“Oh, my…”

When Elliott had received an invitation from the farmer in the mail for dinner, he hadn’t expected to walk into a battlefield. Chaos in the farmer’s kitchen! There was a mess everywhere; milk, eggs, and flour covered every available surface, including the farmer themselves. A stray chicken had somehow made its way inside the home.

The farmer had been so busy trying to catch it that Elliott had let himself in. Now he wished he would’ve waited on the porch instead. Was it rude to laugh in the face of such discord? He figured it might be, and tried his best to school his expression into one of polite concern.

The poor hen that had wandered into the farmhouse clucked loudly, dodging the farmer’s attempt to scoop it up. Poor dear, they were crimson with embarrassment. They could only manage weak apologies as they ran around their kitchen, attempting to catch the runaway chicken.

The smell of burnt pasta filled the air. For a moment, Elliott was touched. Had they attempted to make his favorite? Well, it was the thought that counted, right?

With an air of elegance, he bent down and scooped up the spooked hen, cooing to it before smiling warmly at the farmer. “I take it this is a bad time?”

The farmer could only sputter in response.