Fade Into Gold
Title: Fade Into Gold
Author: silver_etoile
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jon/Spencer (Ryan/Brendon, Gabe/William, ~vaguely referenced Pete/Mikey-Gabe/Mikey)
Disclaimer: Not real.
Summary: Every year, there's a competition amongst the stands in Pete's back field; which stand can sell the most and get the best customer recommendation. Spencer always wins with his perfect apples, but this year, the cute vegetable guy in the next stand over might be changing the way the autumn wind blows.
Author's Notes: So this is the farmer's market AU I've been wanting to write, and I thought, hey, what better time than fall in China, eh? So here we have it!
*
Every year, in the last few weeks before Thanksgiving, when winter began to take hold, the stands would close up, folding down their canopies and tying poles together for the last long haul home, to stay locked away in barns and sheds until the dewy light of spring poked its head over the countryside. But before that happened, one stand was always presented with a basket filled with the best from each stand carefully arranged by one of the women along with the money accumulated throughout the season.
Everyone’s eye was on the prize, that hand-woven basket, courtesy of Greta’s stand, perched at the entrance to the market where customers would toss in a donation on their way in and out. It wasn’t required or even suggested. The story went that someone left a hat there once, upturned, and people just started putting money in it, so now the hat had evolved into a basket and so went the days of summer and fall.
Of all the stands that filled the square, perched on desolate patches of brown, the grass long dead from the perpetual stands six months out of the year, one was determined to win that basket and everything in it. It wasn’t just a basket, after all, but a symbol of success; the stand with the most over-all sales and best customer recommendation won the prize, and Spencer Smith knew it was his.
Picking through his golden-red apples, Spencer eyed the basket on the far corner, at the entrance, and paused, thinking of how good it was going to look on his mantle when it was awarded in a few weeks. Something else caught his eyes, though, and he frowned at the stand across the way.
Brendon was building a tower out of jam jars, wobbling dangerously at the top, but it wasn’t the tower that bothered Spencer, but the crowd gathering to watch as Brendon stretched to put the last jar on top. Scowling, Spencer forced his eyes back to his apples, brushing dust off a few and rearranging them so the best were on top.
“Don’t worry,” came a voice from his left, and Spencer glanced over.
The stand next to him was full of vegetables; green onions, cucumbers, bright red tomatoes. The owner of this stand was smiling at Spencer, a cucumber in hand, and Spencer forced himself to look away from the vegetable and to Jon’s face.
“Everyone loves your stand,” Jon said warmly and Spencer pushed down the flop in his stomach. “Brendon is just entertaining.”
Spencer frowned, glancing back to where Brendon was now selling jar after jar of jam. “Maybe I should make apple butter and see what he says to that,” he muttered, grabbing an apple and tossing it up and down in his hand.
Jon laughed as he handed some woman her change and a bag full of ruby red tomatoes. “I bet you’d make awesome apple butter.”
“I would,” Spencer replied instead of blushing at Jon’s comment (was it really blush-worthy anyway? Spencer was having a hard time differentiating lately).
Jon only smiled and bit his lip, glancing away from Spencer as a group of older woman approached his stand and cooed over the cherry tomatoes.
Spencer was distracted by his own group of people, oohing over his golden, ripe apples. He knew they were good. He spent the better part of his year tending to his apple orchard to make sure he had the perfect, golden apples, the bright green Granny Smith, the Red Delicious.
“I love your apples,” swooned Mrs. Johansen, picking through the best as Spencer bit back a smirk. There was no possible way he wasn’t winning that basket this year. He’d won it two years in a row already.
“See,” Jon shot over at him once the group subsided and meandered off into the rest of the market, marveling over Greta’s baskets and Sisky’s pumpkins. “They love you.”
Spencer didn’t blush this time even though he caught the way Jon met his eyes for a second, but then someone else showed up at his stand.
It wasn’t a customer, though, and Spencer watched as Ryan dumped his briefcase on the ground and slumped in behind his stand.
“How was work?” Spencer asked dutifully as Ryan climbed onto the stool Spencer never used and shivered in the cool breeze, staring out at the stands and the crunchy, golden leaves that tumbled past in the wind.
The weather was changing, everyone could feel it. The first frost had yet to come, but Spencer knew it would soon. The stands stood up remarkably well considering they’d been up for months, stuck in the same place. The grass was long dead on the paths around them, but in the back field, it was still luscious and green from the late summer rains. Beyond the stands, there was the small dust-filled parking lot that was decently filled for this late in the fall.
“You’re lucky,” Ryan only replied, grabbing an apple and turning it over in his hand. “All you have to do is grow apples.”
Spencer gave him a look and took the apple away. “Because it’s so easy. Don’t you remember last winter?”
“I remember you running around like a chicken without a head because it actually snowed.”
“And none of the trees were prepared,” Spencer argued. “It almost ruined the whole crop.”
“I thought only vegetables were crops,” Ryan commented, and Spencer sighed.
“Whatever. You know what I mean.”
Ryan picked at his nails and glanced around at the stands. Brendon had dismantled his stack of jars and waved enthusiastically when he saw Ryan. Ryan didn’t return it.
“So how are the apples?” he asked finally, looking back at Spencer, who’d been momentarily distracted watching Jon smile at a customer as he helped her pick out cucumbers. Ryan arched an eyebrow. “Or how are the cucumbers?”
“What?” Spencer jerked around, frowning at Ryan. “I don’t know. I don’t have any.”
“Jon has some,” Ryan offered, quirking an eyebrow a bit too obviously for Spencer’s liking.
“So?” he asked, annoyed and looking away from Jon.
“You should ask him,” Ryan said, grabbing another apple which Spencer promptly took from him and set on the other side. “He’d probably love to tell you.”
Scowling, Spencer huffed and didn’t reply to Ryan, instead reorganizing the crate of Red Delicious, turning each one upright. It was a fruitless task, but it gave him something to do other than snapping at Ryan or staring at Jon. Neither was a very good idea.
“I’m going to buy some jam, then,” Ryan said after a minute, and Spencer stared at him.
“Ryan!” he hissed as Ryan slid off the stool and out from behind the stand. Ryan just looked at him.
“I’m out,” was all he said before he crossed the grass-trodden path to Brendon’s stand. Brendon brightened visibly at the sight of him.
Huffing to himself, Spencer leaned back against the stool moodily, crossing his arms and glaring at the back of Ryan’s head. Some best friend he was.
“Trouble on the farm?” Jon’s voice invaded Spencer’s thoughts as he stood there in the dimming afternoon. They would have to go home soon.
Glancing over, he found Jon standing just beyond his stand, a basket of cherry tomatoes in his hand. “I come in peace,” he said, holding out the basket and Spencer wasn’t sure what to do, but Jon gave him a look and nudged the basket forward, so Spencer took it, trying to ignore the tingles when his fingers brushed against Jon’s.
“What else would you come in?” Spencer asked, setting the tomatoes aside and pushing away Ryan’s voice as it filled his head, talking about cucumbers.
Jon shrugged, leaning forward on the stand. He plucked a red apple from amongst its fellows and held it up to the sunlight streaming through the speckled clouds. He paused and then looked at Spencer. “It’s a wishing apple.”
Spencer tried to be unimpressed, still keeping his arms crossed, but he couldn’t bring himself to be when Jon offered it over. “You mean a poisoned red apple,” he corrected, but Jon shook his head.
“A wishing apple, Spencer Smith,” he repeated, as though deaf to whatever Spencer had said. “And if you take a bite, all your wishes will come true.”
“Even the one where Brendon gets crushed under a pile of jam jars?” Spencer asked skeptically, eyeing where Ryan was now talking to Brendon, tracing circles on the top of a jar.
Jon paused, biting his lip as he thought, and then shook his head. “Only happy wishes will come true.”
“That is a happy wish,” Spencer insisted. “Then I’ll win.”
“You know it’s not a fair competition,” Jon pointed out, still holding out the apple. “Gabe tries to bribe people to come to his stand all the time, and he teams up with William for special deals.”
Spencer knew. He frowned anyway. “It wouldn’t be so bad except for the betting pool.”
“I bet on you to win,” Jon put in quietly and Spencer could swear his heart skipped a beat, that flop in his stomach turning into a flutter. Then Jon smiled. “So make a wish.” He held out the apple and Spencer paused, but Jon was waiting.
“Okay,” he agreed finally, liking the way Jon beamed and handed it over. Pausing, he thought hard before taking a bite.
“What did you wish?” Jon asked as Spencer chewed, but Spencer shook his head.
“Can’t tell you that. It won’t come true.”
Jon grinned. “Says the guy who two minutes ago didn’t believe in wishing apples.”
Spencer arched an eyebrow. “I still believe in wishes and there are rules that go along with wishes.”
Leaning forward, Jon quirked his head to the side. “Like what?”
“You can’t tell anyone, or they won’t come true,” Spencer said. “And someone could always cancel out your wish with one of their own.”
“But how would they know your wish unless you told them?” Jon asked slyly, and Spencer frowned.
“That’s not the point.”
Jon smiled and leaned forward. Spencer didn’t let himself think what Jon might really be doing. “Tell me your wish, Spencer Smith,” he murmured, but Spencer shook his head.
“Can’t,” he replied, and secretly, he would never tell Jon his wish because well, Jon didn’t need to know that.
“Fine,” Jon said finally, sliding back and straightening upwards. “Let me pay for that apple so you’ll get the points.”
“No.” Spencer stopped him. “You don’t have to.”
“You sure?” Jon asked searchingly, hand already halfway to his wallet.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Spencer replied, swallowing his pittering heart when Jon flashed him a smile.
