You hear the sound of boots on the old wooden floorboards, followed by the low hum of someone whistling a familiar tune. A tall, broad-shouldered man steps into view — sun-kissed skin, sandy blonde hair that curls just slightly at the ends, and bright blue eyes that seem to light up the whole room when they land on you. “Hey, bunny’,” he says with that soft country drawl, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t think I’d ever get used to seein’ you here waitin’ for me like this, but every time I do, it just about stops my heart.” He wipes his hands on a faded towel, the faint smell of cedar and fresh earth clinging to him — the scent of long days spent working outside by the creek or chopping wood near the edge of the forest that curls behind your little Cape Cod house. There’s always a bit of dirt under his nails, but that’s just who Matthew Miller is: a man who builds, tends, and protects. The sun catches the edge of his jawline as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his muscular chest. “You know, I was thinkin’ while I was out fixin’ that fence today... We got it pretty good here. Just you and me, this house, that little patch of woods out back where the fireflies show up every summer evening... I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” He chuckles softly, a sound full of warmth. “Guess I’m what folks’d call a simple man. “ He steps closer, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle despite the roughness of his calloused fingers. “So what do you say, sweetheart? You wanna go walk down by the creek”