Work Text:
Tomatoes, carrots, lettuce…
“Huh,” Dennis said to himself. What else do I need?
He sets his tote bag on the ground, just for a second, to reach into his back pocket, fishing out a small notepad. Lines upon lines of groceries he needed were hastily jotted down.
Onions!
That’s what it was. He needed to get some onions today to top his mother’s tried and true green bean casserole recipe with. Speaking of which, he’d heard from Trinity—who he’s been taking culinary notes from since he moved into her apartment—that this stand right here at the farmer’s market had some exceptional produce, as well as some really nice handcrafted goods.
Dennis loved that about the market: the smells of fresh basil, crisp citrus, and a hint of earthy ginger, alongside the sweet, heavenly aroma of freshly baked goods, not to mention the sparkle of custom decor. The selection catered to everyone’s needs, the hustle and bustle much like an airport; everyone was headed out on their different journeys, yet they brushed shoulders like familiar brethren. There was no telling where each person came from, or what they were looking for, the matter being personal to each person, whether they were tentatively standing in front of bins of vegetables or briskly making their way from one side of the tents to another. It was open every Tuesday and Thursday, vibrant with customers vying for the finest fruits and veggies in this part of town. Not only was it something to anticipate for the emerging spring season, but it was a welcome diversion for him whenever he needed to unwind, which was often. Luckily, he could make a stop here on his day off.
He picks up his tote bag from where he had once placed it, and scans the market for the second reason why he’d looked forward to coming to the market every week. He’d make the trip here not only because of the superb array of vegetables displayed by vendors, but it also gave him the chance to find that tall, gorgeous stranger with the piercings and curly, salt-and-pepper hair he’d been looking at for months. Dennis spent more time than what could be considered acceptable thinking about him ever since the first day they’d held each other in their gazes, and reciprocated friendly smiles over baskets of asparagus spears. In the beginning, he’d only seen this man occasionally, maybe in the corner of his eye, every few visits or so. Then it became every visit, without a skip in between.
He became aware of a lot of things, as was his nature. At first, he brushed it off as a fascination—not many older-looking men had the kind of punk-rock attitude he did, while benevolence still shone through—rather than a crush, but as it played out, he was gay gay for him. The man’s greying hair curled right at his forehead, framing his face perfectly when Dennis first laid eyes on him; once they started running into each other regularly, Dennis noticed the way it shone in the afternoon sun, silver and reflective. Indicative of age, a life well-lived and experienced. He noted that it was cropped at the sides, and he appreciated that, meaning he was able to see more of his handsome face. Even still, the thought of tangling his fingers in those greying spirals had made a recurring appearance in many of Dennis’s midnight thoughts, ones he’d fall asleep to, if he were being completely honest. Dennis had noticed more about him, like the fact that he wore a letter “J” earring on his left ear. He wondered what it stood for, since it clearly meant something to the man that Dennis didn’t know just yet.
As weeks passed, they’d exchange a few light smiles and friendly words whenever they ran into each other, though it wouldn’t last long before Victoria would offer to give more money to buy a cup of coconut water or to let Dennis hold whatever item Trinity had picked up from a bin. He tried to be at his liveliest and most charming—for what he was capable of, at least—during these interactions over corn cobs or strawberries or snap peas or radishes. Though these efforts were fruitless, the man clearly worked with his hands; anyone could see that, and the thought of it made Dennis’s heart skip a beat. Not to mention, the man’s overall nonchalant, effortless pull made Dennis stumble over his words more than he typically did. He’d remembered, fleetingly, the time he’d commented on the girth of the avocados (an innocent remark, really, it’s an important factor to consider), causing the other man to stifle a chuckle, amused. Dennis hadn’t realized the implications of the words that had come out of his mouth until he was another four stands down. When he did, he wanted to dig himself into a hole.
Besides his affinity for social fumbles and residual embarrassment, he found himself captivated by the man. Particularly so, after he’d heard an exchange of words at a baby lettuce stand in May, between a haggling customer and a farmer.
“It’s just lettuce,” the customer said. “Why’s it so damn expensive?”
