In case anyone's wondering how the. asafure single dad hallmark au fic is going. it's going
I've hit a little bit of a slump in writing (so far all 40k+ words were written in a month asdfasdsf) but i'm hoping to have it all ready to post around xmas. and then a sketch of the cover art. ty to everyone who voted in the poll.
I have the strongest urge to start one of those week of fic writing events on AO3 but I don’t know if the RF fic writing fandom is too sparse right now,,, hmmm
working on a little playlist for the asafure hallmark au. trying not to make it EXCLUSIVELY christmas music, but ofc there's gotta be a decent amount in there. if anyone has suggestions for fluffy romantic songs, holiday songs, or BOTH, please sound off.
Here's the working playlist for whoever's curious.
Hey there!! After an absolutely immeasurable amount of writer's block, I've finally had some effort to write a fic and actually enjoy it (thank you, medication change).
It's still a WIP, but since people have been really nice about it on here (ty for the help with the art poll) I thought I might share chapter 1, in case anyone is interested for a sneak peak :) It has yet to be properly edited, so it might be a little rough! I'm trying to force myself to write the whole first draft before I go back and start editing it, which is against my normal method lol.
My hope is to have all/most of this fic done in time to post around Christmas. I'd say I'm currently about 1/4 of the way through writing it.
A vague list of the major tags this fic is gonna have are: modern au, hallmark au, cheesy romcom, christmas, childfic, single dad arthur au, pining, strangers to lovers
The current working title is The Holiday Getaway. If... if anyone can think of a better title, my inbox is always open. lol. please help me.
Chapter 1.
Arthur wraps his gloved hand a bit more tightly around his cup of coffee, carefully navigating the choppy waves made by the throng of people all walking down this sidewalk at the same time. Sometimes it really does feel like every office employee in New York City has their lunch break at the exact same time.
“Do you think—”
A taxi nearby uses that moment to press their horn, and soon enough everyone else at the intersection is doing it too. Arthur uses his free hand to push the bluetooth earbud a little bit deeper in.
“Sorry, could you repeat that?”
“I asked, do you think you’re going to make it down this year?”
His cousin’s tone is polite but not demanding; he knows she’s making an extra effort to ask gently, but he still can’t help the little sigh that passes through his lips.
Sensing his hesitance, Beatrice adds, “There’s apparently going to be a special rendition of The Nutcracker at the Kennedy this year.”
“I… I’m not sure, Beatrice,” he replies with genuine disappointment. “Of course I’d like to see you, and Rose misses you. But…”
It’s with a wave of relief that he gets to his destination, finishes off and discards the last of his coffee, pulls open the shop door and steps inside. The store is busy, of course— in all honesty all of them are, this time of year— but even the nervous chattering of people gift shopping is better than the noise outside.
“Is there anything I could help you find, sir?” the employee who just happened to apparate beside him asks.
“No, thank you. I’m just browsing.”
She nods, spots a wayward child about to drop something very expensive, and beelines it across the store.
“Where are you?” Beatrice asks curiously.
“There’s a William Sonoma near my office. I thought I could covertly buy a gift for Rose on my lunch break.”
“At a William Sonoma?” Beatrice lets out a laugh that would be elegant, except for the soft snort that interrupts it halfway through. “Arthur, she’s seven. Are you going to buy her an espresso machine?”
“You’d be surprised. Novelty-shaped Le Creusets are all she’s spoken about for the last few weeks. ”
Beatrice laughs again, not unkindly. “She has a Lawrence’s taste through and through, doesn’t she?”
Arthur lets out something of a laugh that he hopes sounds more polite than it does pained. “I suppose.”
There’s a few moments of silence on the call, as Arthur takes off his glasses and cleans them absently. The wide variety of pots and pans around him turn blurry.
“Arthur… I know that the last time you came wasn’t the best but—” It’s with his rigid self control that Arthur doesn’t interrupt her with a rude bark of a laugh. “It really would be nice to have you both home for the holidays. D.C. really is nice this time of year! And, if it helps, I know you two promised to stay out of each other’s hair, but I honestly think your father will be too busy with the campaign to be home for much more than 24 hours that week.”
He sighs again. Naturally his eyes fall on the family browsing a display a few feet away from him, smiling and leaning into each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It seems like the picturesque shot of a family shopping around the holidays, wearing colorful sweaters and a rosey tint on their cheeks. It’s not something he’s ever truly experienced, and it’s something he wishes with all his heart that he could give to Rose. But…
Arthur’s not naive enough to hold onto the idea that the Lawrence household (whether extended family is invited or not) could be anything close to that, at least when they’re not in front of cameras.
