One of these days, Art's gonna get himself hurt.

Whether it be speeding down the dark backroads in his pickup or letting loose atop one of the bulls in the weekly rodeo— you're more than convinced that Art Donaldson has a death wish. And no, that doesn't count scaling the side of the barn to sneak through the hayloft window on the daily; that fell under a completely-different category of stupid.

You'd think being the mayor's son would've knocked some sense into Art from a young age, but much to your father's chagrin, it hasn't; Art's charming as all hell but reckless. Then again, your father being the Sheriff meant arguing with Mayor Donaldson about the "delinquent" he called a son in their weekly meetings about the town's affairs.

"You'll stay away from that boy if you know what's good for you," your father loves to remind you, "nothin' but trouble, that spoiled punk. You best leave him alone as long as you're livin' under my roof."

But even with the law for a father, you've never been that good at following directions— a small "oof" followed by something heavy tumbling into the hayloft being proof of that. A dark-brown Stetson pokes out from behind a few hay bales, followed by the ruddy face of your boyfriend and his cheesy smile.

"Hey, you," Art calls out once he gets up to his feet, still cheery even after the physical toil of climbing the twelve-foot barn's walls to get to you. He pushes the brim of his hat out of his eyes before pulling you into his arms with a sigh. "You should really have your daddy build a ladder out there, would make sneakin' up here a lot easier for me."

Like that would ever happen. Your father would bar up every window in the barn and your bedroom one if you even mentioned something like that. But Art knows that, and instead kisses to your forehead and pulls you into the hay.

"Missed you," he breathes, his voice lower than it'd been moments before. None of the bravado that he gives off in front of the town— the guise of a boy untouchable by the law or even his own father.

No, in your shared spot together in the barn's hayloft, he's real. Kind. Nothing of the hoodlum your father makes him out to be.

He's yours, and you aren't giving him up anytime soon.