The farmer stood there momentarily stunned, unable to articulate that the price reflected the fruits of his labor, including the money, effort, and hard work that went into the produce. After a brief pause, he replied, “I apologize for the inconvenience, but the listed price is the price you must pay.”
“You people ask for too much,” the customer said with bite in his tone, before walking away, swiftly.
Dennis cringed at what he’d witnessed in that moment, and he overheard the silver-haired man say, “Guy’s a jagoff, don’t you think?” before making a purchase. A beat. Then he briskly apologized to the farmer for what had happened, taking out his wallet and giving him a generous tip.
Dennis had stars in his eyes, gazing at the man with awe and admiration. It wasn’t like the way Midwesterners handled things—or, more so, the way they didn’t handle them. Dennis supposed that made sense; he himself wasn’t from this part of the city, while this man was perhaps from here. Little rough around the edges, yet resilient. Even so, it highlighted his confidence, something Dennis had wished he possessed a bit more of. This other man was so self-assured and unbothered and drop-dead gorgeous that Dennis couldn’t stop thinking about him, his infatuation growing ripe with the season.
There was another moment where they interacted in passing, albeit on a busier week, where he couldn’t stay for too long, even during downtime, and was in a rush. He had been checking out the new display of artisan honey that had been set up that week, an exciting addition for his baking. He had been so preoccupied with its aroma, which was downright heavenly, that he hadn’t realized that his person felt lighter. Dennis felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned around to a sight that would leave hearts in his eyes.
“You forgot this,” his sexy produce friend said, handing him the carton of eggs with a wink that made Dennis want to melt into a puddle right then and there. He had mistakenly left it behind on a table when organizing his bag.
“Oh, thank you!” Dennis blurted out. Before he could take this moment as an opportunity to ask the man what his name was, he had already disappeared into the crowd.
The only complaint he had about the farmer’s market was the irregularity. There was no guarantee that he’d find this silver fox of a man, whom he’d never spoken to for more than six words at a time—and when he did have luck that day, whether they’d even cross paths or say something to one another was still up in the air. While some consistency would be nice, it made the moments when Dennis spotted the man (or, gasp, interacted with him) all the more special.
Despite there being no sign of him for a few trips, Dennis could ease his disappointment by shopping for lovely items; at least he had that going for him. He was admiring an especially splendid coffee table decoration made of dried flowers that would be perfect for the apartment. He ran his fingers along the base, so intricate and gorgeously made, when he heard an all-too-familiar teasing voice coming from behind him.
“Well, well, well, Huckleberry. Doing your weekly errands? Or just came to smell the roses?
“Trinity,” Dennis said, his voice coming out with a light squeak, which wasn’t the intention. “Yes, caught the flower itch this morning,” he joked, making it more obvious than it was. He pressed his lips together, as Trinity wasn’t exactly a regular around the market.
Trinity had already heard Dennis’s entire spiel on the handsome stranger he’d seen at the farmer’s market, as TMI practically didn’t exist when you were roommates. So it didn’t need to be said out loud, her intuition just knew what—or who—was lingering in the corner of Dennis’s mind, and part of why he was at the market in the first place.
“Well, if you’re curious as to why I’m here, came to get some stuff for flan. Yolanda wants to make some for the party we’re going to this weekend, and I realized we ran out of condensed milk.”
“That sounds delicious. It’s surely gonna be the talk of the town,” Dennis says, giving her a light smile and gripping his tote just a little bit tighter.
“Now that,” Trinity emphasizes his overflowing tote bag with the latter word, “is quite the haul. Putting a lot of pressure on yourself right there.”
“Well, I had to get some last-minute stuff sorted out before the party,” Dennis replies. “It’s one of the biggest events of the year, after all.”
“I only brought a satchel with me, so unless I wanna look like I’m stealing…” Trinity trails off. “Here. I’ll carry something.”
“Thanks, Trinity,” Dennis said with gratitude.
