Strawberry Kisses

Hey guys, I really, really wanted to write an Elli fic. So I did. XD This is based off of Harvest Moon: 64. Enjoy. And, as always, review!



I awoke every morning, rain or shine, to the gentle creaking of a rocking chair. Creak-creak. Creak-creak.

My grandmother, Ellen, had always been an early bird. She said the morning dew and the sunrise was too enchanting to waste even a moment in bed. Even in her ailing condition, she hated to sit still. Her legs scarcely worked any longer, but that didn’t stop her from living her life.

I envied her, in a way. She was always so optimistic, so trusting, even of the people who didn’t deserve it. Like, for example, that new farmer who just moved into the old man’s farm.

From the moment I first laid eyes on him, I didn’t trust Jack. “There’s three ways to tell if a man is scum,” Karen, the vineyard owner’s daughter and my best friend, always warned. “First, if he doesn’t make eye contact with you immediately. Second, if he folds his arms across his chest. And third, but definitely not least, if he hesitates when he talks.” Okay, so, maybe her sentences weren’t the most grammatically correct, but she had a point. And from that day on, I had been on the lookout for those signs. I trusted Karen, mostly because she had more experience in the "guy" department than I did. It was reason enough to take her advice.

When Jack had shown up at the door of our bakery, I was immediately on guard. Jeff, my coworker, had grinned and shook Jack’s hand cordially. I, on the other hand, stood by the wayside as an observer. The farmer’s blue hat was pulled down over his eyes, and he kept looking down at his feet. Only once or twice did he actually look up to meet our eyes. Sign Number One. He had folded his arms across his chest multiple times. Sign Number Two. And whenever he did speak to us, he paused in the middle of his sentences.

Ding ding ding, we have a liar.

At that point, I had turned on my heel and went back into the cool, air-conditioned haven that was my parent’s bakery. Even after the death of my parents, their memory was still kept alive with illuminated clear-glass exposed shelves of pastries that lined the front counter. Frosting-covered strawberry shortcakes, piles of soft, delectable, chocolate-drizzled chocolate éclairs, delicately decorated Chocolate Napoleons… you name it, we had it. It was a place of welcoming sights and smells. I mean, who didn’t love the mouth-watering scent of fresh-baked pastries?

It was this hospitable environment that I loved, not the harsh world of violence and heartbreak. It was this hospitable environment that I needed after talking to Jack. Well, actually, Jeff did most of the talking, but I digress. My head was spinning. Wow! Karen was right! Well, there’s a first time for everything, I guess…

I like the plot so far. It's very original, but it kinda sounds like the beginning of a love story.

NOES! Not another gooey fluff! XD

Elli is going to be very out-of-character here; I mean, her parents are DEAD and her only possible love interest is some thirty-year-old, greasy dude who's like a father figure (creepy beyond words), and yet she's supposed to be SWEET and KIND! I'm going to twist her character around a little bit, but don't worry, this won't turn into a gooey romance. I'm looking more for self-development of Elli, and maybe a revolution of learning to trust or something.

Spoiler:

Okay. That's a nice twist. I love it. ^^

I AM ZEE QUEEN OF ZEE PLOT TWISTS, DAHLING.

I've written: *counts on fingers*

Stories about miscarriages
Stories about children born to the main character that have a life-altering disease like Down's Syndrome, etc.
Divorce/remarriage stories
And I am known to mess around with the characters' personalities. ^^ Sometimes it's nessecary to the story I'm writing, other times...I just don't like the character. Like, I'll make Rick a raging alcoholic, for example, and have him throw himself off of the dock in Mineral Town in a druken stupor. XD But for some reason I can't kill characters easily...

Hmmm......
Interesting, you must not like death much.

yey! another work of E.S! it's good, as usual.

12kittycat1214 wrote:

Hmmm......
Interesting, you must not like death much.

It's a sore spot for me. O.o

moonlighto3 wrote:

yey! another work of E.S! it's good, as usual.

*jumps up and down happily and sings the "yay for fans" song*

Thank you! :]

"can you do a divorce remarrige story next?"

welcome! i hope you make more good stories and poems!

gothica800 wrote:

"can you do a divorce remarrige story next?"