“It’s in the bag, Spence, don’t worry.”
As Spencer watched him walk back to his stand, he forced his trembling hand around the apple and took another bite.
*
There was a complex point system involved that Spencer almost didn’t understand, and he was smart. He usually understood things like this, but the big chart tacked up on the backside of Pete’s barn just made no sense.
There were categories like likeability and general appeal. There were also the normal categories such as sales and customer vote. Each stand had a box on the corner where customers could just drop in one of the attached green slips of paper if they liked the stand.
Spencer wasn’t sure who had started the competition, but he was pretty sure it had been a joint effort between Pete and Gabe. It was the only thing that gave the ‘purple people eater (cobras sssss!)’ category any sense. Spencer was pretty sure Gabe had been high on one of the many spices he sold at his stand when that happened. And of course, Pete would never have fought something as strange as that.
It was Pete’s property that they all converged on, down at the end of Firefly Drive just before Pete’s first big barn. The barn was empty except for a few stray cats that Jon had taken the liberty of naming just days after setting up his stand.
Jon was new to the group this year, and Spencer was eternally grateful to whoever had invited him to come and sell his vegetables. He suspected it was William, what with the way he always abandoned his berry stand to drape himself over Jon’s shoulders, calling him Jonny and whispering in his ears while Jon laughed. Spencer usually watched and was equally grateful that he didn’t sell something like oranges, which meant he could squeeze his apples are hard as he wanted and they wouldn’t burst in sticky juice all over his hand.
According to the chart behind the barn, which Spencer took the liberty of checking every morning before heading to his stand, he was ahead in every category. Well, almost every category, but he really didn’t think that falling behind Pete in the chickens rool! category was too terrible, especially considering only Pete sold anything to do with chickens.
So perhaps the scoring was biased, but Spencer managed to win every year anyway, so he wasn’t really worried.
It was a beautiful fall morning, crisp but with an edge of warmth pushing up over the horizon in the east, and Spencer stepped out of his truck feeling refreshed and ready for another day of selling apples and trying not to stare at Jon too much.
Taking his usual path to the back of the barn, he passed where Brendon was already stacking up jars of jam and waving happily at Spencer as he passed.
“Hey, Spencer,” he called before Spencer could slip past. He just wanted to see the boards. He didn’t roll his eyes, though, just paused and didn’t come any closer to Brendon.
“What?” he asked as Brendon separated the blackberry and strawberry jams.
“Jon said you might make apple butter,” he said, and his eyes were big, and for a second, Spencer almost felt bad for saying it. “We could do it together, you know?”
Pausing, Spencer really just wanted to go check the board. “I probably won’t,” he said finally, and Brendon looked sort of surprised.
“Oh. Well, we could, you know. Maybe next year?” He perked up excitedly, and Spencer frowned.
“Sure, maybe,” he agreed slowly and Brendon nodded.
“Okay!” he said, smiling again and moving on to the raspberry jams.
Spencer wondered at him for a second, but he was giving an out, so he took it, slipping around the side of the barn.
There was a small group of people gathered here already, peering at the stats. Greta sighed as Spencer walked up and frowned at the board.
“Pete’s been messing with it again,” was all she said, gesturing at the purple people eater (cobras ssss!) category. The purple check marks were all over the place and Gabe’s was at the bottom, which was not where it was supposed to be. Even if it was ludicrous category, it was Gabe’s ludicrous category and he should have been at the top. Almost everyone had a category of their own. Spencer’s was red hot deliciousness and he was always at the top.
“Think Pete and Gabe had a fight?” Spencer didn’t really care as he searched out his name and score.
Greta shrugged next to him, tugging her scarf tighter in the chilly morning. “Some new customer came yesterday and I think Gabe hit on him first. Maybe that was it.”
“I thought Gabe and William were…” Spencer trailed off as his eyes landed on his name. It looked just the same, written in plain black letters (as opposed to Brendon’s which was decked out with blue, sparkly gel pens) and sitting just above Jon’s name and just below Sisky’s, but it wasn’t his name that was different; it was Jon’s.
Jon’s total score, written in the box at the end, in big, black sharpie in Pete’s crooked, messy writing, read 2,239. Spencer’s eyes flicked up to his number, swallowing down his disbelief: 2,154.
How the hell had he fallen nearly one hundred behind in one day? And to Jon? How was that possible?
He was so busy staring that he didn’t even notice Greta leaving for her stand. It couldn’t possibly be true. Jon didn’t even have his own category to bolster his score like everyone else.
“What the fuck happened to my category?” Gabe’s voice burst out from beside him and Spencer jumped, still trying to figure out what was going on. “Pete!” And then Gabe stalked away, no doubt to root Pete out from his chicken coops and fix the score.
For a second, Spencer thought maybe he should tag along and find out exactly what Pete was playing at, putting Jon higher than him. But then he stopped. If it was a mistake, it would be fixed and there was nothing to worry about. If it wasn’t a mistake, however… Well, Spencer didn’t like to think of that.
Pulling himself together, he headed off for his stand, uncovering his boxes of apples and making sure they were still good. He tossed away the few that weren’t and rearranged his rating box at the corner of his stand. He’d allowed Ryan to stick a rosette on it, but that was the most decoration it was going to get.
He tried not to look up when Jon arrived, carrying a fresh box of cucumbers, which he dumped unceremoniously on top of the others.
“Morning, Spence,” he greeted him easily, and Spencer just nodded silently. He could see Jon pause but didn’t explain anything, turning so that his back was to Jon as he did a quick inventory.
Jon didn’t try to talk to him again, and Spencer felt a little bad, but he told himself sternly that Jon had no right to jump ahead of him on the charts. That basket was his.
The day went slowly for Spencer as he sat on his stool and bagged up apples for people, forcing smiles and purposefully not looking over at Jon’s stand. He could hear Jon laughing at things people said and making jokes about vegetables.
Around lunchtime, William wandered over, plunking down a basket of marion berries on Jon’s countertop and popping one into his mouth.
“Jonny,” he said, sprawling his long arms over Jon’s counter. “Jonny Walker.”
Spencer scowled at the apple he was cutting up for samples and slammed the knife down a little too hard, but he reveled in the loud noise against the cutting board. William glanced over at him at the noise, but Spencer ignored them both, concentrating solely on the apple and determined not to hear their conversation, but it was kind of impossible given the distance between the stands.
“You look sad, Jonny,” William said, and Spencer was sure he’d jumped over the stand already and was hugging Jon. “What happened?”
Jon smiled too easily and pushed at William’s arms. “Nothing, Bill. How are the boards looking?”
William shrugged, uninterested. “Don’t know.” He popped another berry in his mouth. How he could still eat berries after cultivating them for years was beyond Spencer. Then again, Spencer still ate apples.
Spencer had somehow started watching them and blinked, tearing his gaze away, chopping up the apple resolutely.
“Who cares about a basket anyway?” William continued. “There are better prizes to be won.”
Spencer heard Jon laugh, happy and unabashed. “I hear Gabe and Pete had a tiff about a pretty boy yesterday.”
William made a derisive noise. “Pete gets jealous from one smile. Gabe flirts with everyone anyway.”
“If it walks,” Jon offered, and Spencer could hear the grin in his words. He wanted to turn around and say something about Gabe’s reputation and that story about him and William last year in the barn. Pete said his chickens were scarred for life and didn’t lay a single egg after that, but he didn’t. He just arranged the apple pieces in concentric circles on the plate.
“What about you?” William asked, picking at the berries again. He didn’t eat one, and looked up at Jon.
“What about me?” Jon asked simply, and Spencer didn’t look up to see. He could tell something was going on, though, from the silence that passed and then Jon laughing. “Yeah, yeah,” was all he said, and Spencer frowned.
“Back to the berry fields,” William said after another beat while Spencer frowned at his apples.
“See you later, Bill,” Jon said, and Spencer looked up to see Bill sliding out from behind the stand. He paused before he left and then smirked.
“Here, Spencer,” William said, setting down the half-full basket of berries. “Have a berry.”
Confused, Spencer stared after him as he swaggered back to his stand. When he looked at Jon, Jon was watching him with a blank expression on his face, and Spencer didn’t like the feeling he got, so he looked away and focused on selling the most apples possible.
*
“Pete.”
Spencer cornered Pete in the chicken coop where he was collecting eggs for the next day, plucking chickens from their roosts and checking underneath them. Spencer tried to ignore the floating feathers already and the dust in the air as he edged inside.
It was already past dusk and the sun had fallen half an hour ago. Most of the vendors were packed up and gone for the night, but Spencer had stuck around, and now he had Pete alone in the coop, clucking chickens mulling around his feet.
“Hey, Spence, what’s up?” Pete asked from where he had a brown and black chicken suspended in the air, wings pinned to its side.
“It’s about the boards,” he said seriously, and Pete made a noise, bobbing his head.
“Someone screw with your category too? I keep telling Gabe I didn’t do anything, but he’d never believe Bill was jealous.”
Frowning, Spencer shook his head. “No, it’s the total scores. They’re all wrong.”
Pete raised an eyebrow as he let the chicken flutter away and he moved on to the next one. “I don’t think so,” he replied. “I even had Sisky check my math.”
That didn’t help anything. Spencer scowled. “Well, Jon is somehow ahead of me. It’s been like that all week. You added wrong or something.”
Pete stopped as he tucked an egg away. Then he laughed and came over, slapping Spencer on the back. Spencer glared. “I didn’t add wrong. He’s ahead.”
It wasn’t possible. “That’s not possible!” Spencer exclaimed. “I always win!”
