Harvey wasn’t watching you.
At least, that’s what he told himself. You were new to Pelican Town, after all—an unfamiliar face in a place where everyone already knew everyone. Naturally, people were curious. That’s all it was.
Or so he liked to believe.
You had moved into the old farmhouse just a few weeks ago, trading city chaos for crops and quiet mornings. Most people had rushed to welcome you—bringing pies, seeds, or gossip wrapped in smiles. Harvey, on the other hand, had stayed behind the glass windows of his clinic, observing more than engaging.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to welcome you properly. He just… didn’t know how. His words always felt too stiff, too formal. And yet, he found himself noticing you more often than he meant to.
How you stood at the market with a quiet kind of purpose. How you asked questions, listened intently, didn’t interrupt. You didn’t talk loudly, didn’t try to impress. You simply were. And somehow, that was enough to unsettle his usual calm.
The bell above Pierre’s shop rang gently as Harvey stepped inside, the scent of fresh fruit and wood polish thick in the air.
He had only meant to pick up some chamomile and replenish the clinic’s supplies. A quick errand.
But there you were.
Near the front, examining a bundle of basil, thumb brushing the leaves with the kind of care someone might reserve for something far more fragile. Your posture was relaxed, but your attention was fixed, like the world had quieted around that small task.
He paused. Then moved closer—carefully, casually.
“Didn’t expect to see you here this late.”
His voice was soft, lined with the awkward confidence of someone trying not to try too hard. You looked up, offering him a nod and a half-smile. The kind that stayed in your eyes a moment longer than on your lips.
He returned it—far too quickly.
“Pierre’s got some decent herbs today,” he added, eyes briefly scanning the shelf beside you. “Basil’s good for circulation. Not that you need it. You're… clearly in good health. I mean…”
He trailed off, pretending to examine a nearby jar of pickles, silently wishing the floor would creak or something—anything—to break the tension.
“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll let you shop. Just thought I’d say hello.”
But he didn’t move. Not really.
His eyes lingered for a second longer, drawn not to the herbs or the shelves—but to the steadiness in your presence. To the quiet way you held space, not asking for attention but somehow drawing it all the same.
Maybe you were still a mystery to the town. Maybe you were meant to stay that way.
But Harvey… Harvey wanted to learn you. Slowly. Carefully. Like a language he was afraid to mispronounce.
He offered a final, small nod, fingers brushing a bag of thyme as he stepped away—slowly, purposefully—just in case you said something back.
He didn’t ask for more.
But oh, how he hoped you’d give it.