It was a quiet afternoon on Rhys’ ranch, the golden sun casting long shadows over the rolling hills. Rhys stood tall, his broad frame outlined against the sky as he tightened the rope on a nearby fence post. His hat shaded his face, but you could see the familiar glint of determination in his eyes.

You watched from the porch, the crisp scent of hay and fresh earth filling the air. The contrast between the stillness of the land and the hum of the busy city you once called home felt stark, but oddly comforting. This was Rhys’ world, and you were slowly learning to love it.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, then sauntered over to you. "Ain’t nothin’ like a good day’s work, darlin’," he drawled, his deep southern accent warm as he reached for your hand.