“Not this year.” Pete shrugged, heading for the coop door. “Maybe it’s a-”
“If you tell me it’s just a metaphor, I’m going to strangle every one of your chickens,” Spencer growled, and Pete shrugged.
“Or maybe people just like him better.”
Spencer couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but he couldn’t argue as Pete disappeared into the dusky twilight of the farm.
*
The problem was that Spencer still liked Jon, and not just in the Jon-is-my-market-stand-neighbor-and-he’s-nice-to-talk-to-as-opposed-to-Brendon-who-only-talks-about-Disney-and-jam. He liked Jon in the, fluttering stomach, shaking hands, involuntary blush, and too many commas kind of way. This made it all the more harder to dislike Jon for being ahead of him in charts.
Not that he didn’t try.
Spencer ignored Jon for a good four days, in which even Brendon asked what was wrong, bouncing over from his jam stand to pick up and apple and ramble about the amazing apple butter they could make with it.
Spencer listened to him, suppressing the desire to bang his head onto the nearest hard surface, and made the mistake of glancing over at Jon’s stand.
There were no customers, just Jon, slumped back against his stool and sighing slowly. He looked up at Spencer, though, and Spencer quickly looked away, back to Brendon, who was still talking about the type of jars they should use.
“Why do you want to make apple butter with me?” Spencer asked finally when he couldn’t take the debate between half-quart jars and quarter-quart anymore.
Brendon blinked and finally put down the apple he’d been turning over in his hand for the better part of ten minutes.
“You’re friends with Ryan, right?” he asked hopefully, and Spencer didn’t groan. He should have known, from the way Brendon always greeted Ryan whenever he stopped by.
“Yeah, Ryan,” he muttered, twisting a stem off one of the apples. He counted off letters silently as he did; it came off on J and he frowned.
“Is he gonna come back?” Brendon asked eagerly, and Spencer sighed.
“Probably.” He paused. “Will you stop talking about apple butter if he does?”
Brendon nodded immediately. “Just jams from now on.”
Rolling his eyes, Spencer pushed himself up from his stool. “I’ll tell him to come down later.”
Brendon lit up and looked like he was restraining himself from hugging Spencer, for which he was glad.
“Okay,” Brendon said, bouncing a little, and Spencer determinedly didn’t scowl. Luckily, Brendon seemed to take that as the end of the conversation as he bounced back to his stand and grinned happily at the old woman examining his strawberry preserves.
Rolling his eyes, Spencer turned away only to find himself facing Jon’s stand. Jon was watching him and didn’t even bother looking away when Spencer caught him.
Jerking away, Spencer grabbed his books, mostly for something to do instead of feeling the twist of guilt in his stomach.
*
The charts still hadn’t evened out by Friday morning, and Spencer knew the weekend was one of the last big pushes of the season before the weather turned cold and everyone would pack up and disappear into the winter season. As he stood glaring at the numbers, purposefully avoiding heading to his stand where he knew Jon would be giving him that sad look.
“You know it’s just a stupid competition,” Greta said, sidling up to Spencer’s side. She had a cluster of new baskets strung on her arm and adjusted them lightly as they stood there in the dew-soaked morning. The grass was wet underfoot and Spencer didn’t look over. He crossed his arms instead.
“I always win,” he said simply. He tried to ignore Greta’s sigh.
“It’s just a basket,” she replied. “Plus the betting pool is shifting. It’s between you, Jon, and Brendon now.”
That didn’t make Spencer feel any better as he frowned in the direction of the stands, picking out Jon’s stand in the misty morning, snuggled in between his and Sisky’s.
“Besides,” Greta continued, pulling a basket off her arm. “He bet on you.” She gave Spencer a look as she handed him the basket.
Spencer furrowed his eyebrows at the basket, but Greta only shook her head and turned in the opposite direction. Frowning, Spencer turned back to the charts and wondered why he felt like so much of an asshole.
*
“Is this a stupid new strategy or something?”
Spencer didn’t spare Ryan a glance as he packed up the apples in their boxes for overnight. There were still a few minutes before the market closed, but customers were dwindling and it felt like they were in for a cold night. Ryan was perched on the stool, briefcase slumped on the ground beside it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ryan sent him a tired look. “Your awkward flirting turned into ignoring him? Not exactly the best way to get the girl.”
“You’re one to talk.” Spencer muttered, tossing a bad apple at Ryan, which he dodged easily. “When was the last date you went on?”
Ryan ruffled himself slightly, sitting up straighter. “A month ago. And at least I have a last date.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Spencer glared now, shutting the crate and turning to Ryan.
The sun was setting in the west, creeping below the horizon and casting a dusky blue shadow over everything. The barn lights had already come on and a dust of orange light slid over the stands as the owners packed away for the night.
Ryan shrugged. “Your last date wasn’t even a date, just some random guy you met at a club.”
“Better than spilling wine on his pants,” Spencer pointed out and Ryan didn’t blush, but put his nose up.
“It was slippery.”
Spencer rolled his eyes and brushed off the tables that created his square of a stand. “Whatever. You can’t judge me when you can’t even realize that someone likes you right here.”
Ryan arched an eyebrow. “Why, Spencer, I had no idea. Let’s buy matching rings.”
“Not me, idiot,” Spencer snapped. He really wasn’t in the mood to discuss anything about relationships or guys when he could barely look at Jon without simultaneously wanting to glare and kiss him. He felt a tiny surge of triumph when Ryan paused, confused. “Brendon,” he said obviously, tossing away another bad apple.
Surprised, Ryan looked over to where Brendon was packing away jams carefully in crates.
“Just go over there,” Spencer muttered, annoyed, and Ryan looked like he was going to argue, but then he shrugged and slid off the stool. When he was gone, Spencer shook his head darkly and rummaged through apples, tossing more bad ones away.
“Ow,” came a voice following a soft thud and Spencer looked up.
Jon stood there, one of the apples he’d just thrown violently away in his hands.
“Uh,” Spencer said, unsure what to do.
Jon hesitated before stepping up and biting his lip. “Bad apple?”
“Yeah,” Spencer agreed shortly, not taking it from Jon. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Jon shrugged and took a breath. He was lingering unnecessarily and Spencer wasn’t quite sure what he should do.
As he watched Jon fidget slightly, turning the apple over in his hand, eyes sweeping the cleared stand, he felt a curling tightness in his stomach, the clench and release of something he couldn’t explain.
“Spencer,” Jon said, and Spencer heard the way his lisp curled around the words, slow and liquid. His heart jumped, unbidden, and he swallowed, looking away. “Are you mad at me?”
Spencer didn’t answer, licking his lips and trying not to think about the way Jon shifted, almost nervous.
Jon edged forward, watching Spencer closely. “’Cause I didn’t mean to do anything. And… in case you didn’t know, I kinda think you’re really awesome. And if I could buy all your apples, I totally would. But I can’t, so I just wanted you to know that, and… I miss talking to you. I miss being your farmer’s market neighbor.”
By the time Spencer got the courage to look up, Jon was gone and the bad apple was perched on the edge of the tabletop, bathed in the blue twilight spreading over the market.
*
Brendon was juggling jams jars as Spencer passed him on the way to his stand. Jon was already at his stand, but he didn’t look up when Spencer slipped in behind his tables and paused, staring over.
In fact, Jon didn’t look at him the entire morning while the usual Saturday crowd filtered in. People bought eggs from Pete, spices from Gabe, berries from William, and apples from Spencer. When the last customer left before lunch, Spencer glanced over at Jon’s stand. He was doing well, the same as always, waving someone away with a smile, but then sighing as soon as their back was turned.
Biting his lip, Spencer looked away and thought back to the boards that morning. He’d been so close to overtaking Jon, just twenty points away, but it almost didn’t matter, especially when Jon slumped against his stool and picked listlessly at his pile of cucumbers.
Taking a fortifying breath, Spencer stooped down and hesitated before grabbing the basket Greta had handed to him the day before. It was now filled with a jar of jam, a few eggs nestled in between a mini-pumpkin and a basket of blackberries, and a perfect, Red Delicious apple at the front. Pushing down his wriggling stomach, he straightened up and ducked out from behind his stand.
It was a beautiful fall day with a light wind rustling the golden-red leaves of the maple trees bordering the market, a few fluttering down as Spencer walked the short distance to Jon’s stand.
He didn’t go to the front, but hesitated off to the side, momentarily re-thinking it, but Jon caught sight of him first.
“Spencer?” he asked, sliding off his stool almost immediately. His eyes flicked from the basket in Spencer’s hands to his face. “What are you doing?”
Spencer almost made up an excuse, but Jon’s face stopped him, open and hopeful. He couldn’t turn around now.
“I brought this for you,” he said finally, awkwardly, as he held out the basket, feeling too much like Little Red Riding Hood, only without the cape and the wolf.
Jon didn’t take it immediately, looking confused. “I don’t get it.”
Cursing himself, Spencer pulled the basket back in and plucked out the apple. “It’s a wishing apple.”
Jon paused. “I thought you didn’t believe in wishing apples.”
Feeling like an idiot, Spencer held it out. “Jon, please, just make a wish.”
Jon was hesitating, but he took the apple finally and thought for a second before taking a bite. Wiping the juice off his chin, he swallowed the bite slowly and didn’t say anything.
Leaning forward, Spencer set the basket on the table edge and looked back at Jon. Jon was watching him, a small frown on his face, and Spencer bit his lip.
“You shouldn’t tell me your wish,” he said finally, edging around to the back of the stand where there was no barrier between him and Jon. Jon didn’t move, watching him go. “Or it won’t come true. But I’m gonna tell you my wish.”
