,” Sebastian continued, scrolling to a pie chart that detailed revenue streams, “he’s already made more than most of us combined.”

The chart animated, populated with slices representing local business owners. The farmer's slice steadily grew, expanding until it nearly eclipsed the others. Horrified gasps rippled through the room.

“And to think I’ve been sending him free hay,” Marnie murmured in astonishment.

“Maybe it’s time to put my ore prices up again,” Clint said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Lewis felt a creeping sense of dread as he stared at the sheer, and frankly suspicious, amount of detail featured in Sebastian’s presentation. 

“Wait,” he cut in, “how do you even know this?” He frowned, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Did you… hack into his accounts?”

Sebastian’s smirk widened. “Hack is such an ugly word. I prefer ‘investigative research.’ Technicalities, you know.”

Lewis gawked at the screen and then back at Sebastian, his face a mixture of horror and disbelief. “Sebastian, is this… is this legal?”

Sebastian shrugged nonchalantly but his expression darkened. “Depends on whether you plan to snitch.”

Lewis pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yoba , moving swiftly along,” he muttered, not wanting to delve any further into Sebastian’s murky ethics. “What’s next?”

Haley was the next to stand. “Step aside, peasants,” she proclaimed, sweeping to the front of the room. She gestured imperiously to Alex, who had taken his place beside the projector and had snatched the remote from Sebastian’s reluctant grip.

An image of the farmer appeared on the screen, carrying a basket of wildflowers, sunlight glinting off his profile. “Here’s a picture I took of him one afternoon. He’s a romantic. Just look at how the sunlight catches his profile. It’s positively cinematic.”

She clicked again, revealing the farmer standing by the river with a fishing rod in hand. “Notice how he’s always near water. It’s as though he’s drawn to it. Classic signs of someone deeply connected to nature.”

“Good spot for pike, that,” Willy observed with an approving nod.

Another click, and the screen displayed the farmer crouching in his garden, holding up an enormous carrot. “A farmer who knows his vegetables,” she remarked solemnly. “This is crucial.”

From somewhere in the centre, George snorted. “Well, I’ll be. That’s a mighty big carrot. No wonder he’s so popular around here.” His remark caused Evelyn to giggle like a schoolgirl, while Alex made a horrified choking sound.

“And now, the pièce de résistance,” Haley declared, her voice dropping dramatically and pointedly ignoring Alex and his family. With another click, the final image filled the screen, and a shocked silence descended on the room.

The farmer stood, a towel slung low on his hips, steam swirling around him as he scrubbed his face in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. The silence stretched on, thick and disbelieving.

Elliot was the one to break the silence. “Ah, the raw simplicity of the human form,” he mused reverently. “Not merely the body, but the vulnerability, the stillness—”

“Alright, we get it, Elliot,” Leah interrupted dryly. “You’re moved.”

Penny, her face burning, peeked through her hands. “I—I can’t believe she took that,” she stammered, caught between mortification and intrigue.

“Haley, what in Yoba’s name is this?” Lewis spluttered, lunging for the remote. Alex deftly kept it out of his reach, smirking.

“Oh, relax, Lewis. We’re just getting to know him, aren’t we?”

“Not like this!” Lewis shrieked. “Alex, turn it off!”

Alex sighed, pressing the button with exaggerated reluctance. “Shame. I was looking forward to the next photo.”

“Can I get a copy of that last one?” Lewis was horrified to see it was Doctor Harvey, hand raised and beet red.

Haley brightened. “You can find them on my Etsy shop. High-quality prints available!”

A few townsfolk exchanged furtive glances, clearly tempted.

“Enough!” Lewis barked, his voice cracking. “This is utterly ridiculous! Let’s focus on dignified methods, shall we?”

“I mean, really, people!” He began pacing the front of the room. “If we carry on like this, we’re going to lose him altogether... and we’ll end up looking like a pack of lunatics! Does anyone have something that doesn't... invade the farmer's privacy in some way?”

There were guilty glances, clearing of throats, and suddenly everyone appeared to be trying very hard not to meet Lewis’ eye.

“You’re all useless,” he muttered under his breath before letting out a long, exasperated sigh. “Alright, alright. New plan. Everyone go out there, be normal... well, as normal as possible, and just try not to scare him off. Understood?”

Pam raised her hand. “Define normal?”

Lewis shot her a withering look. “Normal means no more cork boards, no more hacking, and absolutely no more bathroom photos. Is that clear?”

Haley huffed, crossing her arms. “You’re really stifling our creativity, Lewis.”

With a final, defeated exhale, Lewis declared, “Meeting adjourned.”

The townsfolk shuffled to their feet, already murmuring amongst themselves, seemingly undeterred by Lewis’ displeasure and still eager to carry on with their peculiar little quest.

