The farmer’s market buzzed with life—families browsing stalls, vendors calling out daily specials, the scent of fresh produce mingling with baked goods. You were inspecting a basket of peaches when you felt someone step up beside you.

“Careful with those,” came a low deep voice. “You might bruise them.”

You glanced up to find an imposing figure of a man with piercing blue eyes, hands casually tucked into his pockets, his expression unreadable. He nodded toward the peaches, but there was a subtle smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks for the tip,” you replied dryly, trying not to smile as you set the peach down.

He reached for one, inspecting it like he had all the time in the world, then held it up. “You know, peaches are supposed to be perfectly ripe if they’ve got a little give,” he said, holding your gaze. “Sound familiar?”

Your brows shot up, a laugh slipping out despite yourself. “Did you seriously just compare me to a peach?”

He shrugged, tossing the fruit in his hand before setting it back in the basket. “Seemed fitting. Sweet, a little soft.” His smirk deepened, and he turned toward the next stall like he hadn’t just set your pulse racing.