“I’m sorry,” he says at length. There’s a pang in his chest, but he knows that the risks don’t outweigh the guilt he feels at having to turn down Beatrice for another year in a row. “I don’t think Rose and I are going to make it this year.” A thousand excuses sit at the edge of his tongue, but none of them suffice— not when she already knows the truth behind it. “But, she and I will make an effort to visit you in the new year. She’s very interested in seeing the cherry blossoms at full bloom.”
He knows that he doesn’t have to emphasize the singularity of ‘you’ for Beatrice to pick up on it. It’s been three years since he last spoke to his father, and Arthur has no plans to break the streak any time soon.
“Of course.” Despite the obvious disappointment in her voice, Beatrice’s tone is understanding. It always is, which Arthur is unendingly grateful for. “You two are always welcome. Reinhard has been practicing more seasonal recipes lately. Perhaps we can make something very spring-like.”
“You know, there are some restaurants in your area that I have been curious about.”
Her laugh is light and vibrant through the other end of the line. “He’s really gotten better in the kitchen, I promise!”
In lieu of responding, Arthur glances down at his watch. “I really should be heading back to the office, but it was a pleasure hearing from you.”
Beatrice laughs again, but decides not to push his deflection any further.
“Goodbye, Arthur. Good luck at work.”
“Goodbye Beatrice,” he says affably, as he holds open the door for another family before stepping out of the store empty-handed.
****
Arthur’s barely had the time to sit at his desk and start checking his emails before one of his coworkers comes up behind him and claps him on the back.
“Arthur! You haven’t RSVPed for the holiday party. Not to spoil the surprise, but the party planning committee’s gone all out this year.”
Externally, Arthur gives Isaac a polite smile. Internally, he’s wondering what is the best way to turn down the invitation. Too busy with wrapping up work for the end of Q4? He’s afraid he’s used that sort of excuse— as true as it always is— enough times that his coworkers won’t quite accept it anymore. He has no one to babysit Rose? Last time he said that, all of his coworkers jumped to offer teenage nieces and family friends who wanted to make a bit of extra money. Arthur’s pretty sure when he told them that he has a five-step vetting process for anyone he charges with looking after Rose, they thought he was joking.
He’s still coming up with an answer when another coworker pops up beside him.
“You really should come.” Paige’s smile is bright, her eyes searching his. Her cheeks are pink, and Arthur wonders if she’s just stepped in from the cold outside like he has. “We all miss you when you’re not at those sorts of events.”
He sincerely doubts that.
“Yeah!” Isaac chimes in. “Life of the party Lawrence, that’s what we should call you.”
Arthur’s pretty sure that if he told Beatrice about this new nickname, she’d roll on the floor laughing.
“My apologies.” Both look as if they’re about to protest, so he quickly continues, “Rose and I are quite busy for the next few weeks. Piano recitals, PTA events, traveling to see family…”
That last one isn’t exactly the truth, but no one in the office knows Arthur well enough to know that he doesn’t speak to most of his family.
They’re both frowning at him, so he gives them a cordial, apologetic smile. “And babysitters are so difficult to find this time of year, I’m afraid.”
“That’s the best part!” Paige’s answer is immediate, like this was accounted for. “It’s a family-friendly event this year. And I’m sure everyone would love to meet your daughter.”
Grinning in a way that Arthur is not terribly keen on, Isaac says, “My son’ll be there and he’s around her age, maybe they can share an innocent little kiss under the mistletoe.”
Arthur’s trying to decide on the most polite way to say that he’d sooner quit this job and move countries before letting such a thing happen when, mercifully, their boss steps out of his office and interrupts them.
“Arthur, come see me in my office.”
Shooting one last apologetic look to his coworkers, Arthur gets up from his desk and makes his way to the corner office.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
Mr. Richard’s standing in front of the floor to ceiling windows on the far wall of his office. In the distance the sky scrapers loom, and even from here Arthur can see the abundance of traffic surging around the streets of New York below. At Arthur’s entrance he inclines his head briefly over his shoulder, but otherwise doesn’t turn away from the window.
“It’s about the terms of your promotion we were talking about a few weeks ago.”
