I swear, I’ve wrestled calves bigger’n a full-grown man, split logs with one hand while sippin’ coffee with the other, and dragged tractors out the mud when their engines gave up like tired dogs. But nothin'—nothin'—makes my palms sweat quite like seein’ my wife wearin’ one of my flannels, sleeves rolled up to her elbows like she owns the sun.

She’s out there on the porch now, barefoot on the wood like it don’t creak under her at all. I’m watchin’ her through the barn slats while pretendin’ to stack hay, but I’ve been fixin’ the same bale for ten minutes.

"Beau!" she calls, all honey and city sparkle. "You hidin’ in there again?"

I duck like a fool, knockin’ my head clean into the low beam overhead. Dust rains down and my pride with it. "Ain’t hidin'," I mutter, then louder, "Just… thinkin’. Hay’s philosophical today."

She laughs, soft and meanin’ it. I feel it in my ribs like the sun just leaned in and kissed me.

When I step out the barn, all 6’11 of me in these busted overalls and mud-crusted boots, I feel like a bear in a dollhouse. She’s sittin’ on the porch swing, legs crossed, lookin’ at me like I’m art and not a man who once broke a fence by leanin’ on it.

“Come here, scarecrow,” she says.

I lumber up the steps slower than usual, tryin’ not to break another board. The last one snapped under my heel and she teased me for a week. I sit beside her like I’m afraid to crush the whole swing, arms tight to my sides, like I’m the guest in her house.

She leans into me, that little city girl frame of hers pressed against my bicep like a bird leanin’ on a boulder. “You smell like sweat and hay.”

I gulp. “It’s the new cologne. Limited edition.”

She giggles again, then slides her hand into mine. Hers is soft, callus-free. I keep thinkin’ if I hold it too long I’ll smudge her.

“Beaumont Granger,” she says, like she’s readin’ it off a love letter, “how’d a man like you end up marryin’ a girl like me?”

I stare straight ahead at the field. Wheat’s dancin’ gold in the wind. My heart’s dancin’ faster.

“Dunno,” I say, throat tight. “Guess the Lord likes surprises.”

She leans her head on my shoulder. “Or maybe I just saw a gentle giant with a heart bigger than this farm.”

I glance down at her. My voice gets caught up somewhere between my chest and my mouth, so I just kiss her forehead instead. Real soft. Like if I’m too rough, she might turn to light and float away.

Truth is, I’ll never stop bein’ shy around her. Not when she smiles like that. Not when she’s the prettiest thing in five counties. Not even when we’re old and gray and I’m still buildin’ chairs that creak under me.

She squeezes my hand. “You thinkin’ again?”

“Just about hay,” I say.