Sure, I'll work on that next week. I hope you know that by remarriage, I don't mean the characters get back together, I mean they marry someone else. Just clarifying.

"that's fine, i'll admit i had mistaken that but either way it's romance!"

The air in the Valley where I lived was succulent, to say the least. It was one of the cleanest environments you could ever be in. That’s one of the reasons we moved here in the first place; when my grandma started to get sick more often, her doctor told us that the pollution of the city air wasn’t exactly helping. So we packed up our bags and relocated to Flower Bud.

I sat on the bank of the Goddess Pond, dipping my feet in slowly. Cold water nipped at my toes, but I didn’t mind. It was refreshing. Early spring flowers were blooming nearby, in all shades of blues, reds, and purples. It was picturesque beyond words; better than one of those postcard scenes, even. I couldn’t understand for the life of me why no one, except me, ever came here to visit the pond.

I pulled my feet out of the water and grabbed the hem of my dress as I stood up. Taking my shoes in one hand and the picnic basket I had brought along in the other, I left the Goddess Pond region. As soon as I came into earshot of the mountain area, I heard a distinctive giggle.

Popuri.

I whirled around, trying to catch a glance of the annoyingly perky pink-headed girl before she descended upon me. I finally glanced a cotton candy colored tuft of hair, but her companion distracted my attention. The overalls, the sideways grin, that HAT…even from where I stood, I recognized the grungy farmer.

Jack was holding his cupped hand out to Popuri. “Ewww!” she squealed, clasping her hands and jumping backwards. “Kill it, Jack!”

He laughed, a deep, throaty sound whose depth surprised me. “What, Popsie? Scared of a little bug?”

“Popsie”?

“Nooooooo!” she said defensively, putting her small hands on her even smaller hips. “Just…. they’re gross!” Jack laughed again, and then released the ladybug, letting it fly into the wind. It flew past my ear in a desperate escape attempt. I silently followed in the bug’s wake as Popuri giggled even more obnoxiously.

“Isn’t it disgusting?” Karen asked, watching Popuri lean across the fence that separated our lawn from the rest of the town. “Popsie” was chatting with my grandma, leaning her elbows on the fence and propping her perfect little face up with her hands.

“I mean, seriously! How can anyone think she’s this sweet little thing? Her corset is so tight, her chest is practically…everywhere!” Karen fumed, splaying her fingers out on the counter. I smiled and continued kneading pastry batter.

“Think maybe you’re jealous of her?” I teased.

“Of what? Her pink hair? Her daddy problems? Her neediness?” Karen scoffed.

“No, of her relationship with Jack.”

“…” For the first time in her life, Karen couldn’t come up with one thing to say.

“I know you like him, and I know you know that he likes her. Because otherwise, you wouldn’t be so disgusted by Popuri.” Even though she was annoying, you couldn’t ever stay mad at the little florist for long. It was part of her charm.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Karen mumbled as she crossed her arms over her teeny purple vest. I smirked and pounded my fists into the dough relentlessly.

“So…do you like him?” Karen asked, leaning against the counter.

“Grunge boy? No. I’ve got better things to do than fawn over some musclehead who probably hasn’t showered in weeks.”

“Oh, come on! You’re not even a little interested in him?”

“Nope,” I answered honestly. I had never been the boy-crazy kind of girl, I guess. My grandma called me “sensible,” Karen called me “hopeless.”

“Is there…someone else?” Karen lowered her voice to a whisper and nodded her head to Jeff’s closed door. I rolled my eyes.

“Ignoring the fact that he’s at least ten years older than me, Jeff isn’t my type.” He barely spoke to me, and when he did, it was to scold me for ruining a batch of brownies or something. Plus, his hair was greasier than an entire pizza pie from Pete’s Perfect Pizza Parlor in the city.

“What is your type?” Karen prodded.

“Jeez, you sure ask a lot of questions,” I said, trying to change the subject. Karen wasn’t about to fall for it.

“Well, then,” she huffed, offended. “If you’re not going to share your deep, dark secrets with your very best friend, I guess there’s no use for me around here. I have to go.” She whirled around in a very fake, albeit dramatic exit.

“See you at seven?” I called after her, trying not to giggle.

“Yep,” she said, laughing lightheartedly.