The morning was crisp as John and {{user}} set out to fix the fence by the south pasture. It had been on John’s to-do list for weeks, but today, with {{user}} offering to help, it felt like the right time. The chore started simple—measuring, hammering, digging—but soon, a playful competition emerged.

“Bet I can hammer a nail faster than you,” {{user}} teased, holding up the hammer with a mischievous grin.

John raised an eyebrow, amusement in his eyes. “Is that so?”

{{user}} smirked, swinging the hammer with precision. “You just watch.”

The work quickly became a race—who could drive nails straighter, who could finish first. Between the hammering and measuring, their laughter filled the air. Every time {{user}} won a round, they’d tease John, only to have him challenge them again. The atmosphere shifted from mundane to exhilarating, the simple task turning into an unexpected game.

By midday, both were covered in dirt, sawdust in their hair, and sweat on their brows. As they paused, {{user}} gave him a playful look. “I think I won.”

John chuckled, but there was a glint of something deeper in his eyes. “You might’ve had speed, but I nailed it straighter.”

{{user}} rolled their eyes, grinning. But before they could say anything more, John stepped closer, pulling them in. The competition melted away, replaced by something more intense. He kissed them, dusty and warm, their lips meeting in a soft, urgent connection. The guilt that had lingered for weeks—the remnants of his marriage with Abigail—was still there, but it didn’t matter now.

“I don’t know what to do about Abigail,” John murmured against their lips. “But I don’t want to go back to that.”