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“It's been said that a pirate's ship, full of plundered gold, shipwrecked here a long time ago,” Elliott tells her one day, his bare feet disappearing into the swirling seawater as he wades into the ocean.
"Is that so?" the farmer inquires from her position on the shore, not quite willing to brave the chill of the ocean's waves in the autumn weather.
"Oh, yes, they say that the ghosts of the angered crew still can be heard haunting the shore on nights like these," the auburn-haired writer says nonchalantly, stopping his progression into the ocean once the water comes up to his knees.
"How frightening," she responds, blue eyes tilting upwards to gaze at the night sky, stars twinkling softly above their heads.
It had been Elliott's idea to come down to the beach tonight, as he had a sudden desire for a quiet, romantic evening spent on a picnic blanket with a bottle of red wine for the two of them to share. He had just finished a particularly troubling section of his novel today and insisted that they come down to the shore to celebrate his small victory over his work in progress. The brunette farmer had agreed nearly immediately, proud to see how much his writing has progressed in the months she has known him.
"Truly. The sea has always fascinated me since childhood and I must say I went through quite the pirate and nautical interest phase in my youth," Elliott admits, his long hair wildly whipping around his face, framing his cheeks and making him look more and more like Poseidon underneath the moonlit sky, especially standing in the tumultuous ocean.
"I had no idea you were so interested in history, Elliott," the farmer comments, standing and making her way down to the shore, sand sticking between her toes on her journey down the beach.
"It is one of my hidden interests," he smiles softly, meeting his beloved halfway between the waves and shore before grasping her hands in his own.
"With how passionate you seem to be about pirates and the legend behind this sunken ship, have you never considered writing about those topics?"
"Would anyone even read such a concept? I admit that's been one major hang-up I have had with writing historical fiction such as one about pirates," Elliott wonders aloud, his emerald eyes betraying his nervousness surrounding the idea. "I know it is not the most popular topic out there, so I've had some hesitancy with starting my writing career with a book in that genre. It already is quite difficult to make it as an author, let alone someone who has never been published before," he barely whispers, one of his hands coming to rest nervously on the back of his neck as his green eyes form a sheepish expression.
It has been difficult enough for him to craft the current book he is writing despite the popularity of the genre, after all. The thought of beginning a novel in a lesser renowned genre simply reinforces all the negativity his family had imposed on him when Elliott first declared he wished to become an author. He shivers slightly, though it has nothing to do with the chilled water lapping at his lower legs.
"There's only one way to find out," she encourages, giving his hand a comforting squeeze before pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, causing a small blush to appear on Elliott's face.
She holds her hand out to Elliott, taking his palm in her own before leading him back to the beach to enjoy the rest of their evening alone together. As the night continues, Elliott considers branching out into writing historical fiction after he publishes this first book. Knowing he will at least have one dedicated reader regardless of how the final product turns out gives him all the confidence he needs to quickly finish his first novel. No one in Pelican Town is surprised when Elliott announces he dedicated it to the brunette farmer, his first true supporter.