Chapter Text

After the calamity of last week's presentations, Lewis had abandoned the projector screen in favour of his trusty presentation board. He stood at the front, hands clasped tightly, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on his shoulders.

Clearing his throat, he began, his voice unsteady. “Everyone…” He paused, letting his gaze sweep over their sweet, simple faces as they looked up at him. His flock. “I just want to say, I’m incredibly proud of you all. You’ve finally done good.”

A hush fell over the room.

“‘Finally done good?’” Robin echoed, arms crossed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Yeah,” Pam chimed in, leaning back in her chair. “Pretty sure my potato juice came second at the Stardew Fair last year, Lewis.”

“By ‘potato juice,’ do you mean that moonshine that almost made Willy go blind?” Dr Harvey countered disapprovingly.

“And don’t forget the animal showcase. My chickens always win the blue ribbon!” Marnie quickly added, looking hurt.

Lewis sighed, resisting the urge to point out that Marnie had been the only one with chickens until recently. “No, no, you’ve all done good before. I didn’t mean it like that. Can we just focus, please?”

When the room begrudgingly settled down once more, he began again. “A few very perceptive townspeople came to me and pointed out that, despite his apparent success on the farm…” He shot a quick, disapproving glance at Sebastian, who merely smirked back. “…the farmer is missing but one thing in his life.”

He hesitated just long enough to (hopefully) build anticipation before pulling down the presentation board. Revealed was a crudely sketched diagram: a stick figure labelled “The Farmer” surrounded by smaller stick figures holding hearts. At the top, in big letters, were the words: OPERATION: FIND THE FARMER A WIFE.

The room immediately erupted.

“A wife?” Emily’s voice was high-pitched with disbelief. “Why does it have to be a wife? What if the farmer isn’t into women?”

Demetrius, arms folded, nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed, Lewis. Language is a powerful tool. The term ‘wife’ imposes an outdated societal structure that—”

“It’s exclusionary,” Robin interjected, cutting her husband off before he could launch into a lecture on the anthropological science of language.

Lewis blinked, baffled. “It’s just a title! It doesn’t mean anything!”

“Doesn’t mean anything?” Abigail shot back. “So why not just say ‘partner,’ then?”

“Exactly,” Sebastian agreed, leaning forward. “You can’t assume the farmer wants to be tied down to a wife. Maybe he wants to be the wife,” he added with a leer.

“The pasty teenager has a point,” Clint announced to the surprise of the assembly, rising from his seat.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, mouthing, “Pasty teenager?”

“What about us? Why shouldn’t we try our luck?” Clint insisted.

The room went quiet. Several heads turned towards Clint, whose face was now bright red. “I’m just saying… I’m a perfectly eligible bachelor!”

Lewis pinched the bridge of his nose. “Clint, this isn’t about—”

“I am an eligible bachelor!” Clint interrupted, his voice rising. “I’m good with metal, I’ve got a solid career. Why shouldn’t I get a chance?”

“Clint, mate, calm down,” Shane broke in, hands raised as if attempting to soothe a spooked horse. “The farmer’s probably never talked to you for longer than five minutes without asking you to smelt something,” he reasoned before adding thoughtfully, “Maybe the farmer wants someone who appreciates a good beer and a quiet night.”

“Subtle, Shane,” Abigail remarked dryly.

“I’m just saying,” Clint persisted, determinedly ignoring the jibes and stares. “Age shouldn’t rule me out. I’m just as good a match as anyone!”

“Yeah!” Alex concurred, also now standing from his seat with his arms crossed. “What, we’re all supposed to sit here while you plan the farmer’s romantic future and ignore us, the single men of Pelican Town?”

“Yeah, but you don’t even have your own place,” Sam pointed out with a snort. “Just that fancy exercise bench.”

Alex scowled. “Neither do you! And it’s a great exercise bench, all right?" He not-so-subtly flexed his biceps. "I mean, look at me. I’m in peak physical condition. I’m not out of the running just because I don’t have a mansion. Besides, my hair’s better than all of yours combined.”

“You tell him, honey!” Haley cheered from the side.

Lewis threw his hands in the air. “Look, this isn’t—”

“I think you’re missing the point,” Abigail cut in, glaring at Alex. “The whole point is to find someone the farmer wants to be with, not just whoever fancies themselves eligible.”

“Right,” Sam added. “But it’s still rude to leave us out of the conversation, don’t you think?”

Sebastian snorted. “Rude? More like completely unnecessary.”

Lewis groaned, exasperated. “Fine! You’re all eligible, all right? But the goal is to help the farmer find someone who makes him happy. That’s all that matters.”

A few grumbles of agreement followed. Lewis, still flustered, grabbed a marker and crossed out the word WIFE , replacing it with PARTNER in bold letters.

