Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part 1

"Are we in trouble?" Sara asked as soon as Jane, the farmer’s market organizer, was gone.

“No. She’s just disappointed, I guess. That, or she thinks we’re too dumb to know our booth looks like shit, and is trying to subtly tell us,” Simon said with a sigh. “Yeah, obviously. Having a lot of trays full of product out front looks nice at first, but once shit sells the booth looks empty. And we already knew we needed a better sign."

"Sorry I forgot to get the poster board. I did remember eventually, but we didn't have gas, and I was too nervous to ask Mama. She just-“

Simon hugged his sister before he went to help a customer. He wouldn't have wanted to waste gas driving back to Walmart to make better signs either, and he got why Sara didn't want to ask their mama for help. Cannibalizing a neighbor's old Amazon boxes was the next best thing. They could fill up the car, and pick up some poster board when they went out to shop for ingredients for next week.

Simon was not about to waste a whole week’s worth of profit on a fuck-ass banner like most of the other booth’s had though. Even if they sold out that morning, they were still going to be in the hole once they went shopping for the next week. Simon already had to buy tables, and a fucking canopy, because apparently that was required, but the farmer’s market rules only said they needed to have their business name displayed, and each item clearly priced, either individually, or with signage. They did that, their signage just didn’t look great, but what the fuck did that matter? Their food looked great, and tasted great, and they were two cute kids out doing something productive on a Saturday morning.

Why the fuck did they need a fucking printed, canvas banner?

And, sure, they could’ve asked their mama for start-up money, but Simon and Sara both knew Linda Eriksson was against her children's plan to run a booth at the Oberlin Farmer’s Market. Sure, she helped them pick out recipes, and she didn’t actively try to stop them, but she was unsure why they’d decided to spend so many hours and so much money on their project.

Uh, because they needed money, and selling at the market they would make a decent amount of money.

The start-up costs were bullshit, true, but once they got out of the hole, and covered their weekly grocery expenses, everything else would be pure profit.

Yeah, there was a chance, a decent chance, Simon could’ve made more money serving Friday nights and Saturday mornings, even over the summer when Oberlin was officially a sleepy, little, college town. This was more fun though, and they could do it together. Simon wanted to spend time with his sister. She would spent the entire summer hanging out at the stables, with fucking Marcus, if he didn’t make spending time with her a priority. Plus, the stables paid shit, and Simon knew how much his sister hated asking for money.

And, as long as he was being honest, the co-op grocery store where Simon worked also paid shit, and his serving wages depended almost entirely on tips, which were spotty at best over the summer. He could have a great night out of nowhere, or have a string of really slow ones, with tables who dined and dashed, and a grumpier than usual boss.

Besides, those were just jobs. Maybe Sara liked hers, and Simon didn’t loathe his, but they were just jobs. This was a business. This was something they could take on together, doing something they both enjoyed, and Simon was really looking forward to ‘sacrificing every Friday night, all summer, just to cook with his sister.’

What the fuck else was he gonna do?

Campus cleared out before June, and he’d spent enough summers partying in Oberlin to be kind of over it.

“Your baby boy is turning into an old man,” Simon told his mama as she kissed her children goodbye that morning. “Gonna go mingle with the farmers and hippies, and the hippie farmers. Don’t be shocked if I grow my hair back out, or stop using deodorant this summer.”

“That’s not happening,” Sara joked. “You got organized and tidy ADHD. I got doom piles and forgetful hygiene ADHD.”

“Yeah, but you got sit and ponder quietly ADHD. I got must be in motion ADHD. Win some, lose some.”

It was a good thing Simon didn’t mind being in motion because even on the second Saturday in May, a winter coat and hat was still required because it was fucking snowing. It didn’t matter if it was, ‘just a flurry,’ which Sara so helpfully pointed out. It was fucking cold, and Simon couldn’t wear warm mittens because he was handling food. He kept his hands in his sleeves when he could, and turned up his music a little during the lulls, so he could dance to keep warm.

“It’s a farmer’s market, Simon, not a club.”

“Whatever. I don’t see anybody complaining.”

“Yeah, I’m sure everyone here loves listening to you sing along to your playlist just as much as I do.”

“That guy likes it,” Simon said, pointing to the booth across from theirs. “He can’t take his eyes off me.”

“It’s not Grindr either, Simon. Please swipe left. We don’t need to start drama with anyone here.”

“We’re already the noobs with a shitty looking booth, pulling more than anybody else, so too late, sis! We are the drama.

“Think I can pull him?” Simon asked, nodding at the man who’d had his eyes on him all morning. He was staring especially intently as Simon threw his arms over his head, and turned in a slow circle to the beat of the song playing out of his little, portable speaker.

“Who?” Sara asked, looking up from her book.

Simon waved to the man who was running the booth across from theirs. “Honey.”