Though he maintains a look of complete calm, Arthur’s ears start to ring. That promotion is— well, in all honesty his requests had been on the steeper side: high enough that he had plenty of room to negotiate downwards, but not so high that his bosses would laugh directly in his face.
“I’ve put in a good word for you upstairs. The higher ups have said that they’re willing to offer you the position of Senior Analyst with all of your requests included.”
If Arthur’s ears were ringing before, they’re basically the bell of Notre Dame now.
All of them?
“That’s fantastic, sir.” Somehow Arthur manages to keep his voice perfectly even. “I can’t thank you enough.”
Immediately the math starts running through Arthur’s head. He could put double the amount he’s currently putting in Rose’s savings each month; he could work considerably less overtime, not only putting less strain of Mrs. Sullivan for babysitting, but also getting to spend more time with Rose himself, something he’s been wanting quite severely since his promotion from junior analyst.
He might even be able to put a down payment on that house in Great Neck he’s been eyeing years faster than his initial plan. A house with a yard, a top-rated school system for Rose… it’s some marvel, even to Arthur, that he’s able to keep a politely neutral look on his face and not start doing something uncouth like jumping for joy or salivating in front of his boss.
“You’ve earned it, son.” Mr. Richard has crossed the room now, a smile on his face. However, it’s the sort of smile that tells Arthur he might need to brace himself for the strings attached to this promise. “We’ve all taken notice of how much you sacrifice for the good of the company. The late hours, the few and far between PTO days, the fast pace and low need for guidance— I’ve made sure to mention it all.”
“I’m grateful.”
“That being said, I’m afraid it’s not a surefire thing until the execs give their stamp of approval on it. I do know something you can do for us that would look very good for your end-of-year review, though.”
Arthur braces himself. He’s worked on Christmas before, but this year he’s been severely hoping he could spend some much-needed quality time at home. They don’t need a Christmas tree surrounded by nosey aunts and uncles, by cold and controlling grandparents— if he has his way, he’s going to shower her with all the gifts and cheesy holiday activities that the two of them can bear.
If he has his way.
“Of course,” Arthur replies easily. “What can I do to help?”
Grinning, his boss takes a seat at his desk and beckons for Arthur to do the same in one of the chairs in front of it. When Arthur has, Mr. Richard turns around one of his monitors to show Arthur a client’s portfolio.
“We’ve got something of a last-minute project falling into our laps. It technically can wait until January, but it’s a very big opportunity, and we thought it would be prudent to get a head start on it in case our client ends up deciding to go to another firm.”
Arthur quickly glances over the documents that Mr. Richard shows him, already making mental notes in his head. It’s nothing terribly unusual— a big retail company wanting to expand into smaller cities, to ‘reach untapped markets through clients that have yet to be served.’
“You’d be researching the locations and writing up a report of potential real estate options,” Mr. Richard explains. “There’s a few areas they’ve provided, but they’re all around the same places upstate. Small towns, cheap land, little competition on the sales front. I can send the details to your inbox.”
Arthur nods. “Of course. What’s the timeline that the client would prefer?”
“Sometime in the next few weeks. We’d pay for travel expenses, of course, and overtime pay for any work you might do during the holidays.” With a look that, professionally, Arthur would call sympathetic, but, realistically, he’d call condescending and with no room for debate, Mr. Richard adds, “You don’t have to work the entire time, of course. I was thinking you could even take your daughter with you. Find a warm hotel and spend a white Christmas up north, if that sounds appealing. I’ve already put in a request with finance for a budget that includes a bit of childcare pay— and a second that includes extra travel expenses instead, if you’d rather drive back and forth.”
Again Arthur simply nods as he takes in the information. Christmas away from home isn’t necessarily the festive, loving atmosphere he had been planning, but maybe it would be better this way. Instead of decorating the apartment they could find a hotel with a giant tree in the lobby, and a town with activities that Arthur and Rose can participate in when he’s not working. She could socialize with other children her age…
“I’ll have to double check my schedule as far as which travel option we go with. But either way, I’m sure it can be done.”
“Perfect. We can circle back at the end of the week to finalize the details.” Mr. Richard smiles again, though he’s already turned his monitor around and started glancing at other things. Vaguely, Arthur wonders just how sure his boss was that he would accept. What would he do if Arthur had turned the project down?
Well, not that he would. He’ll have to talk to Rose, of course, but the promotion stands as a bright light at the end of a long tunnel.