“Better?” he demanded, his voice dripping with exasperation.

“Much,” Emily replied with a satisfied smile.

“All right, let’s move on,” Lewis muttered, clearly relieved to be out of the hot seat. “We’ll form teams and try to figure out exactly what kind of person the farmer is looking for in a prospective... partner.” 

He paused, glancing around at the group with a weary sigh. “But let me be clear: I don’t trust any of you to do this delicately enough. You’ve all proven, at least to me, that subtle questions and casual observations are... not your strengths.”

Elliot bristled at this remark. “Mayor Lewis, I must protest your lack of faith,” he began. “As a poet, subtlety is my very lifeblood. I can craft questions so delicate, so artfully indirect, that the farmer won’t even realise I’ve pried into his soul.”

Lewis pursed his lips, trying to mask his scepticism. “Elliot, while I admire your... creative way with words, I’m not sure poetic musings are going to help us here.”

“Nonsense! I could easily weave a conversation so naturally that the farmer might think he'd revealed his heart’s desires to the ocean breeze itself.” He gazed into the distance, as if already imagining the scene.

Leah snorted. “Yeah, because nothing’s subtler than quoting sonnets at someone while they’re just trying to harvest parsnips.”

“What I’m saying is—” Lewis interrupted the two before things could devolve into catty artsy politics. “We need to be... strategic. We can’t just barge in there with questions about his ideal partner. We need a carefully thought-out plan to get this information from him. Delicacy is key. So, we’ll form teams, and each team will brainstorm ideas for how to find out what kind of person the farmer is looking for.”

The room fell into hesitant murmurs and some knowing glances. Some people were already leaning forward, eager to start plotting, while others seemed uncertain about what exactly " delicacy" meant in the context of Pelican Town’s infamous social dynamics.

“So,” Lewis continued, clearly trying to muster the last of his patience, “I expect each team to come back next week with their ideas. We’ll put our heads together and figure out how we can make this work without spooking the farmer.

“Remember, we’re doing this for the farmer and for Pelican Town. We need to help him find someone who’ll make him happy. And I’m not talking about romantic desperation here. We’re talking about genuine connection.” He emphasised the last part as if trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

The room began to buzz with activity as the townsfolk divided into groups, already discussing ideas for how to carry out this new mission. Lewis watched them for a moment, feeling his stomach twist. 

He turned his gaze back to the presentation board, where the word Partner was boldly written in black marker. Lewis hesitated for a moment, staring at the word with a mix of dread and determination.

“Okay, Lewis. You’ve got this,” he whispered to himself. “This is going to work.”

Chapter Text

The latest town meeting was underway, and Lewis couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of dread. The groups had been assigned their task: to figure out, carefully and casually, what kind of partner the farmer might be looking for. First up were the team members he’d mentally dubbed “The Oddballs”: Willy, Marlon, and Gil.

Willy stood with a crooked grin, adjusting his weathered cap. “Well, folks, when it comes to relationships, I think it’s a lot like fishing. Back in the day, they used to say fishing isn’t just about catching fish: it’s about patience, timing, and knowing the waters.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, cautiously hopeful. “Fishing?”

“Aye,” Willy continued, growing more animated. “You can’t rush it. You’ve got to be patient, like an old fisherman waiting for the right moment. You cast your line, but you can’t just yank it in every time something tugs. You’ve got to wait, see, feel the pull—then you reel in, slow and steady, and that’s when you know it’s right.”

Lewis blinked. “So the farmer just needs to... fish more?”

“Aye! Patience, timing, knowing when to reel in, knowing when to wait... it’s all part of the process,” Willy said, eyes twinkling. “Not every catch is the one, but when it’s the right one, you’ll know.”

Lewis sighed, rubbing his temples. “Right. So... fishing. That’s the answer?”

Marlon gave a slow, sage nod of approval. “Yeah, what Willy said. Relationships, like fishing, require patience and understanding of the waters. It’s the same in both.”

Lewis, feeling defeated already, could only manage a weak, “Got it. Fish more. Thanks.”

With that, he quickly moved on to the next group: “The Brainiacs,” consisting of Maru, her father Demetrius, Dr Harvey, and Gunther. Surely, here was where some solid logic would emerge.

Demetrius stood with his hands clasped behind his back and wasted no time in launching into a lecture, “Well, you see, the human need for companionship is an inherently biological imperative. It’s not merely emotional but evolutionary. According to attachment theory, the bonding process is driven by the neurochemical interplay of oxytocin, dopamine, and vasopressin. Our genetic predisposition towards seeking romantic and platonic partners has been shaped over millennia to ensure survival.”

Lewis stared blankly at Demetrius, his mind spinning. “Uh, what?”