Jon didn’t protest, although Spencer thought he might have wanted to.
Pushing away the nerves that had been fluttering ever since Jon showed up in his flip flops with his crates of vegetables in the beginning of spring and William had introduced him as the King of Cucumbers, Spencer stepped up and leaned in, pressing his lips to Jon carefully.
It wasn’t much except elevated breath and wildly beating hearts trying to escape throats, but when Spencer pulled back after only a second, he was pretty sure he couldn’t breathe. Jon looked almost blank, the apple still clutched in his hand, where he had bitten quickly browning in the sun.
“Yeah,” Spencer muttered finally, licking his lips and taking a step back. “I changed my bet.”
Kicking himself, he turned and left when Jon didn’t say anything, just blinked slowly at him and his fingers tightened around the apple.
*
He wasn’t gaining on the charts at all and now he felt like a complete and utter idiot. Apparently he’d gotten Jon wrong, and possibly he’d just alienated him completely. He honestly wasn’t looking forward to going to the market on Sunday morning.
The day was clear and fresh, crisply autumn with dew gleaming in the bright sun as it crept over the horizon and birds twittered in the nearby trees. But Spencer didn’t feel any of the cheeriness of the day as he dragged himself over to his stand and sighed at his boxed up apples.
He appeared to be one of the first there as he resignedly started to set up his stand.
He was halfway through the Granny Smith’s when someone appeared at his stand, grabbing his wrist and tugging him back before he could even twist to see who it was.
“Hey, what-” he tried to ask as he stumbled backwards out of his stand and back towards the back of the barn. He managed to wriggle out of the grip just beyond Brendon’s empty stand and turned around, ready to snap at whoever it was, but it was Jon, pushing his hair down and offering a half smile. “Jon?”
“Your wish came true,” Jon said before Spencer could ask anymore, and he stepped up, sliding his arms around Spencer’s shoulders and leaning in to meet his lips.
It almost didn’t matter that they were completely out in the open and Jon’s fingers were sliding to grip Spencer’s neck as he tilted his head to fit better, licking over Spencer’s bottom lip slowly when Spencer was slow to respond.
“Jon,” Spencer tried to mutter, to make sense of anything, but Jon shook his head and took the opportunity to bite Spencer’s bottom lip gently, tracing the line with his tongue and licking into Spencer’s opened mouth seconds later.
Jon’s mouth tasted like mint toothpaste and a hint of strawberries, and Spencer wanted to chase it down when Jon shifted, edging up on his toes to even the height distance between them. Panted breaths were exchanged as the kiss broke for a second and Jon was back, breathing against Spencer’s lips, hot puffs of air on his bottom lip, close enough to kiss but not quite there.
Jon bit his lip as he smiled and met Spencer’s eyes, a little dazed but still all there. “I didn’t change my bet,” he said, one arm sliding to circle around Spencer’s waist and tug him forward. “Because you’re gonna win.”
“No, I’m n-” Spencer tried to say, but Jon cut him off with a whispered, “Shh,” against his lips before he kissed him again, a little deeper, wetter as he licked inside, sucking on his bottom lip. His hand pressed harder against his back, edging him up against his body, and Spencer let himself go. He liked the feel of Jon, solid and warm against him.
Spencer let slip a slight noise when Jon’s hand brushed under his shirt against bare skin, cool in the chilly morning. Jon hummed lightly against his mouth and didn’t pull away until the kisses were breathless exchanges and Spencer followed his mouth when he slid back.
Swallowing, Spencer panted against Jon’s skin, wanting more but not sure if he should. After all, Jon was still winning and he’d sort of done a crap job of apologizing the day before.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered finally, and Jon blinked at him, fingers massaging his neck lightly.
“It’s okay,” Jon whispered back, pressing a kiss to Spencer’s jaw, up to his ear, breath fluttering over his skin, and Spencer shivered slightly. He smiled, brushing back Spencer’s hair with his thumb and kissing his cheek and the corner of his mouth. “You should have told me, though. I don’t care about the charts. I had no idea.”
Spencer frowned, feeling bad again and tried to pull away, but Jon didn’t let him go, grip strong and pulling him closer. “I know, I was just… I really want to win.”
Jon smiled, nose brushing against Spencer’s. “There are better prizes to be won.”
William’s words echoed out at him, but he really didn’t care when Jon kissed him again, light and easy, a sigh on his lips when they parted.
“So you’re not mad that I’m stupidly stubborn?” Spencer asked when Jon finally pulled back enough to actually look at him.
Jon smiled. “I kind of like you that way.”
Spencer paused, glancing at his hands that had somehow made their way to Jon’s hips, fingers curling in the belt loops of his jeans.
“So did your wish come true?” he asked finally, and Jon nodded with a smile.
“It’s in the process,” he replied, hand dropping from Spencer’s neck with a brush over his shoulder and down his waist. “But we should probably get back to our stands before someone sees and wins the other bet.”
“What other bet?” Spencer asked suspiciously as Jon steered him gently away from the barn and back toward their stands.
“The one about you and me fucking behind the barn.”
“What?” Spencer nearly yelped, but Jon was guiding him into his stall and crowded him up against the table.
“We could do it here and no one would win,” he offered, a devious smirk on his face as Spencer flushed slightly.
“But the apples would see,” he said, and Jon laughed, biting his lip, and Spencer couldn’t help himself when he pulled Jon into a kiss.
“Screw the apples?” Jon asked, a mutter against Spencer’s mouth as he was kissed thoroughly, but Spencer could hear the amusement in it and ignored the question, breaking the kiss with a last nibble to his lips and pushing him away gently.
“Screw the bet,” he said instead, edging Jon back. “I’ve got a bed at home where the apples are acres away.”
Jon’s mouth quirked and he straightened up, glancing around for anyone else. The rest of the stand owners were trickling in and a few gave them odd glances as they shuffled past.
“Congratulations, Spence,” Jon just said, hand brushing over his wrist. “You won.”
Smiling, Spencer nudged Jon out from behind his stand and didn’t stop watching him until he was safely back in his own stand. Maybe losing wasn’t so bad after all.
*
When the final scores were tallied at the end of the season, a week later, Spencer waited with Jon, both their trucks packed away, for Pete to announce the winner.
Jon’s hand reached for Spencer’s as they stood back from the group, near the edge of the barn, and waited.
“We could just ditch and go somewhere warmer,” Jon offered in a whisper to Spencer, but Spencer shook his head.
“We have to stay,” he said, despite Jon sighing in his ear and kissing his neck lightly, following the line of his jaw as Pete talked about years past and togetherness and brotherhood until Gabe shouted to fucking get on with it already! So Pete cleared his throat and grabbed the basket.
“This year’s winner, and I’m sure it’s no surprise, is…”
Spencer’s hand tightened in Jon’s, and Jon paused in his kisses long enough to look up at Pete.
“Brendon!”
Brendon bounced up in the crowd delightedly, heading to where Pete was.
“Can we go now?” Jon asked, and Spencer could feel the worry in his question, wondering if he was okay, but he shook his head.
“Just a second,” he replied, nudging Jon for a light kiss that almost turned into something more, but Spencer made a noise and pulled away when Pete started talking again after Brendon had the basket and was curiously sifting through the contents.
“So comes the end of another season!” Pete said, sighing mournfully. “But we all know that next year, we’ll be back and better than ever. And now it comes time for our last little tradition.” He pulled out a giant sharpie marker and a chart with everyone’s names and no title. “After some discussion, it has been decided that Jon Walker must be formally added into our family of homegrown products. Therefore, a new category has been added to the competition; King of Cucumbers.”
Pete took the marker and carved the name in the white space above the names on the chart.
Jon smiled slightly, amused, as Pete raised the marker to him.
“Welcome, Jon, and may you grow your vegetables and sell them with us forever.”
Spencer didn’t say anything about the way Pete saluted him and then went to hang the chart up on the side of the barn with the rest of them. Instead, he turned to Jon.
“We can go now,” he said simply, but Jon stopped him.
“You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”
Spencer scoffed. “It’s tradition, Jon. It was going to happen anyway.”
Jon smiled, hugging Spencer as the crowd dispersed and gave their goodbyes. Most of them they wouldn’t see until the next spring when they would all congregate on that same trodden patch of grass and listened to Pete’s same speech about new beginnings and life.
“You disappointed you didn’t win?” Jon asked when they finally turned to leave, heading for the parking lot.
“But I did,” Spencer replied easily as they reached the dusty lost in the dimming afternoon and he turned to Jon.
Laughing, Jon brushed Spencer’s hair aside. “I’ll get you a basket if it makes you feel better.”
Spencer paused. “It might,” he allowed, and Jon grinned.
“I guess this is goodbye then,” he said finally, glancing at his truck, his dismantled stand piled in the back.
Spencer nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Yeah.” He paused while they lingered there. The sky was clouded and a cool breeze rustled the last of the leaves on the ground. He glanced at Jon after a second. “You coming over tonight?”
Jon’s smile was slow, but he nodded. “I’ll bring a basket.”
“Okay,” Spencer agreed as he leaned into the kiss, stopping Jon from pulling away immediately as it lingered and they broke apart slowly. “Eight.”
“Eight,” Jon echoed, licking his lips and stepping away.
As Spencer watched him head for his truck, he sighed and kicked away a dried maple leaf at his feet, smiling to himself and thinking of Greta’s basket now perched on Jon’s mantelpiece, The truck pulled out of the lot slowly, and Spencer held up a hand in goodbye as the last rays of fall slipped and fell over the horizon.
