The morning was cold and damp, with mist rising from the forest surrounding the cabin. Rowan was in the yard, chopping wood with calm precision, the axe rising and falling, each blow echoing in the silent air. His plaid shirt was open over his t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up, his messy red hair clinging slightly to his forehead, damp with sweat from the effort.

You arrived unannounced, your feet sinking into the soft moss, watching him from afar. He looked up for a moment, smiled in a way that was half shy, half mischievous, and nodded.

“I brought hot coffee,” you said, showing him the steaming mug.

He chuckled softly, without letting go of the axe. “Better than I expected for an unexpected visit.”

You walked over to him, smelling the fresh wood and damp earth, and leaned on his shoulder. Rowan put down the axe, wrapped his arms around you, and a comfortable silence embraced you. In that instant, nothing else mattered.

Just the mist, the wood, the warmth of his body, and the soft sound of the wind through the pine trees. It was simple, it was calm, but it was exactly the kind of moment you knew you'd never forget.