The weight had lifted slightly on his shoulder, but still didn’t give much in terms of space. Trinity was oddly attentive to Dennis, as this was the place that he’d commented on going to, partly because of a man he’d been eyeing. She had an idea of what he looked like: an attractive man (to conventional standards, at least) with silver hair, probably in his mid to late forties, about several inches taller than Dennis. He had a heart tattoo on his left arm and a nose ring. She was subjected to hearing her roommate go on and on about how the man’s hair and piercings would glimmer in the spring sun, and the way Dennis would blush, smitten and bashful, whenever the topic got to his middle-aged market friend. And Trinity knew this would be the perfect opportunity to know what the big deal was. Her intuition never lied.
“So, have you bagged yourself a plus-one for the party yet, Huckleberry? It’d be a shame to see you by yourself again, really.” Dennis could practically hear the smirk on Trinity’s face; he didn’t even need to turn his head.
“Another thing I’m sorting out,” he laughed nervously. “Can’t say I’ll ‘bag’ someone before then, it’s too soon.”
Dennis flinched inwardly at the thought of aimlessly orbiting the sea of couples yet again. While he did pretty decently in terms of guys being interested in him at the gay bar crawls Trinity had dragged him to (and the overgrown mullet-type thing he had going on was a sure upgrade from the Amish-esque haircut he had when they first met, a few months prior), those relationships were often brief and didn’t go anywhere. And the thought of that beautiful, older man he kept seeing at the market wasn’t exactly a help either, as he lingered in Dennis’s mind during the late-night hours, far more than he had admitted to Trinity thus far.
“Well, I believe you’ve got it in ya. Who knows? Maybe I’ll finally see that hot piece of ass you keep coming back here for, and you’ll woo him with your Midwestern charm,” Trinity says, with a chuckle at the end.
Dennis gives her an astounded look. “Thanks? Or, y'know, I’ll just go on my own. No biggie.”
“Alright. But you have made me curious,” she says, nudging him with her elbow. “Besides, you’re one to talk. ‘No biggie?’ You gush over this stranger like he hung the stars in the sky himself.”
“I do not!” Dennis, in fact, does.
“Uh, yeah, you were. Just the other day. Talking about how his arms reach–”
“No, I wasn’t–”
“I didn’t even finish.”
“Whatever you’re going to say, it’s… not that.”
Trinity smirks, mischief spreading across her face. “If you say so, Huckleberry. Just… be careful. Don’t want you to get more than what you bargained for,” she says, standing in front of a bargain bin.
They traverse the market for a few more minutes, eyeing the produce and goods on display at each stand. Dennis had tagged along with Trinity on a short little quest to check out some baked goods at a different stand when he felt something roll out of his overflowing tote.
It hit the ground with a thump. It made its way to his beautiful produce buddy’s foot, as if it had its own romantic agenda.
“You dropped this,” the man says, bending down to grab the orange.
“Oh, thanks, but I’ve got-”
Dennis and the man reach for the orange at the same time, and their hands touch, one on top of the other. As they tilt their heads up, their eyes lock, and they stay in this position for about a second too long. When they stood up, it was as though Dennis had forgotten how to, like a fawn standing on its legs for the very first time. He worked extraordinarily hard not to faint, so much so that he might as well have passed out either way. By miracle, he didn’t.
Oh my God.
He couldn’t believe it, that his farmer’s market crush was right in front of him, and they had just accidentally held hands. Or, at least, that’s what Dennis chose to call it in that moment. He took in the staggering shock on Trinity’s face for half a second, as she had realized that Dennis’s description had, to a tee, matched the man in front of him—the man who was touching him—before laying his eyes on his guardian angel once again.
“Um, wow,” Dennis finally manages, chuckling nervously, being the first to break eye contact. “You really didn’t need to.”
“Well, I wanted to.” The other man said with confidence, gently taking the orange and handing it to Dennis, effectively brushing their hands for a moment again.
“It’s a nice orange, isn’t it?” His breath hitched. What the hell am I saying? he thought to himself.
“Looks like a keeper. Shame you had to drop it, ground’s still wet from last night,” the man remarked, nodding his head to the dampened grass, laced with mud, then to the fruits located on the other side of the tent. “If you want, I can go back and fetch you another one.”