Demetrius, oblivious, pressed on, “When a human forms an attachment, it activates the mesolimbic pathway, increasing dopamine release, which in turn reinforces the behaviour through positive reinforcement. This neurological mechanism makes attachment and attraction essentially a reward-seeking behaviour, both in the emotional and physical sense.”

“Dad, maybe... simplify it a bit?” Maru suggested, glancing nervously around the room.

Demetrius, however, was on a roll. “The confluence of serotonin and oxytocin secretion in the ventral tegmental area and caudate nucleus of the brain—”

“I think you lost them,” Maru interjected again, her voice strained. “Dad, not everyone is a scientist.”

Lewis, trying to make sense of the jargon, raised his hands. “Hold on. So... what you’re saying is that the farmer should... bond more?” 

Demetrius nodded eagerly. “Exactly. Bonding is the key to understanding attraction and attachment. It’s essential to the human condition.”

“Right. Bonding. Got it.” Lewis glanced over at Harvey, who already looked visibly uncomfortable. Before he could say anything further, Haley raised her hand.

“Would it be possible to get the farmer’s medical records from Harvey?” she asked sweetly, as if she weren’t suggesting committing a felony.

Harvey looked horrified. “What? No! That’s private! I can’t just hand over his medical history!”

“I could get into the database,” Sebastian chimed in, a grin spreading across his face. “I’ve seen the system they use at the surgery. It’d be a cinch.”

Lewis, his face flushed with rising stress, snapped, “I’ve told you, no hacking! We’re not doing anything illegal here!”

“Aw, come on, Lewis,” Sebastian muttered, folding his arms. “It’s for the greater good.”

Ignoring Sebastian’s mutterings, Lewis quickly moved on to the next group: “The Bar Flies.” This team consisted of Shane, Pam, and Gus. If there was one group he didn’t expect much from, it was this one. 

“So, I was thinking,” Shane began, “I’ve got access to the computers at work. I could write up a quiz, interests, life goals, relationship values, all that crap, and make it look like a customer survey from JojaMart.”

Lewis blinked, taken aback. “Wait, you want to create a fake survey to get information about the farmer?”

Shane shrugged, unphased. “Yeah, I mean, it’s a good way to get someone’s personal preferences without them realising it. Just a harmless little survey, you know? No harm done.”

Lewis rubbed his chin, trying to process this. “That’s... surprisingly clever,” he admitted, before he could stop himself.

“Why is it when you compliment us, it’s always so backhanded?” Pam shot from her place beside Shane, narrowing her eyes at Lewis.

Lewis opened and closed his mouth, but, fortunately, he was spared from responding when Pierre leapt out of his chair, his face flushed with indignation.

“JojaMart?! Don’t even get me started! Those corporate vultures and their—”

Caroline, sensing the storm brewing, gently placed a hand on Pierre’s shoulder and gave him a few soft pats. “There, there, honey. It’s alright. No need to start a riot.”

Pierre huffed but sank back into his seat with an exaggerated sigh. “You’ll all be sorry when JojaMart is the ruination of this town!”

Shane, unfazed, rolled his eyes. “We’re talking about the farmer here, not JojaMart, old man.”

Sam, who’d been leaning back in his chair (insolently, Lewis was quick to note), suddenly sat up straight. “I don’t even think the farmer shops at JojaMart. I’ve never seen him set foot in there.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, and a few faces turned towards Sam.

“I’m just saying. Never seen him there.”

Emily nodded in agreement. “The farmer used to work at JojaHQ in Zuzu, actually. He hated it.” She glanced at Shane, offering him an apologetic smile. “So, maybe that approach won’t work.”

Shane shrugged in response, his expression indifferent. “Still worth a try.”

Lewis hummed thoughtfully. “You’re right. The farmer might not be the biggest fan of JojaMart, but he’s a helpful chap. He tends to do things out of goodwill. If he thinks it’s just a harmless survey, he might fill it out without a second thought.”

He turned to the next group and mentally sighed. “Sadness & Co.”: Abigail, Sebastian, and Sam.

Abigail took the lead this time. “Okay, so we all know the farmer’s mysterious, right? But I bet if we check his socials, we could figure out what kind of person he is. Like, does he like cats or dogs? Does he follow meme accounts? Is he posting thirst traps?”

Sam nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Socials always spill the tea.”

Sebastian smirked, pushing his hair out of his face. “It’s basically free reconnaissance. Besides, if he’s the kind of bloke who overshares on JuniGram, we’ll know straight away what kind of weird hobbies he’s into.”

Lewis, who had been half-listening while fiddling with his tie, suddenly froze. “Socials? What in Yoba’s name are socials? Is that some kind of… youth thing?”

