It was hard to commit to the ideal of being a recluse when people like Tessa existed. Before he met her, Frank would have been all too satisfied with a life on the farm, with animals as his only friends, and his only human interaction coming from the clients who came to and from his house with sick animals that he was all too happy to fix. But she had barged into his life with a sketchpad and a pencil, and he hadn’t been able to shirk her – not that he really wanted to anymore. She was a bright spot, and perhaps the closest thing he’d had to a real friend, and a real friendly and un-judging presence, than he’d had in quite a long time.
And so he obliged. His arms ached from holding the post up, and his back groaned from freezing at such an awkward angle, but he just couldn’t find it in his heart to deny her this one simple thing. “I dunno how I’d feel about having a picture of my own self in my house,” he chuckled, though he didn’t move otherwise, “Don’t need the mess preserved.” It was true that he had let himself roughen up quite a bit – beard grown, hair mussed, the same four flannels in rotations.
He thrust the post into place, displacing dirt and uprooted grass, before approaching her usual spot, wiping the dirt and sweat from his palms onto his dirtied jeans. Frank took care not to get too close – he was an altogether mess, and she very much was not. He stooped to squint down at the picture, pulling his glasses from his pocket and slipping them onto his sweat-slick nose. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said, grin blooming on his face, “I don’t know how you manage to get the light like –” he gestured vaguely, “– hey now, ya’ even got the horses in the back. You could make real money off this stuff, ya’ know.”
When she had first spotted the quaint farmhouse/makeshift vet clinic, Tessa had almost immediately been charmed by the place from a distance, wistfully wishing she could paint there, until realizing there was no reason she shouldn’t at least try. Frank had been a hard sell at first, given that he seemed to be the type to keep to himself and that she didn’t exactly have much else to offer him besides an impassioned plea and a whole lot of determination. Needless to say, she had grown equally as fond of the farm as she did it’s owner.
“Shut up, Frank, we all know you have the whole ‘lumbersexual’ thing going on for you,” Tessa teased good-naturedly, knowing full well she probably confused the hell out of the poor guy. It was really too easy with him. “Besides, don’t you want a Tessa Bishop original? When I’m a famous painter you can tell everyone you knew me when...” she joked, before beaming as he seemed to like her drawing.
“Yeah, I really wish I could, but unfortunately it turns out it’s a lot harder to make money off of traditional art than it used to be,” Tessa shrugged, “I’m never going to be a millionaire, but I love what I do and I make enough to get by, so I’m happy, you know?” Sure, the hours weren’t always ideal and she would love to quit her job at Crunchies, but over the past few years Tessa had come to make peace with her situation. She liked the freedom of her lifestyle, something she could have never had working a traditional 9-5pm job like her parents had hoped. Still, ever the optimist, she held on to hope that one day her work might go big.