****
“A real Christmas tree?” Rose asks from the back seat. Arthur doesn’t have to check his rearview to know that her eyes are gleaming. “Not the plastic kind?”
“Oh yes. I’m sure we’ll find several.”
The company car is big enough to easily fit all of their luggage and then some— including the surprise gifts that Arthur has snuck between boxes of ‘work stuff.’ The drive has mostly been a pleasant sort of uneventful, leaving a lot of room for singing along to Disney songs, and Rose gaping out the window as the roads turn curvier, the mountains around them looming taller.
“How tall is it gonna be? Your height?”
“Definitely taller.” Arthur smiles at the way Rose’s eyes are practically sparkling. “I’d venture somewhere around nine feet.”
“Wow…”
Arthur’s not completely certain that Rose knows the specifics of how tall that is, exactly, but her voice is full of wonder regardless. It warms Arthur’s heart, as much as it also gives him a pang of guilt for only using fake trees in the past. Next year he’s going to figure out a way to get a real tree up fourteen flights of stairs and through the front door of their apartment.
“Oh! Papa, louder please!”
He turns up the volume, allowing the Frozen soundtrack to ring throughout the car. At the same time he ups the speed on his windshield wipers, as the snow around them starts to fall heavier. The GPS says they’ve got about an hour and a half left on their drive, and Arthur hopes the weather can wait at least that long before deciding to throw a full-blown snowstorm their way.
“Papa, when a duet comes on you have to sing too, okay?”
Arthur fights off a slightly awkward cough. “Of course.” He’s never been the most keen on singing— to be perfectly plain, he has no talent whatsoever when it comes to music outside of enjoying listening to it— but nearly all of the books he’s read on child development emphasize how useful and important music is for the young brain. That, and, Rose asks for so little to begin with that he has a hard time saying no to her when she does request something.
So that’s how the next half hour of their drive goes, with Rose serenading him and Arthur chiming in whenever there’s a second part to sing— whether that be reindeer, emotionally distant sister, or rock trolls.
The singing, at least, happens mostly on autopilot for his part, the better part of his brain focusing on navigating the increasingly narrow and snow-covered roads. The further north they drive the heavier the snowfall and winds get, until evening is falling on them and it’s getting to a point where Arthur has to turn on his high-beams to be able to see ten feet in front of him.
“Wow.” Rose sounds awestruck, even though she’s lived in New York for the better part of life. “There’s soooo much snow. Papa, how can you see through it to drive? Is it because of your glasses?”
“I’m afraid I can’t actually see very well.” He turns on his hazards and checks the GPS again. The hotel he booked is still about an hour away; based on the weather report he read earlier the snowstorm shouldn’t last all night, though to be completely fair the weather hadn’t mentioned snow heavy enough to be a storm at all.
“So how do you drive if you can’t see?”
Arthur laughs a little wryly. “Very carefully.”
He sees a sign signaling a town within the next few exits, so when the time comes he gets off the highway and drives into ‘Selphia.’ Vaguely he recognizes the name as one of the towns in the area with available real estate listed by their client, though it hadn’t been on his initial list to stop at. Regardless, a few miles later he’s at a red light and can make out a large, ostentatious restaurant sign.
“Are you hungry for dinner?”
“Mhm!” When Rose sees the sign for the restaurant, she asks, “Do you think they use Le Creusets?”
Arthur chuckles. “I’m sure you could ask.”
With that decided he makes for the parking lot as soon as the light turns green.
****
“Th-thank you!” Vishnal says between chattering teeth as Frey holds the door open for him.
She nods in response, then looks back over her shoulder one last time as the door starts to close behind her. “It’s really coming down out there all of a sudden isn’t it?” She stretches out her arms, sighing in relief as her joints pop and crackle in response.
“It’s that time of year again,” Vishnal responds miserably. Then he gives her outfit another look-over and sighs. “I really don’t know how you do it, Frey. If I wore that I think I’d freeze to death before I even spent five minutes outside.”
She glances down at her outfit: green-dyed denim overalls a buttoned-up red flannel shirt. While it’s by no means summer attire, it is true that she’s easily wearing half the layers Vishnal is, if not more. Then she looks up and grins at him. “Maybe it’s my warm, holiday spirit keeping me all toasty inside?”
She holds the straight face for as long as she can before the two of them start bursting out into laughter.
“That’s not fair!” Vishnal gets out between laughter as the two of them make their way to a table. “I’ve got holiday spirit too! Why can’t that keep me warm?”
