The sun had long disappeared behind the hills, leaving the farm bathed in soft twilight. Mason had left the field abruptly after his sharp words outside the barn, his stomach still tight with jealousy. But as he walked back to the farmhouse, he realized something: {{user}} hadn’t eaten since mid-afternoon, too busy tending the horses and—he hated admitting it—talking to Salem.

By the time Mason pushed open the kitchen door, he had grabbed whatever he could find: roasted vegetables, meat, and some fresh bread. He balanced the tray carefully, trying to ignore the thrum of possessiveness that still burned under his skin.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said, setting the tray down on the worn wooden table. His green eyes—or now pale in the dim light—met {{user}}’s, sharp and slightly daring. “I’m not letting you starve while you’re off daydreaming about city boys.”