The room fell silent. Everyone stared at him as if he’d just announced he didn’t know what a potato was.

“Are you…” Abigail began, her voice soft with disbelief, “asking us what socials are?”

Lewis blinked, visibly flustered. “Well, yes. I mean, I’ve heard of them, but… what exactly does one do with them? Is JuniGram some kind of telegram service?”

The silence deepened, broken only by Sam muttering, “Oh my god,” and Abigail slumping into her seat as though she’d aged a hundred years.

Sebastian rubbed his temples. “Lewis. Please. For the love of Yoba, what century do you think this is?”

Lewis’s face reddened. “Well, excuse me for not knowing! Just explain it, would you?”

Abigail straightened up, taking a deep breath. “Alright. JuniGram is not a telegram service. It’s where you post pictures and videos. Think of it as… a scrapbook, but online, and people can comment and like it.”

Sam chimed in. “And Chirper is for short text posts. You know, random thoughts, memes, or whatever. Think, like, diary entries but public.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, deadpan. “But not MyFace. MyFace is strictly for boomers.”

A low murmur of discontent spread through the older members of the town.

Evelyn gasped audibly, clutching her handbag. “I’ll have you know, young man, I’ve met some lovely people on MyFace!”

George grunted in agreement. “It’s the only place where people have proper manners these days. None of that hashtag nonsense.”

“Yeah!” Gus chimed in, pointing a finger at Sebastian. “Where else am I supposed to share my recipes? Those ‘modern apps’ don’t even let you format your posts properly.”

Sebastian groaned, rolling his eyes. “Alright, boomer brigade, we get it. MyFace is alive and well… for now.”

Lewis rubbed his chin, ignoring the increasingly off-topic discussion. “So… you’re saying people just put their personal lives on display for everyone to see? Voluntarily?”

“Yes!” Abigail said. “And that’s how we’ll figure out the farmer’s interests. If he’s posting about artisanal mayonnaise, ranking the caves by bat guano content, or sharing sword-polishing tips for optimal slime-slaying, we’ll know what makes him tick.”

Lewis frowned, still sceptical. “And you think this is a better idea than just asking him outright?”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “Oh, Lewis, come on. Socials don’t lie. People curate their entire identities on there. It’s the easiest way to figure someone out without asking awkward questions.”

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, smirking. “And don’t worry. We’re not going to hack him or anything.”

Lewis’s eyes widened in alarm. “Hack him?! Is that… is that even an option? Are you planning to do that?”

Sebastian grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “I mean, I could—”

“Sebastian!” Lewis barked, cutting him off, his voice cracking with panic. “Absolutely not! No hacking the farmer! I forbid it!”

Sebastian held up his hands, feigning innocence. “Relax, Lewis. I was kidding. Mostly.”

Lewis rubbed his temples, muttering to himself. “Yoba preserve me… no hacking, no hacking…”

Sam grinned, clapping his hands together. “So, socials it is! We’ll look through his profiles, figure out what he likes, and boom. Mission accomplished. Easy peasy.”

Abigail gave Lewis a smug look. “Trust me, this is the way to go.”

To everyone’s surprise, Lewis nodded slowly, his expression shifting from confusion to cautious optimism. “You know what? That’s actually… not a terrible idea.” He glanced at the trio, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t think much of this team, but this… this could work.”

Sebastian gave him a flat look. “Don’t sound so shocked, Lewis. We’re not completely useless.”

Abigail grinned. “Yeah, we’ve got a solid track record of having ideas you underestimate.”

“Just don’t ask us to execute them without snacks,” Sam added, patting his stomach.

Lewis sighed, almost begrudgingly impressed. “Fine. You’ve got my approval. But keep it subtle! And for the last time: no hacking!”

Sebastian shot him a mischievous look. “No promises.”

Lewis groaned, turning away as the trio began plotting. “I’ve got to stop letting them volunteer for things,” he muttered, shaking his head. But deep down, he couldn’t help but feel the tiniest glimmer of hope.

Chapter Text

The meeting had barely started, and already Lewis regretted every decision that had led him to this point.

The community centre, predictably, was thrumming with idle chatter, petty squabbles, and the low murmur of (probably) impending disaster. Folding chairs scraped across the scuffed floor. Dust motes floated lazily through the sunlight, unbothered by the human nonsense below.

Lewis, however, was not so lucky.

“Can we please just sit down and focus?” he tried, voice pitched somewhere between ‘desperation’ and ‘this is why I drink.’

“It’s your fault we’re not focused, Lewis,” Pam opined, happy as always to give her two cents. “You didn’t give us an agenda. Meetings need agendas.”

“I thought the agenda was implied, Pam. We’ve been meeting about this exact same thing for weeks.”

