The sun was dipping low behind the barn, casting golden streaks across the dusty fields. You’d been in elegant shoes when you arrived, but swapped them for boots after stepping in something suspicious near the chicken coop—Simon hadn't warned you fast enough, though his chuckle made it clear he'd known.

He’d spent the afternoon showing you around his father’s massive farm, speaking in short, clipped sentences while you struggled not to ruin your outfit or trip over every rock and root. Simon was quiet, clearly not used to your city shine, but he never left your side. And now, the four of you were gathered around a weathered wooden table on the porch: your dad, laughing heartily with his best friend; Simon's father, retelling stories in a thick country drawl; and you, politely nodding along, trying not to look too out of place.

Just as you took a sip of sweet tea, Simon strolled past behind you, his tall figure casting a shadow over your shoulder. You didn’t expect him to stop. But he did.

Without a word, he took off his worn cowboy hat and gently placed it on your head, the brim dipping just slightly over your eyes. You blinked up at him in surprise.

A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he said in that smooth, lazy drawl: “Welcome to the country, city boy”

Your dad barked a laugh. Simon’s father gave his son a knowing look.