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By now, the basket had been brimming with strawberries. By your hand, of course.
You had been out in your family's gardens for a while now. The fruits and vegetables were sold monthly in the city – and it's nearing that time. They fetched good prices, as the community talked about your produce often.
Although, the side money wasn't needed. Your family had built themselves quite a lot of money, the side business was just for an extra cushion. Considering all of the recent revolts England had been dealing with, it wasn't a horrible idea. Who knows what might happen?
Yet the worries of the economy were far from your mind. It was just you, the countryside, and your trustful dog.
The sun hung high but gentle, its warmth spilling across your shoulders like a shawl. Your dress, light and soft, fluttered faintly in the breeze, the fabric brushing against your calves as you moved. Heat pressed against your skin, yes, but only as a tender caress – not the cruel weight it could be in midsummer.
Pausing, you let your gaze wander beyond the garden’s edge to the shimmering expanse of the lake. It glinted like polished silver under the sun, so still it seemed to hold the sky itself.
As you were looking longingly at the water, your dog suddenly took off. Running so fast that clouds of dirt had appeared behind her strides.
Immediately, you placed the basket on the ground and started running after her. "Lucy!" The name tore from your throat, sharp and urgent, but the dog paid it no mind.
Your fingers clenched at the fabric of your skirt, hitching it up to free your legs. Damn these so-called proper clothes. The hem snagged at your calves even as you ran, the fine material whispering against your stockings like an unhelpful chaperone.
Lucy was a flash of motion ahead, her coat a streak of gold and cream weaving through the tall grass. She kept her distance, always just beyond reach, yet never quite out of sight.
Your lungs burned, every breath scraping like sandpaper against your throat. The countryside, so calm moments ago, was now a blur of green and shadow. The chorus of summer – the buzzing insects, the far-off trill of a lark – melted into the pounding of your pulse in your ears.
Still, you pressed on. Love and stubbornness were a potent fuel, stronger than the stitch clawing at your side.
She was sprinting toward the far edge of the property. Your breath caught as you realized the direction – straight toward the wild, unkempt stretch you so rarely visited. Bushes grew thick as hedgerows, their branches entwined, no doubt riddled with thorns.
For Lucy, it was nothing. She slipped through the undergrowth as though it were water, tail streaming like a banner of triumph.
You stopped dead for a moment, heart hammering, as her pale shape disappeared between the trees. The property line.
Lucy had crossed it.
If you were to follow her, you'd be a trespasser on the Joestar's lands.
For a beat, you stood rooted, torn between propriety and panic. Then you gritted your teeth, a spark of reckless resolve lighting in your chest.
Damn the rules.
Gathering your skirts, you ducked low, pushing past the foliage. Branches snagged like accusing fingers, dragging against your sleeves as you forced your way through, crouching to keep from tearing the fabric further.
It wasn’t long before you broke through to the other side, breathless, a smear of green clinging to your hem. Relief flared the moment you spotted her – Lucy, streaking through the clearing ahead, utterly heedless of the havoc she’d caused.
Your heart sank.
She was absolutely barreling towards that poor, poor man. Lucy wasn't aggressive by any means, though she'd surely scare the living daylights out of him.
Returning to a sprint, you tried your hardest to get there before her.
It was no use. Dogs were built for speed, and Lucy had the kind of determination that could shame an army. You were chasing wind.
So you could only watch.
Watch as the man ahead – broad-shouldered, blue-haired, and entirely unaware – turned at the sound of thundering paws. His eyes widened in something between alarm and disbelief, mouth parting to speak – though no words came before Lucy launched herself at him like a cannonball.
The impact was staggering. Somehow, impossibly, your dog toppled him. One moment he was standing, the next he was flat on his back in the grass, a grunt torn from his chest as the air left his lungs.
If you hadn’t been so riled, you might have marveled at it. Lucy was no lapdog, certainly, but that man was a brick wall. The sight of him taken down by wagging enthusiasm would have been worthy of a painter’s brush.
Laughter bubbled up from your chest so violently it stole what little breath you had left. It came out ragged, strangled between gasps, a series of desperate, choked squeals that tumbled over each other like ill-mannered guests at a banquet. You clutched your side, fighting for composure, and failed miserably.
By the time you reached them, Lucy had turned her ambush into an all-out assault of affection. She sprawled over the man like a conquering hero, tail lashing, tongue working with frantic devotion. His deep, startled laugh rang out through the clearing, helpless and warm, even as he tried to shield his face with his hands.
“Alright, alright – mercy!” His voice was low, rich with mirth, though breathless from the fall.
She was stubborn – this much was well known.
“I’m so sorry! She’s not a mean dog, she just – ” The apology dissolved into giggling before you could finish. You couldn’t help it, his laughter was contagious, spilling into the space between you in unguarded waves.
He was half-propped on one elbow, his other hand swiping futilely at his face where Lucy’s adoration had left trails of slobber. The picture he made – rumpled, amused, with the corners of his mouth lifting into the kind of grin that seemed to swallow the sun – lodged itself deep in your mind. It was the happiest smile you’d ever seen. Something about it, paired with the low timbre of his laugh, unraveled the last of your tension like thread from a spool.
At least he wasn’t angry.
Finally, with one last tug, you managed to drag Lucy back and plant her firmly at your side. “Sit.” To your immense relief, she obeyed this time, haunches hitting the earth with an indignant huff.
“Are you hurt, sir?” The words slipped out softer than intended, edged with genuine concern as your eyes traveled over him.
He rose with a slow, fluid motion that spoke of strength even in the smallest gestures. Now, standing this close, you realized the distance had been deceiving. He wasn’t just tall – he was immense. Shoulders broad enough to cast a shadow over you, build solid as the old stone fences dotting the countryside. You felt absurdly small in his presence.