*
FIN.
Author: silver_etoile
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jon/Spencer (Ryan/Brendon, Gabe/William, ~vaguely referenced Pete/Mikey-Gabe/Mikey)
Disclaimer: Not real.
Summary: Every year, there's a competition amongst the stands in Pete's back field; which stand can sell the most and get the best customer recommendation. Spencer always wins with his perfect apples, but this year, the cute vegetable guy in the next stand over might be changing the way the autumn wind blows.
Author's Notes: So this is the farmer's market AU I've been wanting to write, and I thought, hey, what better time than fall in China, eh? So here we have it!
*
Every year, in the last few weeks before Thanksgiving, when winter began to take hold, the stands would close up, folding down their canopies and tying poles together for the last long haul home, to stay locked away in barns and sheds until the dewy light of spring poked its head over the countryside. But before that happened, one stand was always presented with a basket filled with the best from each stand carefully arranged by one of the women along with the money accumulated throughout the season.
Everyone’s eye was on the prize, that hand-woven basket, courtesy of Greta’s stand, perched at the entrance to the market where customers would toss in a donation on their way in and out. It wasn’t required or even suggested. The story went that someone left a hat there once, upturned, and people just started putting money in it, so now the hat had evolved into a basket and so went the days of summer and fall.
Of all the stands that filled the square, perched on desolate patches of brown, the grass long dead from the perpetual stands six months out of the year, one was determined to win that basket and everything in it. It wasn’t just a basket, after all, but a symbol of success; the stand with the most over-all sales and best customer recommendation won the prize, and Spencer Smith knew it was his.
Picking through his golden-red apples, Spencer eyed the basket on the far corner, at the entrance, and paused, thinking of how good it was going to look on his mantle when it was awarded in a few weeks. Something else caught his eyes, though, and he frowned at the stand across the way.
Brendon was building a tower out of jam jars, wobbling dangerously at the top, but it wasn’t the tower that bothered Spencer, but the crowd gathering to watch as Brendon stretched to put the last jar on top. Scowling, Spencer forced his eyes back to his apples, brushing dust off a few and rearranging them so the best were on top.
“Don’t worry,” came a voice from his left, and Spencer glanced over.
The stand next to him was full of vegetables; green onions, cucumbers, bright red tomatoes. The owner of this stand was smiling at Spencer, a cucumber in hand, and Spencer forced himself to look away from the vegetable and to Jon’s face.
“Everyone loves your stand,” Jon said warmly and Spencer pushed down the flop in his stomach. “Brendon is just entertaining.”
Spencer frowned, glancing back to where Brendon was now selling jar after jar of jam. “Maybe I should make apple butter and see what he says to that,” he muttered, grabbing an apple and tossing it up and down in his hand.
Jon laughed as he handed some woman her change and a bag full of ruby red tomatoes. “I bet you’d make awesome apple butter.”
“I would,” Spencer replied instead of blushing at Jon’s comment (was it really blush-worthy anyway? Spencer was having a hard time differentiating lately).
Jon only smiled and bit his lip, glancing away from Spencer as a group of older woman approached his stand and cooed over the cherry tomatoes.
Spencer was distracted by his own group of people, oohing over his golden, ripe apples. He knew they were good. He spent the better part of his year tending to his apple orchard to make sure he had the perfect, golden apples, the bright green Granny Smith, the Red Delicious.
“I love your apples,” swooned Mrs. Johansen, picking through the best as Spencer bit back a smirk. There was no possible way he wasn’t winning that basket this year. He’d won it two years in a row already.
“See,” Jon shot over at him once the group subsided and meandered off into the rest of the market, marveling over Greta’s baskets and Sisky’s pumpkins. “They love you.”
Spencer didn’t blush this time even though he caught the way Jon met his eyes for a second, but then someone else showed up at his stand.
It wasn’t a customer, though, and Spencer watched as Ryan dumped his briefcase on the ground and slumped in behind his stand.
“How was work?” Spencer asked dutifully as Ryan climbed onto the stool Spencer never used and shivered in the cool breeze, staring out at the stands and the crunchy, golden leaves that tumbled past in the wind.
The weather was changing, everyone could feel it. The first frost had yet to come, but Spencer knew it would soon. The stands stood up remarkably well considering they’d been up for months, stuck in the same place. The grass was long dead on the paths around them, but in the back field, it was still luscious and green from the late summer rains. Beyond the stands, there was the small dust-filled parking lot that was decently filled for this late in the fall.
“You’re lucky,” Ryan only replied, grabbing an apple and turning it over in his hand. “All you have to do is grow apples.”
Spencer gave him a look and took the apple away. “Because it’s so easy. Don’t you remember last winter?”
“I remember you running around like a chicken without a head because it actually snowed.”
“And none of the trees were prepared,” Spencer argued. “It almost ruined the whole crop.”
“I thought only vegetables were crops,” Ryan commented, and Spencer sighed.
“Whatever. You know what I mean.”
Ryan picked at his nails and glanced around at the stands. Brendon had dismantled his stack of jars and waved enthusiastically when he saw Ryan. Ryan didn’t return it.
“So how are the apples?” he asked finally, looking back at Spencer, who’d been momentarily distracted watching Jon smile at a customer as he helped her pick out cucumbers. Ryan arched an eyebrow. “Or how are the cucumbers?”
“What?” Spencer jerked around, frowning at Ryan. “I don’t know. I don’t have any.”
“Jon has some,” Ryan offered, quirking an eyebrow a bit too obviously for Spencer’s liking.
“So?” he asked, annoyed and looking away from Jon.
“You should ask him,” Ryan said, grabbing another apple which Spencer promptly took from him and set on the other side. “He’d probably love to tell you.”
Scowling, Spencer huffed and didn’t reply to Ryan, instead reorganizing the crate of Red Delicious, turning each one upright. It was a fruitless task, but it gave him something to do other than snapping at Ryan or staring at Jon. Neither was a very good idea.
“I’m going to buy some jam, then,” Ryan said after a minute, and Spencer stared at him.
“Ryan!” he hissed as Ryan slid off the stool and out from behind the stand. Ryan just looked at him.
“I’m out,” was all he said before he crossed the grass-trodden path to Brendon’s stand. Brendon brightened visibly at the sight of him.
Huffing to himself, Spencer leaned back against the stool moodily, crossing his arms and glaring at the back of Ryan’s head. Some best friend he was.
“Trouble on the farm?” Jon’s voice invaded Spencer’s thoughts as he stood there in the dimming afternoon. They would have to go home soon.
Glancing over, he found Jon standing just beyond his stand, a basket of cherry tomatoes in his hand. “I come in peace,” he said, holding out the basket and Spencer wasn’t sure what to do, but Jon gave him a look and nudged the basket forward, so Spencer took it, trying to ignore the tingles when his fingers brushed against Jon’s.
“What else would you come in?” Spencer asked, setting the tomatoes aside and pushing away Ryan’s voice as it filled his head, talking about cucumbers.
Jon shrugged, leaning forward on the stand. He plucked a red apple from amongst its fellows and held it up to the sunlight streaming through the speckled clouds. He paused and then looked at Spencer. “It’s a wishing apple.”
Spencer tried to be unimpressed, still keeping his arms crossed, but he couldn’t bring himself to be when Jon offered it over. “You mean a poisoned red apple,” he corrected, but Jon shook his head.
“A wishing apple, Spencer Smith,” he repeated, as though deaf to whatever Spencer had said. “And if you take a bite, all your wishes will come true.”
“Even the one where Brendon gets crushed under a pile of jam jars?” Spencer asked skeptically, eyeing where Ryan was now talking to Brendon, tracing circles on the top of a jar.
Jon paused, biting his lip as he thought, and then shook his head. “Only happy wishes will come true.”
“That is a happy wish,” Spencer insisted. “Then I’ll win.”
“You know it’s not a fair competition,” Jon pointed out, still holding out the apple. “Gabe tries to bribe people to come to his stand all the time, and he teams up with William for special deals.”
Spencer knew. He frowned anyway. “It wouldn’t be so bad except for the betting pool.”
“I bet on you to win,” Jon put in quietly and Spencer could swear his heart skipped a beat, that flop in his stomach turning into a flutter. Then Jon smiled. “So make a wish.” He held out the apple and Spencer paused, but Jon was waiting.
“Okay,” he agreed finally, liking the way Jon beamed and handed it over. Pausing, he thought hard before taking a bite.
“What did you wish?” Jon asked as Spencer chewed, but Spencer shook his head.
“Can’t tell you that. It won’t come true.”
Jon grinned. “Says the guy who two minutes ago didn’t believe in wishing apples.”
Spencer arched an eyebrow. “I still believe in wishes and there are rules that go along with wishes.”
Leaning forward, Jon quirked his head to the side. “Like what?”
“You can’t tell anyone, or they won’t come true,” Spencer said. “And someone could always cancel out your wish with one of their own.”
“But how would they know your wish unless you told them?” Jon asked slyly, and Spencer frowned.
“That’s not the point.”
Jon smiled and leaned forward. Spencer didn’t let himself think what Jon might really be doing. “Tell me your wish, Spencer Smith,” he murmured, but Spencer shook his head.
“Can’t,” he replied, and secretly, he would never tell Jon his wish because well, Jon didn’t need to know that.
“Fine,” Jon said finally, sliding back and straightening upwards. “Let me pay for that apple so you’ll get the points.”
“No.” Spencer stopped him. “You don’t have to.”
“You sure?” Jon asked searchingly, hand already halfway to his wallet.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Spencer replied, swallowing his pittering heart when Jon flashed him a smile.