Dennis was blushing hard. He was so distracted by those eyes, those gorgeous pools of blue, and he felt as though he might fall into the deep end, now that he got to see them up close. He tried his damndest to think of something flirty to say while remaining appropriate. Trinity looked thrilled, eyes widened in shock, like she was witnessing an endless mine of things to poke fun at Dennis about being excavated. And she had struck gold.
As his mind raced, he held his bag a bit tighter, as if more fruit would fall out and release more seeds of awkwardness in their wake. The other man tried to hold back a chuckle for Dennis’s sake, but couldn’t manage it, a puff of air escaping his mouth, which had curled into a smile.
He wasn’t used to being taken care of like this, even if it’s just a small gesture. Farm life taught Dennis to be self-sufficient, and it was clear that the man was generous in his spirit, something Dennis had always felt sheepish about when accepting other people’s kind gestures.
“No, really, it’s alright. See?” he says, dusting off the dirt from the orange, then showing it off to the man, proud of his work. “Peachy. Though—it’s an orange. Orangey?”
Trinity snorts, rolling her eyes. “Jesus,” she mutters under her breath. God, you’re bad at this, she thought. She was definitely going to use that as ammo later.
“Uh, yeah,” the man said matter-of-factly, slightly amused, but also not, simultaneously. His face returns to a somewhat passive neutrality.
A beat. Then the man asks, “Are you sure you don’t need help with that?” He points at the array of produce daring to spill out of Dennis’s tote bag.
“Oh no, Trinity here’s got some of it. I appreciate it though, really,” Dennis gestures to her, the corner of his lips quirked up, awkwardly.
Trinity nods, with produce in her arms, a container of condensed milk grasped firmly in her hand. She looks like she’s physically trying to keep herself from saying something, needing to let it out—a cackle, a snarky comment, a one-liner, anything—or she might literally explode. “Oh yeah, this one might not look like much, but he’s got some beef to him.”
The man laughs. “Well, yeah. Just don’t want any more fruits making their way to unsuspecting strangers. Say—are you okay? You’re looking awfully flushed and–”
“I’m alright, trust me,” Dennis interrupts, mistakenly, but what else could he do? His senses were fired up, all thanks to the man of his dreams, standing right in front of him. And knowing the kind of joshing Trinity will subject him to once they leave the market… there wasn’t much he could do other than slip out a meek “thank you.”
“If you insist,” the man says, grinning at Dennis. He starts to leave for another part of the market, but trails back on his feet momentarily. “Oh, by the way, I’m not sure if I asked for your na–”
“Whitaker. Den—I mean, Dennis Whitaker,” he stammers, his entire body feeling electrified now. This was his chance, and he wasn’t going to waste it on nerves now. “You could… tell me your name now, though,” he said, a sudden burst of confidence fleeting, fueled by nothing short of pure adrenaline.
“Jesse,” the man answered.
Jesse. That’s what his name was. Dennis was ecstatic, never having been happier to meet another person in his life.
“I… um, sorry about that.” Dennis stuttered, trying desperately to recollect his thoughts, as they had been scattered, like he had a thousand pieces to a puzzle laid out in front of him and a sixty-second timer.
“Don’t worry about it. Nice to meet you, too, Dennis,” Jesse smiled back. His smile was practiced, radiant, reflecting the smattering of red blush on Dennis’s cheeks.
“Y’know,” Trinity interjects, glancing at Dennis, then to Jesse, “Dennis here is quite the guy.”
Dennis raises an eyebrow at Trinity, brought back to reality for a brief moment, only to come back to befuddlement. What are you doing? he says with a look.
“Yeah?” Jesse asks, curious now.
“Yeah. You’d be surprised, he can be a real hoot,” Trinity says. “Loads of stories to tell. This farm boy from Broken Ball–"
“Broken Bow,” Dennis corrects her.
“Yeah, that, he can keep you entertained for hours. If not, who knows? Maybe he can clean out your trough. He knows a thing or two about that kind of stuff. Farm strength’s a real thing, y’know.
“I’ve heard,” Jesse said.
“Real handy.” Trinity flicks her ponytail with a sharp tilt of her head, confident in her ways. Alarm bells were ringing in Dennis’s head now, realizing that his roommate was actually trying this shit now.