“Still should’ve sent a memo,” Demetrius added, in that helpful-but-unhelpful way of his.

“I brought snacks!” Emily announced brightly, holding up a suspiciously glittery tupperware box. “They’re energy-boosting spirit muffins. Great for raising vibrations!”

There was an immediate, collective recoil.

“Not after last time,” Shane muttered, shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket. “Still haven’t forgiven you for the whole ‘hallucinogenic chakra alignment’ incident.”

“I told you to read the label,” Emily replied cheerfully.

Meanwhile, Alex and Sam were engaged in what appeared to be a very serious discussion about whether the farmer could beat both of them in an arm-wrestling contest.

“Of course he could,” Abigail said, not looking up from where she was sketching a goblin with a huge sword fighting a wizard. “His strength comes from the realities of farm life, you know real working out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alex demanded, affronted.

“Means he doesn’t just work on his vanity muscles,” Abigail smirked, earning a scandalised squark from Alex.

Lewis cleared his throat, louder this time. “Everyone. Focus. As you all know, we’ve been trying to figure out how best to, ah, encourage the farmer to put down roots here.”

A series of nods. Varying degrees of sincerity.

“I still think bribery is the way to go,” Clint said from the back, his tone solemn as a funeral dirge. “Nothing says commitment like discounted ore processing.”

“Romantic,” Leah muttered.

“We agreed no bribery. Or—” Lewis held up a finger preemptively as Sebastian opened his mouth “—blackmail. Or any other schemes that fall under the umbrella of mildly criminal.”

“That’s a very subjective umbrella, Lewis,” Haley pointed out.

Before Lewis could spiral into yet another argument about ethics, a small, distinct cough echoed from the front row.

All eyes turned to Maru, who was fiddling nervously with the strap of her bag, cheeks pink.

“Uhm. Actually, there’s… something you should all know,” she said, voice a little too bright.

Lewis immediately tensed. “Maru,” he said, warily. “Please tell me you haven’t built a robot to spy on the farmer.”

“That was one suggestion,” Maru protested and then cleared her throat. “I may have, uh, come into possession of some… valuable data.”

“Possession?” Robin repeated, narrowing her eyes. “Maru, what did you do?”

“Well, you see, I got the answers for the survey Shane wrote last week,” Maru admitted, voice fast and a little too high, a little too cheerful, as if overcompensating would soften the blow. From her satchel, she produced a slightly crumpled sheaf of papers, stapled together with what looked like a JojaMart promotional flyer. 

“How on earth did you get it? Wasn’t the farmer suspicious when you collected it?” Lewis asked, narrowing his eyes at the survey Maru had in her hand.

“Oh well… about that. I don’t think he, you know, intended to send it in,” Maru admitted, suddenly finding the scuffed floorboards intensely fascinating. “I saw him put it in his waste paper bin and, well… I knew how important it was, so I—”

“Maru! You stole it!?” Robin demanded, scandalised, as though her daughter had confessed to grand larceny and not, in fact, rescuing a scrap of paper from a bin.

“Finally something we have in common,” Sebastian added, with a look that was equal parts impressed and vaguely threatening.

“Well, I mean, he knows I took it…” Maru fidgeted with the arm of her glasses, cheeks colouring under the weight of her parents' horrified stares. “I may have told him I’d run it out to the recycling for him.”

“We don’t have a recycling programme,” Lewis said flatly, still unsure how he felt about this unexpected development. 

“Yeah… we might, uh, need to instate one?” Maru offered, voice squeaking up a further octave in hopeful desperation.

“To be fair,” Demetrius chimed in, ever the pragmatist, “it is about time that we had a comprehensive recycling initiative in this town. Our proximity to the ocean demands a responsible approach to waste management. If you examine other coastal communities—”

“Not the time, honey,” Robin growled.

“Right, right. Maru, we’re very disappointed in you,” Demetrius admonished, hastily adjusting course. He fixed her with his best disapproving look, the one typically reserved for when she requested a day off from the lab to indulge in something truly frivolous, like reading non-fiction.

“I know it wasn’t the most ethical way of doing things,” Maru said, chin lifting in slightly shaky defiance, “but the farmer gives me free iridium bars. Iridium! We can’t let this man slip through our fingers.”

Lewis exhaled loudly, as though this might physically exhaust the stress from his brain. “And I thought I only had to deal with your wayward brother,” he muttered.

“Hey!” came the predictable protest from Sebastian, who, to his credit, sounded more entertained than offended.

“Well, what’s done is done,” Lewis continued, waving off further protest. “No point in wasting this… opportunity.” He held out a hand.

Maru, eager to distance herself from the scorching glare of parental disapproval, passed over the ill-gotten survey answers with all the solemnity of a shady back alley deal, before scuttling off to sit next to Penny, who was pointedly not looking at her.