“It’s in the bag, Spence, don’t worry.”
As Spencer watched him walk back to his stand, he forced his trembling hand around the apple and took another bite.
*
There was a complex point system involved that Spencer almost didn’t understand, and he was smart. He usually understood things like this, but the big chart tacked up on the backside of Pete’s barn just made no sense.
There were categories like likeability and general appeal. There were also the normal categories such as sales and customer vote. Each stand had a box on the corner where customers could just drop in one of the attached green slips of paper if they liked the stand.
Spencer wasn’t sure who had started the competition, but he was pretty sure it had been a joint effort between Pete and Gabe. It was the only thing that gave the ‘purple people eater (cobras sssss!)’ category any sense. Spencer was pretty sure Gabe had been high on one of the many spices he sold at his stand when that happened. And of course, Pete would never have fought something as strange as that.
It was Pete’s property that they all converged on, down at the end of Firefly Drive just before Pete’s first big barn. The barn was empty except for a few stray cats that Jon had taken the liberty of naming just days after setting up his stand.
Jon was new to the group this year, and Spencer was eternally grateful to whoever had invited him to come and sell his vegetables. He suspected it was William, what with the way he always abandoned his berry stand to drape himself over Jon’s shoulders, calling him Jonny and whispering in his ears while Jon laughed. Spencer usually watched and was equally grateful that he didn’t sell something like oranges, which meant he could squeeze his apples are hard as he wanted and they wouldn’t burst in sticky juice all over his hand.
According to the chart behind the barn, which Spencer took the liberty of checking every morning before heading to his stand, he was ahead in every category. Well, almost every category, but he really didn’t think that falling behind Pete in the chickens rool! category was too terrible, especially considering only Pete sold anything to do with chickens.
So perhaps the scoring was biased, but Spencer managed to win every year anyway, so he wasn’t really worried.
It was a beautiful fall morning, crisp but with an edge of warmth pushing up over the horizon in the east, and Spencer stepped out of his truck feeling refreshed and ready for another day of selling apples and trying not to stare at Jon too much.
Taking his usual path to the back of the barn, he passed where Brendon was already stacking up jars of jam and waving happily at Spencer as he passed.
“Hey, Spencer,” he called before Spencer could slip past. He just wanted to see the boards. He didn’t roll his eyes, though, just paused and didn’t come any closer to Brendon.
“What?” he asked as Brendon separated the blackberry and strawberry jams.
“Jon said you might make apple butter,” he said, and his eyes were big, and for a second, Spencer almost felt bad for saying it. “We could do it together, you know?”
Pausing, Spencer really just wanted to go check the board. “I probably won’t,” he said finally, and Brendon looked sort of surprised.
“Oh. Well, we could, you know. Maybe next year?” He perked up excitedly, and Spencer frowned.
“Sure, maybe,” he agreed slowly and Brendon nodded.
“Okay!” he said, smiling again and moving on to the raspberry jams.
Spencer wondered at him for a second, but he was giving an out, so he took it, slipping around the side of the barn.
There was a small group of people gathered here already, peering at the stats. Greta sighed as Spencer walked up and frowned at the board.
“Pete’s been messing with it again,” was all she said, gesturing at the purple people eater (cobras ssss!) category. The purple check marks were all over the place and Gabe’s was at the bottom, which was not where it was supposed to be. Even if it was ludicrous category, it was Gabe’s ludicrous category and he should have been at the top. Almost everyone had a category of their own. Spencer’s was red hot deliciousness and he was always at the top.
“Think Pete and Gabe had a fight?” Spencer didn’t really care as he searched out his name and score.
Greta shrugged next to him, tugging her scarf tighter in the chilly morning. “Some new customer came yesterday and I think Gabe hit on him first. Maybe that was it.”
“I thought Gabe and William were…” Spencer trailed off as his eyes landed on his name. It looked just the same, written in plain black letters (as opposed to Brendon’s which was decked out with blue, sparkly gel pens) and sitting just above Jon’s name and just below Sisky’s, but it wasn’t his name that was different; it was Jon’s.
Jon’s total score, written in the box at the end, in big, black sharpie in Pete’s crooked, messy writing, read 2,239. Spencer’s eyes flicked up to his number, swallowing down his disbelief: 2,154.
How the hell had he fallen nearly one hundred behind in one day? And to Jon? How was that possible?
He was so busy staring that he didn’t even notice Greta leaving for her stand. It couldn’t possibly be true. Jon didn’t even have his own category to bolster his score like everyone else.
“What the fuck happened to my category?” Gabe’s voice burst out from beside him and Spencer jumped, still trying to figure out what was going on. “Pete!” And then Gabe stalked away, no doubt to root Pete out from his chicken coops and fix the score.
For a second, Spencer thought maybe he should tag along and find out exactly what Pete was playing at, putting Jon higher than him. But then he stopped. If it was a mistake, it would be fixed and there was nothing to worry about. If it wasn’t a mistake, however… Well, Spencer didn’t like to think of that.
Pulling himself together, he headed off for his stand, uncovering his boxes of apples and making sure they were still good. He tossed away the few that weren’t and rearranged his rating box at the corner of his stand. He’d allowed Ryan to stick a rosette on it, but that was the most decoration it was going to get.
He tried not to look up when Jon arrived, carrying a fresh box of cucumbers, which he dumped unceremoniously on top of the others.
“Morning, Spence,” he greeted him easily, and Spencer just nodded silently. He could see Jon pause but didn’t explain anything, turning so that his back was to Jon as he did a quick inventory.
Jon didn’t try to talk to him again, and Spencer felt a little bad, but he told himself sternly that Jon had no right to jump ahead of him on the charts. That basket was his.
The day went slowly for Spencer as he sat on his stool and bagged up apples for people, forcing smiles and purposefully not looking over at Jon’s stand. He could hear Jon laughing at things people said and making jokes about vegetables.
Around lunchtime, William wandered over, plunking down a basket of marion berries on Jon’s countertop and popping one into his mouth.
“Jonny,” he said, sprawling his long arms over Jon’s counter. “Jonny Walker.”
Spencer scowled at the apple he was cutting up for samples and slammed the knife down a little too hard, but he reveled in the loud noise against the cutting board. William glanced over at him at the noise, but Spencer ignored them both, concentrating solely on the apple and determined not to hear their conversation, but it was kind of impossible given the distance between the stands.
“You look sad, Jonny,” William said, and Spencer was sure he’d jumped over the stand already and was hugging Jon. “What happened?”
Jon smiled too easily and pushed at William’s arms. “Nothing, Bill. How are the boards looking?”
William shrugged, uninterested. “Don’t know.” He popped another berry in his mouth. How he could still eat berries after cultivating them for years was beyond Spencer. Then again, Spencer still ate apples.
Spencer had somehow started watching them and blinked, tearing his gaze away, chopping up the apple resolutely.
“Who cares about a basket anyway?” William continued. “There are better prizes to be won.”
Spencer heard Jon laugh, happy and unabashed. “I hear Gabe and Pete had a tiff about a pretty boy yesterday.”
William made a derisive noise. “Pete gets jealous from one smile. Gabe flirts with everyone anyway.”
“If it walks,” Jon offered, and Spencer could hear the grin in his words. He wanted to turn around and say something about Gabe’s reputation and that story about him and William last year in the barn. Pete said his chickens were scarred for life and didn’t lay a single egg after that, but he didn’t. He just arranged the apple pieces in concentric circles on the plate.
“What about you?” William asked, picking at the berries again. He didn’t eat one, and looked up at Jon.
“What about me?” Jon asked simply, and Spencer didn’t look up to see. He could tell something was going on, though, from the silence that passed and then Jon laughing. “Yeah, yeah,” was all he said, and Spencer frowned.
“Back to the berry fields,” William said after another beat while Spencer frowned at his apples.
“See you later, Bill,” Jon said, and Spencer looked up to see Bill sliding out from behind the stand. He paused before he left and then smirked.
“Here, Spencer,” William said, setting down the half-full basket of berries. “Have a berry.”
Confused, Spencer stared after him as he swaggered back to his stand. When he looked at Jon, Jon was watching him with a blank expression on his face, and Spencer didn’t like the feeling he got, so he looked away and focused on selling the most apples possible.
*
“Pete.”
Spencer cornered Pete in the chicken coop where he was collecting eggs for the next day, plucking chickens from their roosts and checking underneath them. Spencer tried to ignore the floating feathers already and the dust in the air as he edged inside.
It was already past dusk and the sun had fallen half an hour ago. Most of the vendors were packed up and gone for the night, but Spencer had stuck around, and now he had Pete alone in the coop, clucking chickens mulling around his feet.
“Hey, Spence, what’s up?” Pete asked from where he had a brown and black chicken suspended in the air, wings pinned to its side.
“It’s about the boards,” he said seriously, and Pete made a noise, bobbing his head.
“Someone screw with your category too? I keep telling Gabe I didn’t do anything, but he’d never believe Bill was jealous.”
Frowning, Spencer shook his head. “No, it’s the total scores. They’re all wrong.”
Pete raised an eyebrow as he let the chicken flutter away and he moved on to the next one. “I don’t think so,” he replied. “I even had Sisky check my math.”
That didn’t help anything. Spencer scowled. “Well, Jon is somehow ahead of me. It’s been like that all week. You added wrong or something.”
Pete stopped as he tucked an egg away. Then he laughed and came over, slapping Spencer on the back. Spencer glared. “I didn’t add wrong. He’s ahead.”
It wasn’t possible. “That’s not possible!” Spencer exclaimed. “I always win!”
