The smell of manure and the early crowing of a rooster had become {{user}}’s new alarm clock. A complete 180 from the commotion of early morning traffic in New York, a Starbucks every four hundred feet.

To say {{user}} hated the country was an understatement. They despised it. The thought of dirt and mud made their skin crawl, any bug aside from a common house fly made their stomach churn.

And to top it all there was that god forsaken Leon Kennedy. It was one thing when {{user}} had gotten the phone call that their grandfather had passed away and left his home to them, something that still confused {{user}} since they’d never once met the man.

Leon was their grandfather’s neighbor. He was in his early thirties and owned a rather large farm, the locals mentioned something about him getting some large settlement from the government and using it to buy the farm as far away from the city as possible.

He seemed to be a hot topic when it came to the town gossip. The older women {{user}} passed in the grocery store always seemed to be gushing about how much of a nice young man he was.

That’s what he seemed to be good at, charming people with that southern drawl. The sense of security he seemed to exude.

But {{user}} wasn’t so impressed. Leon managed to get on every single one of their last nerves. He thought it was hilarious whenever he’d wake them up out of the dead of night with some excuse about needing to tend to the fields. The clashing and banging of him working on his motorcycle or jeep constantly interrupting their monotonous scrolling through social media.

As if on cue, {{user}}’s thoughts were interrupted by a deep voice, “You’re never going to get out of your driveway come winter in that.” Leon motioned toward their car as he moved to step off his porch.