“What a beauty,” Leon’s eyes lit up the mont he saw the motorcycle. After all, there wasn’t a man alive who didn’t like a good ride.
“Know how to ride it?” Willy asked with a grin, patting his motorcycle.
“Of course,” Leon nodded confidently. “But you’re really willing to lend it to
just to fetch sothing?”
“What’s there to be reluctant about? I hardly use it myself. The engine needs to be run now and then, or it’ll rust. You’re helping
out, really—saves
the trouble.” Willy chuckled.
He pulled a key from his pocket and tossed it over. Leon caught it midair, just in ti to hear Willy’s next words.
“Go and get back quick. I can’t wait to see if those little bugs affect sea fish too. If they do, this could be a huge discovery for the local fishery.”
“Got it, I’ll be right back.” Without wasting another second, Leon swung onto the bike, slid the key in, fired up the engine, squeezed the clutch, and twisted the throttle in one smooth motion. The mont the engine roared to life, he whipped the bike around with a sharp skid and shot off in a cloud of exhaust, disappearing from Willy’s sight.
“What a lively young fellow. Youth really is a blessing,” Willy muttered enviously, watching Leon’s easy skill on the bike.
By then, Leon had already taken the narrow path, crossed the stone bridge, and entered Pelican Town.
Since the spring onions were all packed in his backpack, Leon didn’t bother returning to Red Star Farm. Instead, he headed straight for the Starfruit Saloon. It had been a long while since he’d left in the morning, and lunchti had co and gone—first things first, he needed a al.
Parking outside the saloon, Leon noticed there weren’t many custors inside. Maybe it was because it was midday. Most folks were probably still at work, leaving the place quiet except for Gus, who was behind the bar, nodding off.
“Hey, Gus. Got any good lunch specials today?” Leon called as he stepped inside.
Gus perked up at the sound, and when he saw who it was, his face broke into a warm smile. “Oh, our new farr, Leon! Co on, have a seat.”
Once Leon had settled in, Gus went on, “You should try my spaghetti. Big portions, plenty of calories. Perfect for filling an empty stomach.”
“Spaghetti it is,” Leon agreed easily. When it ca to the eternal “What’s for lunch?” question, he figured trusting the chef was better than overthinking it. Gus’s cooking had never let him down before.
“Alright, give
a minute. Want sothing to drink?” Gus asked.
“No, thanks.” Leon glanced toward the counter but didn’t see Emily.
Catching the look, Gus teased, “Emily won’t be back until this afternoon. If you want to see her, you’ll have to co by tonight.”
Leon didn’t bother to deny it. It wasn’t like it was so big secret. Having a blue-haired beauty around did make a al taste better. That was just how n were—nothing to be shy about.
“Sit tight. I’ll have your lunch out in a mont,” Gus said, heading into the kitchen. The front of the saloon was left completely unattended, and Leon noticed the liquor behind the bar wasn’t even locked up.
The folks in Pelican Town sure were trusting. In a bigger place, leaving a bar like this would be an open invitation for a five-finger discount.
When Gus returned with a steaming plate of spaghetti, Leon dug in happily. After polishing it off, he paid twenty gold for the al, then asked, “Got any plastic bags? I need a big one to carry sothing.”
“I do, but what are you packing?” Gus asked as he cleared the plate.
“So spring onions.”
“That’ll need a crate,” Gus said. He put down the plate and ducked back into the kitchen, reerging with a large foam box.
“Here you go. You don’t want to crush spring onions—they’ll lose their appearance and quality. A roomy foam box will keep them intact,” Gus explained.
“Thanks. How much for the box?” Leon asked, reaching for his wallet, but Gus waved him off.
“It’s just a foam box, worth next to nothing. Take it. Just make sure you drop by for drinks and a chat now and then.”
Leon nodded, thanked him again, and left with the box.
This ti, he rode straight back toward the beach. Before he got there, he stopped at a secluded spot and transferred all the normal-quality spring onions from his backpack into the foam box. Once they were packed, he set off again.
The lunch stop hadn’t taken much ti. Counting the ride there and back, barely half an hour had passed. When Leon returned to the small garage where Willy kept his bike, he found the old fisherman lounging in the shade, pipe in hand.
“Back already?” Willy looked up at the sound of the motorcycle.
“Here.” Leon held up the foam box.
“Well now, didn’t know you and Gus were on such good terms,” Willy said with a raised brow.
“You can tell that just from this?” Leon asked, surprised.
“Of course. These foam boxes are only used at Gus’s saloon. He uses them when he picks up fresh fish from . I always thought they were just for keeping fish fresh—didn’t expect they’d work for plants too.”
After explaining, Willy’s eyes lit up again. “Alright, park the bike and let’s head out. I’ve got the boat and nets ready. If this doesn’t work, we’ll just head to the river in the southern forest to catch so smallmouth bass.”
Leon parked the motorcycle, and once Willy shut the garage’s rolling door, the two of them walked to the dock with the foam box. At the end of the pier, Leon finally saw Willy’s fishing boat.
It wasn’t a big trawler, but a small coastal vessel—about four ters long and two ters wide—powered by a propeller engine. The deck was spacious, with a simple shade over the stern where the engine was, and the biggest feature onboard was a large water tank.
“Let’s go. Target—the coastal waters.”
Thank you for reading!
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