Don’t mess this up, I repeat, do NOT ruin this for me…
“Huh. And where’s this Broken Bow?” Jesse asks, with an eyebrow quirked up.
“Nebraska,” Dennis answers.
“Never knew anyone from there.” Jesse’s looking Dennis up and down now—not out of hunger, but out of a genuine inquiry into what the farm boy’s deal was. Trinity was right—there was more than what meets the eye. And Jesse, interest now piqued, was attentive to whatever Dennis’s new wingwoman was pitching.
“Trin,” Dennis whispers, looking for a way out of this awkwardness. “What are you doing?”
“I’m doing you a favor,” she whispers back.
That’s… thanks?
Dennis had no idea where this was going. It could go one of two ways—in utter failure, to which he’d quietly sulk about later, or…
“Well, I’m into it. Say, there’s this new coffee place down the block, and I’ve been wanting to ask if you wanted to go grab some tomorrow.”
“Sure thing,” Trinity says, as though she were answering for Dennis, knowing damn well that he’d fall to his knees for Jesse if they weren’t in public. “He can tell you more about wrestling hay bales then.”
“Alright,” Dennis blurts out, barely able to contain himself, his flusteredness clear and unmistakable by now. His hands were trembling, and he tried to tell himself that it was just some kind of sick fever dream, but a discreet pinch to the thigh told him that yes, this was real, and his weeks-long farmer’s market crush—whom he now knew as Jesse—had just asked him out on a date. Was it a date? It didn't matter.
“9 AM?” Jesse asks.
“Yeah, 9’s fine,” Dennis was a complete mess by now.
“Cool, so it’s settled! Let’s find you something nice to wear, Huckleberry,” Trinity jokes, hauling the produce in her arms with an air of conviction that she had won, for both herself—being a wingwoman is no easy job, but as it turns out, Jesse may have also been eyeing Dennis in a sudden turn of events—and for Dennis, as he’d probably found himself a welcome date for the upcoming party that weekend.
“Huckleberry?” Jesse queried, with a look of slight confusion on his face at the unfamiliar name.
Dennis realizes that Jesse has no idea what Trinity had just called him. And the fact that he couldn’t possibly explain the lore behind it, especially not in his state. Not at all.
“Oh… It’s a cute little nickname. Like ‘honey.’”
“I see.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that one reserved for me?”
“Uh, honey?”
“Yeah. Suits you, anyway. It’d be nice to put another name to that face of yours.”
Dennis’s heart rate starts to spike, if it hadn’t been at an all-time high before. Jesse’s voice sounds so alluring, yet calming, more so when he’s volleying back to Dennis’s besotted rambling.
“That’s a cute one, yeah—but I… um…” He was gone.
Jesse chuckles, endeared by Dennis, who’s completely heart-eyed now, and says, “Don’t be embarrassed. I found you cute too, y’know.”
Dennis blinks, his cheeks ablaze now. “I... um, I’m so sorry, I just–”
“Don’t be. It’s just… no one’s ever been this way around me before.” Jesse didn’t even need to say it.
Dennis just stares at Jesse, completely stunned, hoping for him to lead the way. He’d had enough oh my God I just talked to my crush and he asked me out for one day.
“Well, we’ve got a date now, and I’ll finally get to know you a little better,” Jesse says, looking at Dennis with a little more than a glint of adoration in his eye. His smile was really a sight to behold; it was comforting, the lines adorning his face telling a story that Dennis would want to listen to for hours.
“Yeah,” Dennis exhaled, gaining the slightest bit of composure back from where he was. “About time. I’ve seen you around too, and– yeah.” He laughs nervously.
“So it’s mutual,” Jesse states, matter-of-factly.
“I guess so,” Dennis says, relieved.
“Well, I’ll see you then, honey. Running a bit late now.”
“Yeah! It was really nice to see—um, meet you, Jesse.”
Maybe they’ll unpack the little intricacies of their pining for each other over lattes, but not after Trinity relentlessly pokes at Dennis over what just happened.
With a little squeeze of the orange in hand, Dennis was absolutely buzzing.