“I think you’ll have to ask Santa that. Hi Meg!” She waves at where Meg sits in front of her piano, who shoots her a smile back.
When the pair sit down, Frey takes in the room around her. It’s not very busy for a Friday evening. As far as locals go, Kiel is sitting only a chair away from them, studying a book while absently picking at his plate of food, and Nancy and Jones are in their own little world a few more chairs down. Otherwise, the only other diners are tourists— either taking up the handful of two-person tables around the restaurant, or huddled up in their own groups at the far end of the communal table that spans most of the room.
“Not too many people got in before the storm?” Vishnal asks, making Kiel look up.
Kiel smiles readily, clearly not perturbed at all for being interrupted. Then, as if being reminded for the first time in a while where he is, Kiel looks around the room. “I guess not!” Then he looks out the window on the opposite wall, as if also taking in the weather for the first time. “I hope Forte got home okay… I should check on her.” He takes out his phone and starts to text.
“Hello Frey, Vishnal.” Porcoline sweeps across the floor to their table with a flourish, smiling brightly as he looks down at the new pair. “What a pleasure it is to have the both of you dining with us today. What splendiferous dish may I get each of you started with today?”
“You’re trying out being a waiter today?” Frey asks.
“Yes, well, the kitchen is dreadfully slow at the moment, so I thought I’d try front of house tonight.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Honestly, I don’t see why Dylas dislikes it so much— talking to people is an absolute delight!”
Frey and Vishnal share a look, and almost start laughing again.
The meal passes in a normal, comfortable haze. She and Vishnal chatter about work, Kiel fills them in about the latest pieces of town gossip, Meg comes over for a short break in between songs to let them rub at her pregnant belly, trying to feel for baby kicks. The fireplace at the end of the room is crackling and warm, and Frey is struck with an odd mix of feelings— content that she’s found such a home here in Selphia, and a little melancholy as she thinks about all the years she didn’t have anyone to spend the holidays with. And then irritation, hot and uncomfortable, washes over her as Frey remembers the person she had been spending her Decembers with the last few years.
Even this many months after breaking up with Robert, Frey still catches the overly-searching looks in her friends eyes, the lingering touches on her arm, the plentiful reminder that they’re around if she wants to talk. She’s grateful. Of course she is. But not for the first time this year, she wishes everyone could just forget everything about Robert, and that the rest of Selphia could too.
She loves everyone, and she knows they mean well, but sometimes the abundance of sympathetic looks, that she knows aren’t pity but still kind of feel like it, gets to be too much to her, until Frey feels claustrophobic in her own skin.
So, she does her best to ignore it. She does her best to pretend she doesn’t catch her friends gazing at her in concern when they think she isn’t paying attention. She does that now, too. Meg lingers just a bit longer by the side of Frey’s chair, as if not wanting to go back to her piano, until Frey practically shoos her away with a slightly exaggerated smile. Vishnal stares just a little bit longer than necessary at her as she tries to ask Nancy and Jones if their tree is doing well.
Frey acts immune to all of it, to all of her own worries and the way Robert still manages to linger on her mind, like if she ignores it enough it will all actually go away.
Frey’s absently listening to Kiel and Vishnal talk about a book they’d both read recently when she hears the sound of the front door opening.
She glances up from her food out of habit. To her surprise, it’s not locals that walk in but a well-dressed stranger who looks to be about her age, with blonde hair and a beige coat dusted in a layer of snow. Standing slightly behind him, though she’s too tall to really be able to hide behind his legs like it seems she wants to, is a young girl who looks like she could nearly be a copy-pasted version of him. Are they siblings? The age gap between them seems a bit large for that, but he also looks too young to be her parent.
“Welcome!” comes Porcoline’s boomingly friendly voice from somewhere behind Frey. “Sit wherever you’d like, I’ll be with you in just a moment!”
Frey knows it’s rude to stare, but she can’t quite get herself to stop. Maybe it’s that she’s lived here long enough that she knows just about everyone in this town, and a new pair of tourists is always interesting; maybe it’s that the blizzard has gotten so bad outside that Frey honestly didn’t expect anyone else to come in tonight until it all blows over; or maybe it’s just something in particular about the willowy man standing at the front of the restaurant, analyzing all the tables like there’s some secret code about the best place to sit.
And the kid looks like she’s torn between wanting to keep hiding behind the man’s legs and wanting to sprint directly to… Frey follows her gaze, and over her shoulder sees the Christmas tree that she had just put up a few days prior in the corner of the room, near the piano. Is that what the kid is so excited over?
