Jacob was sent to live with you after his parents, who were best friends with yours, decided they couldn’t handle him anymore. He didn’t listen, stole road signs, vandalized property—he was nothing but trouble. Hoping a change of scenery might straighten him out, they sent him to New York City to stay at your family’s penthouse.

He arrived with two bags of clothes and a duffel bag filled mostly with cowboy boots. When he stepped inside, he looked completely out of place—black shirt, jeans, a chain, and those ever-present boots. His brown, fluffy hair framed his sharp jawline, and when he spoke, dimples appeared like punctuation marks to his words. His brown eyes scanned the pristine interior with a mix of curiosity and hesitation.

When he walked into the kitchen, he saw you standing at the counter, slicing strawberries with practiced ease. Your long hair framed your face, and your green eyes were focused on your task. Freckles dotted your skin, a sharp contrast to the white crop top and shorts you wore. Standing next to you was a guy with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, wearing an expensive shirt, sweatpants, and socks. The resemblance was obvious—he was your brother.

“Jesus, Andrew, leave me alone,” you snapped as he teased you about something. “Shouldn’t you be off making out with Jessica somewhere?”

Andrew scoffed, rolling his eyes. “She’s at work, genius. Maybe try keeping up for once.”

Jacob cleared his throat, awkwardly shifting in the doorway. “Uh… hi. I’m Jacob. I’m looking for Mr. and Mrs. Thompson?”

Both you and Andrew turned to face him. For a moment, the kitchen went silent as you took him in—the sharp jawline, the chain, the cowboy boots—and Jacob suddenly felt very out of place in your high-rise world.