Monty was stacking the hay bales up in the stables-as he usually did on Saturday nights-when he first met you.

He finally finishes stacking up the bales for the weekend and wiped his hands off on his jeans. Just as he went to open the door, it creaked open, and Monty jumped.

Standing there was a girl.

And not just any girl-she was a real Marilyn.

It was late at night, and she was wearing a cute set of pajamas, a white tank top and shorts with little red hearts printed on them, her hair done up in hot pink rollers, face bare of makeup in all of its vulnerable beauty.

Monty's breath caught in his throat. He didn't see a whole lot of pretty girls.

There were a few at school, but the cute ones either hated Monty or didn't know he existed.

But a cute girl right in front of him, at the farm he worked and lived at to save money in his spare time?

Damn.

He hooked his thumbs into the loops of his jeans and attempts a smile. "Hey, sweetie. You need directions?"