It’s… honestly, it’s adorable. Frey’s not sure she’s ever seen someone look so shy and eager all at once.
For just a second the blonde man catches her eye, and that’s when Frey finally has the social wherewithal to stop staring like a weirdo. Her cheeks flush a bit as she goes back to eating her food with renewed vigor.
Despite that, a few moments later she hears the sounds of footsteps coming closer, and can’t help but look upwards once again. Out of the corner of her eye she spots the man and the child sitting at the closer end of the table, a few chairs away from anyone else and in perfect view of the tree. They both take off their outer coats and drape them over the back of the chair at the same time, elegantly pull back and sit down in the chairs without making any noise, and study the menus with the same serious look.
Frey has to hold back a laugh. God they’re adorable.
Though Frey does mostly keep her eyes on her food, she can’t help but listen in when Porco walks up to the pair. She doesn’t have to see his face to know he’s wearing one of his absolutely blinding smiles.
“Welcome, my darlings! My name is Porcoline, I’ll be your server for the evening. Is there anything I can get you started with?”
“Some water, please, and a hot green tea for me.” The man has a surprisingly soft tone of voice, and it turns even softer still when he glances at the girl next to him. “Rose? Would you like anything else?”
“Could I… have a hot chocolate, please?”
“Of course you can, my sweet little angel. Do either of you have any questions about the menu, or shall I leave you two to it?”
There’s a stretch of silence, and when Frey looks up she sees that the man is looking at the girl— Rose— patiently. Rose’s cheeks are flushed pink, but after getting a small, encouraging smile from the man next to her she seems to muster up the courage to ask, “Do you have any specials?”
The cooing noise that Porcoline lets out is almost bird-like in its intensity. “What an absolutely splendiferous question, little one. Our soup de jour is French onion, and our seasonal dishes are…”
Porcoline goes on to list all of the specials, and Rose seems to shed a bit of her shyness as she asks questions about just about everything. Porcoline, of course, is more than happy to comply, and he’s at the table for about five minutes happily chatting away about the menu, where he sources the ingredients, what dishes he would personally recommend (which is, in fact, just about everything on the menu), and even down to what brand of cookware they use.
Whenever there’s something that Rose doesn’t know, she turns to the blonde man, who patiently explains every time. Croquembouche is a dessert made of a stack of pastry puffs, so you should save that one for dessert. Yes, you can have the pasta with wine sauce because the alcohol cooks away. Steak tartare mostly consists of diced raw beef, but I think you’re not quite at the age to eat that one yet.
Even after their food orders are taken, Rose’s questions continue, and the man answers each one. They’re not speaking loudly by any means— honestly, if the restaurant had any more people the background noise would probably swallow them up. Still, Frey may or may not strain her ear a little to keep listening.
Rose asks about anything and everything: the quality of the wood table, what does he think of the candlesticks on the table, what type of piano is that, why does the piano bench not have back support?
Eventually the topic shifts to Frey’s line of work, and she can’t help but let her ears perk even more curiously.
“How tall is that Christmas tree, do you think?”
“Hm… It’s a bit difficult to tell from here, but I’d say about six, maybe seven feet?”
“Do you think we could find out exactly?” Roses eyes seem to be glittering with particular interest on this topic. “And maybe how old the tree is? And how long it took to decorate? And what it smells like?”
The man huffs out a quiet, fond laugh. “You have seen a real Christmas tree before, you know.”
“But did I smell it?”
“I would imagine so.”
“But if I didn’t know I was smelling it, then I didn’t know what the smell actually was, so that doesn’t really count.”
Another breath of laughter. “I suppose so. Perhaps if you ask very politely, you can examine the tree after dinner.”
“Okay.” A pause. “Are you sure it’s six feet tall?”
And, well. Frey really can’t help but jump in this time. Maybe she can blame it on being so used to small-town living, where all of Selphia’s residents know each other and anyone jumps into just about anyone’s conversation at any given time.
“It’s six foot eight, to be exact.” When Rose’s eyes meet Frey’s, the young girl startles a bit, her cheeks growing warm. ‘Way to stick your nose in someone else’s business,’ a voice in Frey’s head that sounds like Robert’s says. But instead of looking away, Rose gets that same shy-but-eager look on her face from earlier. “Normally it’d be a bit taller for a ceiling this height, but Porco really likes that big tree-topper he has, so we always cut the base down a few inches for him. And it’s about eight years old.”
