"Is... Sebastian always that strange?" The words are timed perfectly with the slotting of jars onto the shelves, clinking lightly against each other like an out-of-tune windchime.

"Strange?" the farmer's head whips around, hands wrapped around a full, sweet melon. This one was soft right where the vine at been plucked off: nice and ripe. "What do you mean by that?"

"I dunno. I mean, does he have any social skills?" Sterling's statement is meant lightly by the flash of his bright, winning smile — but it has no effect on his conversation partner. Her head cocked to the right, a habit she's been trying to break as it's been described as too cat-like, (or too dog-like, depending on the describer, of course).

The melon goes into her hand-woven bag that's now digging into her forearm from the weight. "I think he's a perfectly nice guy, yeah."

"I dunno. I thought we could talk about our bikes," Sterling's eyeing her now, as if this is some sort of test. Or maybe it's just paranoia. It's usually paranoia. "But he side-eyed me and went back to work."

"He does take a while to warm up to, but," and she shrugs with purpose. "I think it's more than worth it."

Sterling's aquamarine eyes are boring into her head, now that the farmer's moved on to looking at the pickled vegetable section. Mostly ones she's provided the store, of course, but there's some good treats from the city and Henry's farm in there too. "You're just working to get more pupils into your finishing school. Farmer's School for Broken Boys."

"What on earth is that supposed to mean?" She stiffened.

"I dunno. You're tightest with an alcoholic fuck, a social recluse and the third-time-running Mommy Issues of the Year winner," her jaw dropped at Sterling's unflattering descriptions — ones she would say are only half accurate — but he doesn't stop: "Do you get off knowing you're better than all of us?"

"Better?"

"Yeah. Healthier and happier and so free from all our little problems—"

"I have problems of my own, you know. I don't need to adopt anyone else's."

"So who's your farmer?"

"What?"

"Who's your farmer? I mean, if we all go to you with our shit —"

"You don't have to. I just like to be there for people when I can be. And I like you all, for all your own reasons. Although Alex and Seb are rising up the list right now for obvious reasons," the glare she hits him with is less angry than hurt. She'd like to describe it as disappointed but he knows her well enough to see wounds.

"You're avoiding my question. Who do you go to?"

"I don't... why are we having this conversation while you're at work?"

"Deflecting." He leaned back and raised a brow in such concert that if the farmer were in a better mood, she might have to stifle a swoon. "Because boss-man isn't here, and you are."

"I don't talk to people about it." She returns to the question, finally with a firm answer. "I have a diary and I write letters to my parents."

"And that's enough? Letters where you lie to them about how well you're doing?"

"Who — why would you say it's a lie, Sterling?"

"You've said that off-hand before. Sorry for remembering," a stern look that's completely undermined by the hint of a baleful grin.

She's abashed. "Is this your way of asking for something?"

After a moment of thought: "I guess it is."

Silence.

"I guess... I realized the other day how little I know about you. And now, the way you talk about Sebastian — you know so much about me, and so many other people and yet..."

"You know me, though, Sterling. You really do."

"I know what you've told me, and that's great." "But I'm selfish so... I'm asking for more."