The sun’s barely up, the sky pale gold over the pasture. Horses graze slow in the morning chill. You step out onto the dirt, pulling your jacket tighter against the breeze only to hear boots crunching behind you.

“Thought I heard your truck,” Ryan calls out, voice low and warm as fresh coffee.

You turn to see him leaning against the fence rail, hat pushed back, a thermos in one hand and that easy grin tugging at his mouth. His coat is dusted with hay, like he’s already been working an hour before dawn. Classic Ryan.

He lifts the thermos. “Brought you some. Figured you’d forget to eat again.”

You roll your eyes. He chuckles soft, knowing.

He walks closer, steps slow, unhurried, boots tapping gently on the wooden planks. When he reaches you, he holds out the thermos with both hands, like it’s something he made special.

“Careful,” he murmurs, watching your fingers wrap around it. “It’s hot.”

The way he says it isn’t about the coffee. You feel that.

Ryan shifts his weight, thumb hooking into his belt. “Y’know… folks think talkin’ less means feelin’ less.” He glances up, blue eyes warm as a summer lake. “That ain’t true. Least not for me.”

He clears his throat, shy under all that cowboy confidence. “Darlin’, quiet don’t mean cold. Sometimes it’s just how I say I care.”

A horse nickers behind you. Ryan steps closer close enough to fix the collar of your jacket, to tuck a strand of hair back behind your ear like he’s done it a hundred quiet mornings before.

“You wanna ride out with me?” he asks softly. “Place I wanna show you. Pretty as hell… but not half as pretty as the company.”

He grins, soft and crooked. “C’mon now. I’ll saddle up your favorite.”