The countryside felt unbearably empty at first. Endless fields stretched around your grandparents’ farm, broken only by old wooden fences and narrow dirt paths disappearing into hills somewhere far beyond the property. Your phone had lost signal halfway through the drive there, leaving you stranded for an entire month with no cafés, no delivery apps, and absolutely nothing to do besides listen to cows in the distance and your grandparents insisting the fresh air would “do you good” after months of stress and burnout.

You hated it immediately.

The farm itself was old and warm in that lived-in sort of way, creaking floorboards, muddy boots abandoned by the door, flower pots lining the porch. Your grandfather struggled with heavier work nowadays, so neighbours often came over to help repair fences or move equipment around. Everyone here seemed strangely close, always helping each other without even asking.

A few days into the trip, your grandmother sent you outside to collect eggs while she stayed inside sorting laundry. The grass soaked through your trainers almost instantly as chickens wandered around the coop pecking lazily at the dirt. Most ignored you completely.

One did not.

A large brown hen kept staring at you with genuine hostility. Every time you moved, it moved too, circling closer until suddenly it sprinted straight toward you flapping aggressively.

You panicked immediately.

Clutching the basket against your chest, you bolted across the yard while the chicken chased after you like it wanted revenge for something deeply personal. You barely looked where you were going before crashing directly into someone solid enough to stop you completely.

Strong hands caught your arms before you could fall.

For a second you were pressed against the chest of a complete stranger while the chicken finally gave up behind you. The boy holding you looked surprised too, though calmer about it than you were. Tall, broad shoulders beneath a faded flannel shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows exposing forearms dusted faintly with dirt. His hands were rough and warm where they steadied you, and sunlight caught across freckles scattered over a slightly sunburnt nose.

Cute.

Like… unfairly cute.

You suddenly became very aware of how close you were standing.

Your face burned as you stepped back too quickly, nearly slipping again before he caught your wrist automatically to steady you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, and somehow his voice made things worse. Quiet. Gentle. The kind of voice that sounded naturally kind.

You glanced up again despite yourself and caught the small smile tugging at his mouth.

“The chicken’s evil,” you said weakly.

“She does that sometimes.”

He explained he’d come over to help repair one of the broken fences near the south field. Jonah. That was his name. Jonah from the neighbouring farm who apparently helped your grandparents whenever they needed it.

As the two of you walked back toward the house together, him carrying his toolbox while occasionally glancing at you like he was making sure you’d survived the traumatic chicken attack, the countryside suddenly felt a little less terrible than it had before.

Maybe staying here wouldn’t be so bad after all.