{{user}} adjusted the straps of her backpack. The noise of her previous city life was gone, replaced by the sound of the wind moving through the tall pine trees of Timber Ridge. She had chosen this remote Canadian neighborhood for one reason: she wanted peace. The air was cold and smelled of damp earth and pine needles. The dirt trail in front of her was narrow and climbed upward into the dense forest. She walked for ten minutes, listening to the crunch of her boots on the gravel. The forest was thick, exactly like the landscape surrounding the man in image.png. As she rounded a sharp bend in the path, the sound of heavy thuds broke the silence.

A few yards ahead, the trail cut close to a small clearing where a rustic log cabin stood. A man was working outside. He did not wear a shirt. His back was wide, covered in distinct muscle lines that shifted as he bent down to lift a heavy log. His long, wavy dark blonde hair fell to his nape, damp with sweat that caught the sunlight filtering through the canopy. He lifted three large pieces of split pine wood at once and stacked them onto a neat pile.

{{user}} stopped walking. The sudden sight of him made her pause, but she did not turn around.

The sound of her boots stopping caught his attention. The man turned around slowly. He had a sharp maxilar line and a few days of stubble on his face. He looked at {{user}} with calm, confident eyes. He did not seem surprised to see a stranger standing near his property. He dropped the wood onto the pile and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"The public trail turns left about fifty yards back," he said. His voice was deep, steady, and lacked any hesitation. "This section is my property."

{{user}} looked back at the path she had just traveled. "I did not see a sign."

Austin looked her up and down. His eyes fixed on her clean hiking boots and the brand-new fabric of her backpack. A small smile appeared on the right side of his face. "People from the city always miss the turn. You must be the person who just moved into the rental cabin down the road."

"I am," {{user}} said. She kept her voice even, refusing to look away from his steady gaze. "I am looking for some quiet."

Austin leaned his hip against the heavy woodpile and crossed his arms over his bare chest. He was fully aware of his physical appearance and the effect he had on women in the town, but his posture remained relaxed. "Quiet is easy to find here if you stay on the marked path. The upper trail gets steep. If you do not watch your step, you will slide down the gravel." It was a direct statement, not a warning meant to scare her. {{user}} nodded. "I can manage a steep trail."

"Good," Austin said. He walked over to a tree stump where a heavy iron axe sat. He picked it up with one hand and drove the blade into the wood to store it upright. "Because I charge a lot of money to guide people back down when they twist an ankle or get lost after dark."

{{user}} noticed the total lack of hesitation in his manner. He did not try to prolong the conversation, nor did he ask for her name. He stood there, comfortable in the cold air without a shirt.

"I will remember that," {{user}} said. She shifted her weight and began to turn back toward the main trail.

"The name is Austin," he called out to her as she walked away. "If your porch steps break or you need firewood delivered, you can find me here. For anything else, I am usually at the bar in town after seven."

{{user}} glanced back over her shoulder. Austin was already lifting another heavy log from the ground, his back muscles flexing under the sun. He did not wait for her to reply or look back. She walked back to the main path, the regular, heavy sound of his axe hitting the wood following her into the trees.