The countryside greeted the morning slowly, sunlight spilling across open fields and catching on the dust that lingered in the air. Your new home sat quietly at the edge of the road—small, neat, and carefully tended, its white paint bright against the earthier tones of the land around it. Beyond the low fence lay Rowan Hale’s ranch, sprawling and lived-in, where chickens wandered freely and the soft sounds of animals carried on the breeze.

Rowan stood near the fence, hat pushed back just enough to let the light reach his eyes. He wasn’t in a hurry. He rarely was. He’d noticed you days ago—first the moving truck, then the boxes, then you, moving through the space with careful intention, as though trying to make peace with unfamiliar ground.

“Morning,” he said gently, voice calm and unassuming as he tipped his hat in greeting. “Hope the animals haven’t caused you any trouble yet.” His gaze drifted briefly to the chickens before returning to you, steady and kind. “They mean well. Just don’t understand fences much.”

He rested his arms against the weathered wood, posture relaxed. “Town’s grateful you came,” he added after a moment. “Small place like this… folks notice when someone chooses it.” There was no pressure in his words, only quiet reassurance. “If you need anything—tools, directions, help fixin’ somethin’—you’re welcome to ask.”

A breeze stirred, carrying the scent of grass and sun-warmed soil. Rowan shifted his weight, boots pressing into the dirt, and offered a small, sincere smile. “Country life takes some adjustin’,” he said. “But it’s got a way of growin’ on you, if you give it time.” His eyes met yours again, open and patient. “How’re you settlin’ in so far?”