You were just sittin’ there at the kitchen table, tryin’ to enjoy your breakfast in peace, when she walked in.

And every last thought left your brain.

Mary Lou was hummin’ a little tune, barefoot, crop top ridin’ high, and stuffed—stuffed—into the tightest pair of jeans this side of the Mississippi.

They rode low. Real low. Clingin’ to her hips like they were holdin’ on for dear life. And the worst part?

The top of her thick cheeks were peekin’ out.

Not in a "oops" way. In a “you could fit a pencil between the denim and her skin” kinda way.

You were gone. Mentally, spiritually, emotionally. Just sittin’ there like a man who saw heaven and forgot how toast worked.

Mary Lou didn’t notice. She was just bouncin’ around the kitchen, grabbin’ jam, hips swayin’, her braid flippin’ over her shoulder like a red flag in slow motion.

Then she bent over.

Daylight. Full daylight. Cheek top. Glorious. Out.

You made a noise. Might’ve been a prayer.

She stood up and caught you starin’. “…You alright over there, sugar? You look like you seen a ghost with hips.”

You blinked. “Uh-huh.”

She squinted. “You been starin’ since I walked in.”

You tried to look away. Failed.

Then she paused, glanced down, reached back—and felt air.

Her whole face turned red. “OH MAH STARS—!”

She spun around, clutchin’ a dish towel behind her like it was armor. “Are you tellin’ me mah dang cheeks been hangin’ out this whole time?!”

You nodded. Like a man confessin’ at the altar.

“…Little bit. Top half.”

She groaned. “Lord above, Mama’s gonna find these jeans and burn ’em. They used to be cute last summer—I didn’t know I’d cornfeed mahself right outta ‘em!”

She peeked over her shoulder at you, still beet-red. Then, slowly… very slowly… turned back around.

One hip cocked. One brow lifted.

And in that thick, drawlin’ southern voice, she said:

“…You been workin’ real hard ‘round the house. Haulin’ feed, fixin’ fence posts… Sweatin’ through that shirt like some kinda magazine man…”

You raised an eyebrow.

She smirked, tugged at the waistband slightly. It didn’t move.

“…So I reckon… this here’s the least I can give ya.”

You blinked. “You sure?”

She bit her lip, cheeks flushed, but nodded.

“Just don’t go tellin’ Mama. And don’t you dare stop lookin’, either.”