“No, I’m quite alright." He said at last, his voice carrying a hum, smooth as rolling thunder softened by distance. A breath lingered in it, an undercurrent of exertion or perhaps laughter still hanging at the edges. His cheeks bore the faintest wash of color, whether from embarrassment, heat, or something else entirely, you couldn’t quite tell.
“Your dog…” His eyes moved to Lucy, who gazed back at him with shameless satisfaction, tongue lolling. “She has quite a spirit.” The words curved into a half-smile, an admission dressed in good humor.
Before you could reply, he suddenly straightened. "Oh dear – excuse me. I’ve been quite rude.” With a grace that seemed far too natural for his size, he dipped into a neat bow. "My name is Jonathan Joestar. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
You replied with your name and a curtsy. "Likewise, Jonathan. Please excuse my hound, it seems she lacks manners."
It happened in a moment.
All you saw was a streak of white and before you could gasp, the ground rushed up to meet you. The grass softened the fall, though the sudden jolt rattled your bones and left your head swimming.
Then came the sensation. Warm, wet, and entirely unexpected. A tongue, dragging across your cheek with the zeal only a dog could muster. You cracked one eye open to find yourself staring into the eager face of an animal that was most certainly not yours.
“Danny!” Jonathan scolded the dog fondly, striding over to help. He gently pulled the hulking hound off you, though not before your laughter broke loose again – right and unstoppable, tumbling out in messy peals that tangled with his own.
Oh, his laughter. You noted it without meaning to, filing the sound away like a keepsake.
"I suppose it’s only fair." You managed between giggles, pushing yourself upright. But before you could rise fully, an outstretched hand appeared.
You hesitated for the barest second, then placed your fingers in his palm. The contact was startling in its surety. He lifted you with such effortless strength it felt as though gravity itself had relented.
“Say,” Jonathan began once you found your footing, “I believe I’ve seen you about. You live just behind us, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you murmered, busied with brushing blades of grass from your skirts, your heart still thrumming from more than the fall. “I do.” With a glance toward Lucy – currently locked in a silent staring match with Danny – you added, “I’m terribly sorry that it took my lunatic of a dog to make us meet. If I had my way, it would’ve been sooner.”
He replied with a closed-eyed smile – and you remembered something. "Actually, I believe our families have met a couple of times. I think I remember my father coming over here to speak with George.”
Your words seemed to strike a chord. Jonathan’s brows lifted slightly, and his gaze slid away for a moment, thoughtful. You could almost see the memory surfacing – his posture softening as recognition bloomed across his face.
“They do. They speak over tea sometimes. Business things.”
The way he said it – flat, unenthused – left little mystery as to his opinion on the matter. His tone was almost boyish in its candor, lacking the polished reserve one might expect of someone in his position.
Johnathan looked bored. Not of you, though.
No – he was looking at you now, fully and without hesitation, and the weight of that attention sent a subtle heat crawling beneath your skin. There was nothing guarded about his expression. He gave his regard as though it cost him nothing, as though the idea of withholding even a sliver of it had never occurred to him.
Then, that smile again.
It was the kind of smile that stretched wide without losing its softness, creasing at the corners of his eyes like sunlight breaking over still water. Easygoing, but earnest, unfeigned. It was the softest thing you've seen all summer.
You looked away, unable to withstand it. "Sorry again about Lucy. She certainly has a talent for dramatic introductions."
“Then I’m grateful for her performance.”
The words settled in your chest with a curious weight, warming you in a way that had little to do with the summer air. You ducked your head slightly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the sudden heat rising in your cheeks.
Lucy, ever the traitor, took that moment to trot boldly up to Jonathan, tail wagging in carefree arcs. She pressed her head against his knee, staking her claim. Jonathan chuckled low in his throat, crouching once more to give her a fond scratch behind the ears. Danny nosed in eagerly – unwilling to let another dog steal all the attention, and soon both hounds were a wriggling mass of fur and joy at his feet.
“They seem to get along rather well." Jonathan remarked, glancing up at you through the dark sweep of his lashes.
“It’s a miracle." You said with a mock sigh, hands settling on your hips. “Lucy doesn’t usually warm up to strangers this quickly.”
She was friendly, sure, but begging for pets was unlike her. Maybe she could sense his unending kindness.
"Then I shall take it as the highest honor." He replied, rising to his full, impossible height. For a breath, he stood closer than before, close enough for you to catch the clean scent of linen and something faintly sweet, like summer clover.
“I suppose I owe you an apology as well,” Jonathan continued, his tone dipping softer, almost shy. “Danny can be… exuberant when he meets someone new.”
“Apology accepted.” You hummed, lips curving. “Though I think I should thank him instead. If not for Danny – and Lucy’s untimely sprint – we might have gone on being strangers.”
Jonathan stilled for half a beat, weighing something unspoken. Then, he offered his arm, every inch the gentleman his upbringing promised. “In that case, may I walk you back? It seems only proper after such a… spirited meeting.”
You hesitated only long enough for your heart to remind you it was still beating, then slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow. His arm was solid and warm beneath the fine fabric, the simple contact sending a peculiar thrill through you.
“I’d like that."
As the two of you started back across the grass, the dogs bounding ahead in gleeful partnership, you found yourself smiling at nothing in particular. Perhaps it was the lingering laughter in your chest. Perhaps it was the way Jonathan glanced at you now and then, as though this unexpected collision of worlds was every bit as curious to him as it was to you.
For the first time in a long while, the day felt brighter than the summer sun.