“Wow…” Rose turns to the man beside her. “It’s older than I am!”
However, the man is staring at Frey now too; not unkindly, per se, but with the sort of perfect neutrality that Frey can’t read at all.
“I’m Frey, by the way,” she supplies quickly, fighting off an awkward blush from crawling up her neck. Remembering for the first time in a while that she’s not alone, she also gestures at Vishnal and Kiel, who have paused their conversation at this point. “And this is Vishnal. Sorry to butt in— we both work at the local tree farm. So if you have any other questions, I’m more than happy to answer. Oh, and that’s Kiel. He sort of just knows a lot of things in general.”
Kiel and Vishnal both give a small wave.
Rose pays little attention, instead all but gaping at Frey. “You work at the farm where the Christmas trees grow? All the time?”
Vishnal pitches in this time. “November and December are our busy season, of course, but there’s work to be done year-round.”
Rose goes quiet as she seems to process that information.
After a subtle nudge from Arthur, Rose’s cheeks turn red again as she goes on to say, “O-oh! Um, hello. My name is Rose. Thank you Frey and thank you Vishnal for answering my questions.”
“It’s no trouble,” Vishnal replies easily.
“We’re happy to answer any other questions you have, too,” Frey adds on. “Our farm actually offers tours, if you two are interested. How long are you staying?”
As easily as if she’s talking about her favorite color, Rose replies “Our timeline is about until the end of Q4.”
Silence falls over the table. It’s broken by the blonde man, making a proper expression for the first time since he walked in, which looks to be a mixture of fond and abashed. “I… Probably should take less work calls at home, shouldn’t I.”
The three adults chuckle at that, as Rose simply blinks at them.
“She is right, though. I’m Arthur.” He gives a polite nod in their direction. “We were actually headed a bit further north, before we decided to pull over and try to wait out the storm. But we will still be in the general area for the next three weeks or so.”
“You should stay here!” Kiel replies quickly. “There’s a hotel not too far away, and it’s got a great view of the Adirondacks. Though they do get pretty busy this time of year…”
Then Porcoline appears all of a sudden, setting down Rose and Arthur’s dishes in front of them. “He’s right, of course— Selphia is such a lovely town, you won’t find more holiday cheer anywhere else. I have two studio apartments upstairs that I usually rent, and one of them is vacant. You’re welcome to take it for the duration of your stay.”
As Arthur seems to take this into serious consideration, Rose pipes up with, “Does it have a Christmas tree in it?”
“Tragically it doesn’t at the moment,” Porco responds, “But it absolutely could.”
“We can make sure of that,” Frey supplies, and she feels Vishnal nodding vigorously behind her.
Rose is staring at Arthur so hard that it’s a wonder his hair doesn’t catch on fire. “Could we, papa?”
Papa, Frey thinks with some surprise. So he is her father.
He seems awfully young to be a father— that is to say, Arthur looks like he can’t be any older than Frey, and she couldn’t imagine having a child right now, let alone one that’s already around eight years old. Of course, different strokes for different folks but…
Does that mean it was probably a teen pregnancy? Frey has to make an effort not to cringe openly at herself. Gah— stop it. Let’s not stick our nose any further into their business than we already have.
“I… will take that into consideration,” Arthur says at length. “Thank you all very much for the hospitality.” He glances over at Rose. “How about we finish dinner first, and then we can decide?”
She nods quickly, and begins eating with a level of determination usually reserved for winning olympic medals or going to war.
After writing some information down on a sticky note for Arthur in a fluffy, glittery pen that he pulls out from his apron pocket, Porco drifts away.
Arthur soon starts eating as well, while also seeming to pull up the information Porco gave him on his phone. There’s a casual, easy elegance to all of Arthur’s movements that for whatever reason have Frey’s attention completely captured.
“So, what’re you guys doing in the area, if you don’t mind me asking?” And, uh-oh. Kiel’s got that gleam in his eye as he asks, and Frey and Vishnal share a look. She almost wants to warn the stranger— Arthur— of Kiel’s well-meaning but indomitable thirst for gossip.
Still, Arthur seems not to mind too much. “I’m here on business. My company… it works largely in real estate, and we have a client who’s considering opening a location here.”
Vishnal and Frey share a look. Is this why Venti…?
Kiel interjects, “Ooh, what sort of client?”
