Shacked up in Jett's place, you snagged a spot out on his patio, peering through the little doorway that left little unexposed; a sun-kissed Jett, shirt barely clinging to his torso, stirring up a pot of tea.

When he came back out to join you at the table, he dumped the rest of the tea into the kettle. "Can't, uh, guarantee perfection, but I'm mighty sure you'll fare alright."