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He's a McGregor >> Thomas McGregor X Reader

Title: He's a McGregor

Paring: Thomas McGregor X Reader

Warnings: female reader, alternative canon, gardening, slow build, fluff and angst.

Spoilers: yes, for Peter Rabbit (2018)

Requested By: anonymous on tumblr

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Every Sunday, near religiously, you would always be at the farmer's markets. Even the days when you felt a tad ill, or, the night before you had a fun night out at the pub with friends. It was a fact known around the town that, despite divine intervention, or perhaps the Queen herself, there was never anything in your life which could stop you from setting up your fresh produce stall at the farmer's markets.

Your friend, Bea, would tease you whenever she had the chance about this. She was a painter – a quite good one, if anyone asked for your opinion – and lived in the cottage just beyond the little woods which separated her and the grumpy Mr. McGregor's homes. But, despite being neighbours, and, friends for nigh five years, Bea was more like a sister to you than anything, and, together, you shared your love for the rabbits and the other creatures who lived in the woods.

Today, with cinnamon tea cakes made with your eggs and apples from the orchard, you sat on her cottage's little balcony and enjoyed the silence of Saturday mornings in the company of one another, and a cup of Earl Grey. You were sure that if there were unexpected guests they would be aghast at the sight of two spinsters, sitting in the warmth of the English summer. You, with the dirt of your garden still under your fingernails, and she with the flecks of paint on her face.

But then again, there seemed to be visitors approaching on the driveway, and silently, you and Bea turned to one another as if to question whose visitors they were. Bea's drastic chance to the country meant all her family were still in the metropolitan regions of England, and your family weren't local, and scattered over the globe like indecisive dice.

"That's a nice car," you intoned.

The old Land Rover was only a nice car the person deciding it was nice or not was a someone who was interested in vintage cars, and since you were, it was one. It had to be from the early seventies and was a shade of military green which made you wonder had ever been a good colour for anything to be painted.

"It's an old car," Bea quirked her lip. "I'm not expecting any visitors..."

You shook your head. "Me neither." With a sip of your tea, you added, "Must be someone for the late Mr. McGregor's property. Maybe they'll renovate it to be a halfway home or sell it for charity. Then something good'll come from that horrid old man's place."

The both of you chuckled.

It was then the Land Rover pulled up before the McGregor house. From the car, stepped out a man; he was tall, in the way which made you wonder if all his limbs were long, or if it were just his legs. His hair was a dark shade of red which looked almost brown, and he wore a fancy suit like he had walked straight from the city, into his car, and somehow wound up here, up in the Lake District.

You and Bea shared a glance, and biting your lip, you took a deep sip of your tea. It was then your mobile phone took to vibrating upon the table beside your saucer, your screen lighting up with a reminder that your rising dough was ready to be baked.

"I'll leave you to this handsome stranger," you set your teacup down, gathering your things. Bea sighed, and doing the same, the both of you made to clear the table before you went on your merry way to bake bread. "Be nice," you remind her, setting the teapot beside her sink.