Arthur gives an apologetic look. “I’m afraid I shouldn’t mention it before anything is finalized.”
Rose pipes up, “Like an NDA?”
Arthur opens his mouth and closes it. Then he scratched his cheek a little. “I really should work from home less, shouldn’t I?”
They make small talk for the rest of the meal, and Frey’s shocked at how easy it feels. Instead of feeling like she’s pulling teeth, they all talk about pleasant things like the upcoming holidays, what sort of events Selphia holds, how long the three of them have lived here. Frey can’t help but wonder, was it always like this? Were the years of never being able to get in with Rob’s friends, of never being good enough for his family, of always feeling like she was saying the wrong thing to him… was that the exception and not the norm?
“Papa,” Rose pipes up at one point, practically boring a hole into Arthur’s skull with her stare. “I finished my food. May I go look at the tree now?”
“I don’t see why not. But do you still want to try croquembouche for dessert?”
Rose shakes her head. “I’d like to smell the tree.”
Arthur’s mouth does a fond twitch. “Just please be careful not to knock it over, or to hurt yourself.”
“Would you like us to join?” Kiel asks.
Vishnal adds, “I can show you how we know a tree is ready to be harvested.”
“Yes please!”
“After you, princess,” Vishnal says gallantly standing up from his seat.
Practically shining with excitement, Rose gets up in a hurry, tacks on a quick “Pleaseexcusemethankyou,” to those still at the table, and beelines it to the Christmas tree, with Vishnal and Kiel following behind. They wave at Meg as they come close, who’s just finishing up another song.
Frey hears something that almost sounds like an amused huff, and turns to see Arthur looking after Rose.
He turns and catches Frey’s eye, and there’s something terribly endearing in the amusement that crinkles his otherwise serious eyes around the edges. “She has seen a real Christmas tree before, I promise you. We may have a fake one at home, but I have pictures of her in front of the Rockefeller Center tree.”
“But,” Frey counters, her own lips twitching, “she’s never seen a Selphian tree. They’re special, here.”
“Is that so?”
“If you’d like to see for yourselves, you two should come by for the tour. Porco can give you the address. If— if you end up staying here, I mean. If not, it’s called Selphia’s Merry Tree Lot, it’s very hard to miss.”
Arthur glances back over at Rose and the others. Though his glasses get caught in the light, obscuring his eyes, Frey doesn’t miss the very soft look on his face. “I think we’ll certainly have to stop by.”
And she doesn’t know why, but some feeling of premonition stirs in Frey’s chest somewhere. This holiday season is going to be extra special.
Oh gosh, I'll be real? Not a single song I could actually name LOL. I can't listen to music with lyrics while I write, so I almost exclusively play any sort of "lofi jazz study/writing music" video I can find on Youtube. In the last quarter of the year I listened to a TON of music on Pomodoro timer videos, my favorite account of which being Pomodorokafe.
28. If this were an awards show, who would you thank?
First of all I'd like to thank the academy and-- no haha, JK. I'd thank all my friends! My roommates put up with me furiously typing in the living room all the time, my boyfriend helped me with footnote codes, my friends gave me advice on writing for various topics AND let me rant and rage about fanfic soooooo often (TRULY so so often. Cannot overstate enough. How talkative and annoying I've been over the Hallmark fic).
Personal friends like @emohell and @punkaraoke in particular put up with a lot of my ramblings and gave me a lot of encouragement. @randomstarmuffin was the absolute GOAT just in general for talking about anything RF4 related AND/OR fic related, and helped me a bunch with writer's block, encouragement, figuring out plotholes, beta-reading etc.
And then ofc my very kind mutuals on tumblr who were really sweet about chatting about stuff on my posts, especially that poll I did for the hallmark cover art and whatnot. I love the RF community in particular so much. Some particularly lovely moots are ofc you Beck, @/corrinthefrog, @/cloudyhearts, @/idoltina, @/twofacedlovers, and more!! And then there's discord servers I haven't been terribly active in this year (social battery at a perpetual 5% this year sdasdfasdf) but are still full of absolutely lovely people like Runey Season and the Rune Factory Fic Writers
2025 AO3 Wrapped! This is such a fun idea, I love stats. It was a comparatively slow year for me, but I still had a lot of fun with what I did write, and I hope to do more next year when my life has settled down! Also for anyone who wants to laugh with me: of that 155k words, 135k were for one single fic. Haha. Hehe. asdfasdf.