Lewis cleared his throat, straightened his suspenders (which still bore the scars of last week's emergency duct tape repair), and addressed the room, aware of how every single person was now leaning in with barely concealed anticipation.

“Question one. How do you feel about JojaMart’s customer satisfaction?” Lewis read aloud, lifting an eyebrow towards Shane.

Shane, arms crossed and expression deeply unimpressed, jerked his chin. “Well, I couldn’t just start with the juicy questions! Had to make it look legit. Bit of corporate espionage 101.”

“I suppose you do have a point. Apologies, Shane,” Lewis allowed, the words tasting foreign on his tongue. “Let’s see what our dear farmer had to say.”

“Right then. Question one.” He squinted at the page. “‘How do you feel about JojaMart’s customer satisfaction?’”

“Answer: ‘I feel JojaMart’s customer service is less ‘service’ and more ‘hostage situation with coupons.’”

The room snorted.

“Fair,” Shane said simply, entirely unsurprised. He might’ve looked bored, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed his satisfaction.

Pierre, however, clasped his hands like a proud, slightly manic father. “I must have a copy of this for the General Store noticeboard! Right next to the ‘Buy Local, Starve Joja’ flyer.”

“For Yoba’s sake, Pierre, let’s get through more than one question before you start building a shrine,” Lewis muttered.

“Question two: ‘Do you feel JojaMart offers competitive pricing?’”

He glanced over his glasses, bracing himself.

“Answer: ‘If by competitive you mean their prices squeeze the life out of small businesses and customers alike, then yes.’”

“That’s the spirit!” Marlon said, nodding sagely as if the farmer had passed some unspoken rite.

Lewis soldiered on. “Question three: ‘Would you recommend JojaMart to friends or family?’”

He didn’t even look up.

“Answer: ‘Only if they’ve wronged me and I seek revenge.’”

A delighted cackle burst out of Emily. Pam thumped her knee in approval, nearly toppling her chair.

“Good lad,” she crowed. “Knows the value of spite. Warms me old heart.”

“Question four,” Lewis pressed, determined now. “‘What product improvements would you like to see at JojaMart?’”

He took a steadying breath.

“Answer: ‘A staff exorcism, replacement of all fluorescent lighting with a less soul-crushing alternative, and a suggestion box that doesn’t immediately feed into the corporate shredder.’”

Shane nodded, deadpan. “I wouldn’t say no to an exorcism. Might solve the weird buzzing noise I always hear in aisle five.”

“Question five: ‘How do you feel JojaMart contributes to community wellbeing?’”

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“Answer: ‘Like a tumour contributes to body mass.’”

Pierre, audibly sniffling, eyes suspiciously wet. “Lewis, I’m begging you. Frame this. For the good of the town.”

“Enough about framing things, Pierre. There are more questions.” Lewis scanned the page, dreading every line. The text seemed bolder now. Mocking.

“Question six: ‘What would you consider your greatest physical asset?’”

An audible shift in the room’s energy. People sat up straighter. Some grinned. Pierre nearly toppled forward.

“What happened to subtle?” Lewis demanded of Shane who merely shrugged in response. Lewis gave him a flat glare. Useless. He sighed, and continued on.

“Answer: ‘Strong hands. Comes with the territory. Good for tilling soil, fixing fences, and, so I’ve been told, giving excellent back rubs.’”

The silence was so thick it could be harvested.

Caroline made a strangled sound that might’ve been a cough or an attempt to smother a flustered giggle. “Goodness gracious.”

Emily let out a high-pitched, delighted squeal. “That’s going straight in my dream journal.”

Lewis cleared his throat, but the heat climbing up his neck betrayed him.

“Question seven: ‘Describe your ideal romantic evening.’”

“Answer: ‘A slow dinner with good conversation. Fresh farm ingredients, a bottle of wine, ends with stargazing, but only after I’ve thoroughly convinced my date to stay the night.’”

The room collectively forgot how to breathe.

Elliott clutched his chest like he’d been personally serenaded. “Ah, the art of seduction... so effortlessly phrased.”

“I need a drink,” Pam wheezed, already rummaging in her handbag for her emergency flask.

Penny, mortified, sank lower in her seat. “Mum, please.”

Lewis pinched the bridge of his nose. “This was supposed to be a customer satisfaction survey.”

“Sounds like he’s got that covered,” Abigail quipped, flashing a grin that was all teeth. Caroline looked scandalised. Pierre still looked invested.

“Moving on,” Lewis croaked.

“Question eight: ‘What’s something people misunderstand about you?’”

The anticipation was visceral.

“Answer: ‘That I’m only good with crops and livestock. I can be surprisingly attentive, when it matters.’”

