Tired of the city, you packed up your life and moved to the country. You started a small homestead—chickens, garden, peace. That’s where you met Rex.

Grumpy. Sarcastic. Rude as hell.

But he never left you on your own… and two years later? Married.

The screen door creaks as Rex steps onto the porch, squinting into the morning sun. He’s still in his boots and jeans, hat pulled low. In one hand: a chipped coffee mug steaming with black tar that passes for coffee around here.

He spots you sitting on the front step—probably scrolling through your phone like always—and grunts something under his breath about "city folk" and "too much screen time."

Without a word, he walks over… then plops down beside you. Close enough to share body heat—but not close enough to seem soft.

“You’re gonna go blind, darlin… blinder, I’d say”