“Not this year.” Pete shrugged, heading for the coop door. “Maybe it’s a-”
“If you tell me it’s just a metaphor, I’m going to strangle every one of your chickens,” Spencer growled, and Pete shrugged.
“Or maybe people just like him better.”
Spencer couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but he couldn’t argue as Pete disappeared into the dusky twilight of the farm.
*
The problem was that Spencer still liked Jon, and not just in the Jon-is-my-market-stand-neighbor-and-he’s-nice-to-talk-to-as-opposed-to-Brendon-who-only-talks-about-Disney-and-jam. He liked Jon in the, fluttering stomach, shaking hands, involuntary blush, and too many commas kind of way. This made it all the more harder to dislike Jon for being ahead of him in charts.
Not that he didn’t try.
Spencer ignored Jon for a good four days, in which even Brendon asked what was wrong, bouncing over from his jam stand to pick up and apple and ramble about the amazing apple butter they could make with it.
Spencer listened to him, suppressing the desire to bang his head onto the nearest hard surface, and made the mistake of glancing over at Jon’s stand.
There were no customers, just Jon, slumped back against his stool and sighing slowly. He looked up at Spencer, though, and Spencer quickly looked away, back to Brendon, who was still talking about the type of jars they should use.
“Why do you want to make apple butter with me?” Spencer asked finally when he couldn’t take the debate between half-quart jars and quarter-quart anymore.
Brendon blinked and finally put down the apple he’d been turning over in his hand for the better part of ten minutes.
“You’re friends with Ryan, right?” he asked hopefully, and Spencer didn’t groan. He should have known, from the way Brendon always greeted Ryan whenever he stopped by.
“Yeah, Ryan,” he muttered, twisting a stem off one of the apples. He counted off letters silently as he did; it came off on J and he frowned.
“Is he gonna come back?” Brendon asked eagerly, and Spencer sighed.
“Probably.” He paused. “Will you stop talking about apple butter if he does?”
Brendon nodded immediately. “Just jams from now on.”
Rolling his eyes, Spencer pushed himself up from his stool. “I’ll tell him to come down later.”
Brendon lit up and looked like he was restraining himself from hugging Spencer, for which he was glad.
“Okay,” Brendon said, bouncing a little, and Spencer determinedly didn’t scowl. Luckily, Brendon seemed to take that as the end of the conversation as he bounced back to his stand and grinned happily at the old woman examining his strawberry preserves.
Rolling his eyes, Spencer turned away only to find himself facing Jon’s stand. Jon was watching him and didn’t even bother looking away when Spencer caught him.
Jerking away, Spencer grabbed his books, mostly for something to do instead of feeling the twist of guilt in his stomach.
*
The charts still hadn’t evened out by Friday morning, and Spencer knew the weekend was one of the last big pushes of the season before the weather turned cold and everyone would pack up and disappear into the winter season. As he stood glaring at the numbers, purposefully avoiding heading to his stand where he knew Jon would be giving him that sad look.
“You know it’s just a stupid competition,” Greta said, sidling up to Spencer’s side. She had a cluster of new baskets strung on her arm and adjusted them lightly as they stood there in the dew-soaked morning. The grass was wet underfoot and Spencer didn’t look over. He crossed his arms instead.
“I always win,” he said simply. He tried to ignore Greta’s sigh.
“It’s just a basket,” she replied. “Plus the betting pool is shifting. It’s between you, Jon, and Brendon now.”
That didn’t make Spencer feel any better as he frowned in the direction of the stands, picking out Jon’s stand in the misty morning, snuggled in between his and Sisky’s.
“Besides,” Greta continued, pulling a basket off her arm. “He bet on you.” She gave Spencer a look as she handed him the basket.
Spencer furrowed his eyebrows at the basket, but Greta only shook her head and turned in the opposite direction. Frowning, Spencer turned back to the charts and wondered why he felt like so much of an asshole.
*
“Is this a stupid new strategy or something?”
Spencer didn’t spare Ryan a glance as he packed up the apples in their boxes for overnight. There were still a few minutes before the market closed, but customers were dwindling and it felt like they were in for a cold night. Ryan was perched on the stool, briefcase slumped on the ground beside it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ryan sent him a tired look. “Your awkward flirting turned into ignoring him? Not exactly the best way to get the girl.”
“You’re one to talk.” Spencer muttered, tossing a bad apple at Ryan, which he dodged easily. “When was the last date you went on?”
Ryan ruffled himself slightly, sitting up straighter. “A month ago. And at least I have a last date.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Spencer glared now, shutting the crate and turning to Ryan.
The sun was setting in the west, creeping below the horizon and casting a dusky blue shadow over everything. The barn lights had already come on and a dust of orange light slid over the stands as the owners packed away for the night.
Ryan shrugged. “Your last date wasn’t even a date, just some random guy you met at a club.”
“Better than spilling wine on his pants,” Spencer pointed out and Ryan didn’t blush, but put his nose up.
“It was slippery.”
Spencer rolled his eyes and brushed off the tables that created his square of a stand. “Whatever. You can’t judge me when you can’t even realize that someone likes you right here.”
Ryan arched an eyebrow. “Why, Spencer, I had no idea. Let’s buy matching rings.”
“Not me, idiot,” Spencer snapped. He really wasn’t in the mood to discuss anything about relationships or guys when he could barely look at Jon without simultaneously wanting to glare and kiss him. He felt a tiny surge of triumph when Ryan paused, confused. “Brendon,” he said obviously, tossing away another bad apple.
Surprised, Ryan looked over to where Brendon was packing away jams carefully in crates.
“Just go over there,” Spencer muttered, annoyed, and Ryan looked like he was going to argue, but then he shrugged and slid off the stool. When he was gone, Spencer shook his head darkly and rummaged through apples, tossing more bad ones away.
“Ow,” came a voice following a soft thud and Spencer looked up.
Jon stood there, one of the apples he’d just thrown violently away in his hands.
“Uh,” Spencer said, unsure what to do.
Jon hesitated before stepping up and biting his lip. “Bad apple?”
“Yeah,” Spencer agreed shortly, not taking it from Jon. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Jon shrugged and took a breath. He was lingering unnecessarily and Spencer wasn’t quite sure what he should do.
As he watched Jon fidget slightly, turning the apple over in his hand, eyes sweeping the cleared stand, he felt a curling tightness in his stomach, the clench and release of something he couldn’t explain.
“Spencer,” Jon said, and Spencer heard the way his lisp curled around the words, slow and liquid. His heart jumped, unbidden, and he swallowed, looking away. “Are you mad at me?”
Spencer didn’t answer, licking his lips and trying not to think about the way Jon shifted, almost nervous.
Jon edged forward, watching Spencer closely. “’Cause I didn’t mean to do anything. And… in case you didn’t know, I kinda think you’re really awesome. And if I could buy all your apples, I totally would. But I can’t, so I just wanted you to know that, and… I miss talking to you. I miss being your farmer’s market neighbor.”
By the time Spencer got the courage to look up, Jon was gone and the bad apple was perched on the edge of the tabletop, bathed in the blue twilight spreading over the market.
*
Brendon was juggling jams jars as Spencer passed him on the way to his stand. Jon was already at his stand, but he didn’t look up when Spencer slipped in behind his tables and paused, staring over.
In fact, Jon didn’t look at him the entire morning while the usual Saturday crowd filtered in. People bought eggs from Pete, spices from Gabe, berries from William, and apples from Spencer. When the last customer left before lunch, Spencer glanced over at Jon’s stand. He was doing well, the same as always, waving someone away with a smile, but then sighing as soon as their back was turned.
Biting his lip, Spencer looked away and thought back to the boards that morning. He’d been so close to overtaking Jon, just twenty points away, but it almost didn’t matter, especially when Jon slumped against his stool and picked listlessly at his pile of cucumbers.
Taking a fortifying breath, Spencer stooped down and hesitated before grabbing the basket Greta had handed to him the day before. It was now filled with a jar of jam, a few eggs nestled in between a mini-pumpkin and a basket of blackberries, and a perfect, Red Delicious apple at the front. Pushing down his wriggling stomach, he straightened up and ducked out from behind his stand.
It was a beautiful fall day with a light wind rustling the golden-red leaves of the maple trees bordering the market, a few fluttering down as Spencer walked the short distance to Jon’s stand.
He didn’t go to the front, but hesitated off to the side, momentarily re-thinking it, but Jon caught sight of him first.
“Spencer?” he asked, sliding off his stool almost immediately. His eyes flicked from the basket in Spencer’s hands to his face. “What are you doing?”
Spencer almost made up an excuse, but Jon’s face stopped him, open and hopeful. He couldn’t turn around now.
“I brought this for you,” he said finally, awkwardly, as he held out the basket, feeling too much like Little Red Riding Hood, only without the cape and the wolf.
Jon didn’t take it immediately, looking confused. “I don’t get it.”
Cursing himself, Spencer pulled the basket back in and plucked out the apple. “It’s a wishing apple.”
Jon paused. “I thought you didn’t believe in wishing apples.”
Feeling like an idiot, Spencer held it out. “Jon, please, just make a wish.”
Jon was hesitating, but he took the apple finally and thought for a second before taking a bite. Wiping the juice off his chin, he swallowed the bite slowly and didn’t say anything.
Leaning forward, Spencer set the basket on the table edge and looked back at Jon. Jon was watching him, a small frown on his face, and Spencer bit his lip.
“You shouldn’t tell me your wish,” he said finally, edging around to the back of the stand where there was no barrier between him and Jon. Jon didn’t move, watching him go. “Or it won’t come true. But I’m gonna tell you my wish.”
