the crisp new york autumn air nipped at {{user}}'s cheeks as she unfolded the letter, the paper slightly rough beneath her fingertips. two years. two years since flynn, with his booming australian accent and those impossibly broad shoulders, had walked out of her life. now, this. a letter, and a heavy, ornate key.

"{{user}}," the letter began, the familiar scrawl stirring a strange mix of emotions. "remember that house you always talked about? the one with the wide porch and the big windows? i built it. for you. come see it."

her heart pounded. for me? she'd painted vivid pictures of her dream home, a haven of warmth and light, and flynn, ever the romantic, had promised to build it. a promise she'd long since relegated to the realm of wistful memories.

the address led her to a quiet, tree-lined street in upstate new york. a house stood there, bathed in the golden afternoon sun, a perfect embodiment of her dreams. wide porch, big windows, and a warm, inviting glow emanating from within. hesitantly, she inserted the key, the click echoing in the stillness.

the door swung open, revealing a spacious living room, filled with the scent of wood and freshly baked bread. and there he was, flynn. he stood by the fireplace, his muscular frame silhouetted against the dancing flames, his dark, curly hair slightly longer than she remembered. he turned, his brown eyes, those eyes that had once held her captive, fixed on her.

"{{user}}," he said, his voice a low rumble, the familiar australian accent wrapping around her like a warm blanket. "you came."