A beat.

Sebastian gave a low whistle. “Subtle as a pickaxe to the face.”

Willy, impressed, nodded. “Knows his worth, that one.”

Across the room, Haley was typing furiously on her phone. Content, no doubt.

Lewis was losing the will to live. He flipped the page.

“Question nine: ‘How do you handle… intimate relationships?’”

A death knell.

“Answer: ‘With patience, enthusiasm, and a willingness to learn. Every person’s different. The key is listening.’”

There was a soft gasp. Possibly from Harvey. Possibly from Penny. Possibly from everyone simultaneously.

“Holy Yoba,” Marnie whispered, cheeks flushed. Gus said nothing, but his moustache twitched in deep approval.

“I want that embroidered on a pillow,” Emily sighed dreamily.

“Question ten,” Lewis rasped, barely clinging on. “‘Do you consider yourself more of a leader or a follower?’”

He read the answer with the dead tone of a man utterly defeated.

“Answer: ‘Depends on the context. In the field, I lead. In other situations… I’m happy to take direction.’”

Sam made an undignified choking noise. 

“This man is a menace,” Sebastian declared, half in awe.

“Only a couple more,” Lewis muttered. “Let’s get this nightmare over with.”

“Question eleven: ‘What’s your biggest turn-on?’”

The room froze. Even George leaned in.

“Answer: ‘Honesty. Confidence. People who get dirt under their nails and aren’t afraid of hard work. And anyone who can match my energy… in all contexts.’”

Emily let out a noise that was not fit for polite company.

Leah nodded thoughtfully. “That’s fair. Very fair.”

Haley was openly fanning herself with her phone. “Ugh, why does that answer work?”

Lewis exhaled sharply, getting to the final, blessed question.

“Final question. ‘Any closing thoughts?’” he read, voice flat and brittle.

A hush settled over the room, like the moment before a storm.

He cleared his throat. “Answer: ‘Certainly an odd way to collect customer data. Good thing the only one who’s going to see this is the… bottom of the bin.’”

A ripple passed through the crowd.

First came the shuffling of feet. Then the darting of guilty eyes.

For one, precious second, it seemed like self-awareness might actually take root in Pelican Town.

“That’s…” Maru said slowly, adjusting her glasses, “a fair point.”

“We did kind of… invade his privacy,” Penny added quietly, cheeks pink.

“Pretty egregiously,” Leah admitted with an embarrassed huff.

Sebastian, to his credit, had the decency to look vaguely guilty. “In our defence, we are the worst.”

Even Shane looked mildly repentant. “Yeah. But I mean…” He trailed off, glancing around as if hoping someone else would say it.

Pam, of course, had no such qualms. “But it’s for his own good, innit?”

“Exactly!” Pierre seized the lifeline with the fervour of a drowning man. “It’s not like we’re doing this to be nosy. We’re doing this because we care.”

“It’s not like he’ll mind once he sees how much we’re all invested in his happiness!” Emily added, clearly warming back up to the idea.

“I mean, sure, it was a teensy bit underhanded,” Marnie said, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, “but our intentions are good.”

Elliott flourished a hand dramatically. “Sometimes, one must breach a boundary in pursuit of a greater connection.”

Willy gave a sage nod. “When you fish, sometimes you use a net.”

Lewis blinked. “Willy, that doesn’t even—”

“The net gets you more fish, but not all the fish wanted to be caught. Still, you feed the town,” Willy continued, unperturbed. “Point is, maybe we’re the net.”

There was a moment of silence as this metaphor marinated.

“…You know, when he says it, it kind of makes sense,” Sam admitted.

“Does it though?” Dr Harvey replied doubtfully.

“I’m just saying,” Abigail interjected, “if the farmer didn’t want us knowing all this, maybe he shouldn’t have been so… attractive and enigmatic about it.”

Lewis let out a long, tired sigh. He could feel a migraine blooming right behind his eyes.

“So, to summarise,” he said, massaging his temples, “you all acknowledge this was an invasion of privacy—”

“Technically, yes,” Demetrius confirmed, as if that made it better.

“—and yet you’re all going to carry on as if it was justified anyway?”

A collective, sheepish nod rippled through the room.

“For the greater good,” Emily said, throwing up peace fingers.

“For Pelican Town,” Pierre declared, thumping his chest.

“For the farmer!” Pam cheered, raising her flask.

“For love!” Elliott added dramatically.

Lewis stared at them, weary down to his bones. “You’re all impossible.”

“Thank you, Lewis,” Emily said, willfully misinterpreting his words as approval.

There was no stopping them now. The guilt had been noted, briefly, but Pelican Town’s capacity for self-justification was an unstoppable force.

It was, after all, for the greater good.

And that was the most dangerous justification of all.