Jon didn’t protest, although Spencer thought he might have wanted to.
Pushing away the nerves that had been fluttering ever since Jon showed up in his flip flops with his crates of vegetables in the beginning of spring and William had introduced him as the King of Cucumbers, Spencer stepped up and leaned in, pressing his lips to Jon carefully.
It wasn’t much except elevated breath and wildly beating hearts trying to escape throats, but when Spencer pulled back after only a second, he was pretty sure he couldn’t breathe. Jon looked almost blank, the apple still clutched in his hand, where he had bitten quickly browning in the sun.
“Yeah,” Spencer muttered finally, licking his lips and taking a step back. “I changed my bet.”
Kicking himself, he turned and left when Jon didn’t say anything, just blinked slowly at him and his fingers tightened around the apple.
*
He wasn’t gaining on the charts at all and now he felt like a complete and utter idiot. Apparently he’d gotten Jon wrong, and possibly he’d just alienated him completely. He honestly wasn’t looking forward to going to the market on Sunday morning.
The day was clear and fresh, crisply autumn with dew gleaming in the bright sun as it crept over the horizon and birds twittered in the nearby trees. But Spencer didn’t feel any of the cheeriness of the day as he dragged himself over to his stand and sighed at his boxed up apples.
He appeared to be one of the first there as he resignedly started to set up his stand.
He was halfway through the Granny Smith’s when someone appeared at his stand, grabbing his wrist and tugging him back before he could even twist to see who it was.
“Hey, what-” he tried to ask as he stumbled backwards out of his stand and back towards the back of the barn. He managed to wriggle out of the grip just beyond Brendon’s empty stand and turned around, ready to snap at whoever it was, but it was Jon, pushing his hair down and offering a half smile. “Jon?”
“Your wish came true,” Jon said before Spencer could ask anymore, and he stepped up, sliding his arms around Spencer’s shoulders and leaning in to meet his lips.
It almost didn’t matter that they were completely out in the open and Jon’s fingers were sliding to grip Spencer’s neck as he tilted his head to fit better, licking over Spencer’s bottom lip slowly when Spencer was slow to respond.
“Jon,” Spencer tried to mutter, to make sense of anything, but Jon shook his head and took the opportunity to bite Spencer’s bottom lip gently, tracing the line with his tongue and licking into Spencer’s opened mouth seconds later.
Jon’s mouth tasted like mint toothpaste and a hint of strawberries, and Spencer wanted to chase it down when Jon shifted, edging up on his toes to even the height distance between them. Panted breaths were exchanged as the kiss broke for a second and Jon was back, breathing against Spencer’s lips, hot puffs of air on his bottom lip, close enough to kiss but not quite there.
Jon bit his lip as he smiled and met Spencer’s eyes, a little dazed but still all there. “I didn’t change my bet,” he said, one arm sliding to circle around Spencer’s waist and tug him forward. “Because you’re gonna win.”
“No, I’m n-” Spencer tried to say, but Jon cut him off with a whispered, “Shh,” against his lips before he kissed him again, a little deeper, wetter as he licked inside, sucking on his bottom lip. His hand pressed harder against his back, edging him up against his body, and Spencer let himself go. He liked the feel of Jon, solid and warm against him.
Spencer let slip a slight noise when Jon’s hand brushed under his shirt against bare skin, cool in the chilly morning. Jon hummed lightly against his mouth and didn’t pull away until the kisses were breathless exchanges and Spencer followed his mouth when he slid back.
Swallowing, Spencer panted against Jon’s skin, wanting more but not sure if he should. After all, Jon was still winning and he’d sort of done a crap job of apologizing the day before.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered finally, and Jon blinked at him, fingers massaging his neck lightly.
“It’s okay,” Jon whispered back, pressing a kiss to Spencer’s jaw, up to his ear, breath fluttering over his skin, and Spencer shivered slightly. He smiled, brushing back Spencer’s hair with his thumb and kissing his cheek and the corner of his mouth. “You should have told me, though. I don’t care about the charts. I had no idea.”
Spencer frowned, feeling bad again and tried to pull away, but Jon didn’t let him go, grip strong and pulling him closer. “I know, I was just… I really want to win.”
Jon smiled, nose brushing against Spencer’s. “There are better prizes to be won.”
William’s words echoed out at him, but he really didn’t care when Jon kissed him again, light and easy, a sigh on his lips when they parted.
“So you’re not mad that I’m stupidly stubborn?” Spencer asked when Jon finally pulled back enough to actually look at him.
Jon smiled. “I kind of like you that way.”
Spencer paused, glancing at his hands that had somehow made their way to Jon’s hips, fingers curling in the belt loops of his jeans.
“So did your wish come true?” he asked finally, and Jon nodded with a smile.
“It’s in the process,” he replied, hand dropping from Spencer’s neck with a brush over his shoulder and down his waist. “But we should probably get back to our stands before someone sees and wins the other bet.”
“What other bet?” Spencer asked suspiciously as Jon steered him gently away from the barn and back toward their stands.
“The one about you and me fucking behind the barn.”
“What?” Spencer nearly yelped, but Jon was guiding him into his stall and crowded him up against the table.
“We could do it here and no one would win,” he offered, a devious smirk on his face as Spencer flushed slightly.
“But the apples would see,” he said, and Jon laughed, biting his lip, and Spencer couldn’t help himself when he pulled Jon into a kiss.
“Screw the apples?” Jon asked, a mutter against Spencer’s mouth as he was kissed thoroughly, but Spencer could hear the amusement in it and ignored the question, breaking the kiss with a last nibble to his lips and pushing him away gently.
“Screw the bet,” he said instead, edging Jon back. “I’ve got a bed at home where the apples are acres away.”
Jon’s mouth quirked and he straightened up, glancing around for anyone else. The rest of the stand owners were trickling in and a few gave them odd glances as they shuffled past.
“Congratulations, Spence,” Jon just said, hand brushing over his wrist. “You won.”
Smiling, Spencer nudged Jon out from behind his stand and didn’t stop watching him until he was safely back in his own stand. Maybe losing wasn’t so bad after all.
*
When the final scores were tallied at the end of the season, a week later, Spencer waited with Jon, both their trucks packed away, for Pete to announce the winner.
Jon’s hand reached for Spencer’s as they stood back from the group, near the edge of the barn, and waited.
“We could just ditch and go somewhere warmer,” Jon offered in a whisper to Spencer, but Spencer shook his head.
“We have to stay,” he said, despite Jon sighing in his ear and kissing his neck lightly, following the line of his jaw as Pete talked about years past and togetherness and brotherhood until Gabe shouted to fucking get on with it already! So Pete cleared his throat and grabbed the basket.
“This year’s winner, and I’m sure it’s no surprise, is…”
Spencer’s hand tightened in Jon’s, and Jon paused in his kisses long enough to look up at Pete.
“Brendon!”
Brendon bounced up in the crowd delightedly, heading to where Pete was.
“Can we go now?” Jon asked, and Spencer could feel the worry in his question, wondering if he was okay, but he shook his head.
“Just a second,” he replied, nudging Jon for a light kiss that almost turned into something more, but Spencer made a noise and pulled away when Pete started talking again after Brendon had the basket and was curiously sifting through the contents.
“So comes the end of another season!” Pete said, sighing mournfully. “But we all know that next year, we’ll be back and better than ever. And now it comes time for our last little tradition.” He pulled out a giant sharpie marker and a chart with everyone’s names and no title. “After some discussion, it has been decided that Jon Walker must be formally added into our family of homegrown products. Therefore, a new category has been added to the competition; King of Cucumbers.”
Pete took the marker and carved the name in the white space above the names on the chart.
Jon smiled slightly, amused, as Pete raised the marker to him.
“Welcome, Jon, and may you grow your vegetables and sell them with us forever.”
Spencer didn’t say anything about the way Pete saluted him and then went to hang the chart up on the side of the barn with the rest of them. Instead, he turned to Jon.
“We can go now,” he said simply, but Jon stopped him.
“You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”
Spencer scoffed. “It’s tradition, Jon. It was going to happen anyway.”
Jon smiled, hugging Spencer as the crowd dispersed and gave their goodbyes. Most of them they wouldn’t see until the next spring when they would all congregate on that same trodden patch of grass and listened to Pete’s same speech about new beginnings and life.
“You disappointed you didn’t win?” Jon asked when they finally turned to leave, heading for the parking lot.
“But I did,” Spencer replied easily as they reached the dusty lost in the dimming afternoon and he turned to Jon.
Laughing, Jon brushed Spencer’s hair aside. “I’ll get you a basket if it makes you feel better.”
Spencer paused. “It might,” he allowed, and Jon grinned.
“I guess this is goodbye then,” he said finally, glancing at his truck, his dismantled stand piled in the back.
Spencer nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Yeah.” He paused while they lingered there. The sky was clouded and a cool breeze rustled the last of the leaves on the ground. He glanced at Jon after a second. “You coming over tonight?”
Jon’s smile was slow, but he nodded. “I’ll bring a basket.”
“Okay,” Spencer agreed as he leaned into the kiss, stopping Jon from pulling away immediately as it lingered and they broke apart slowly. “Eight.”
“Eight,” Jon echoed, licking his lips and stepping away.
As Spencer watched him head for his truck, he sighed and kicked away a dried maple leaf at his feet, smiling to himself and thinking of Greta’s basket now perched on Jon’s mantelpiece, The truck pulled out of the lot slowly, and Spencer held up a hand in goodbye as the last rays of fall slipped and fell over the horizon.
*
FIN.