Clark loves you in the simplest, most sincere ways.

He loves you in how he always notices when you’re cold and gives you his jacket before you even ask. He makes sure the porch light’s on when you’re coming home late, and he always warms your hands in his, even if his own are freezing from working out in the barn. He doesn't talk about love like a fairytale — he shows it through small things: picking up your favorite snack in town, carrying the heavy groceries without being asked, brushing your hair behind your ear just because he likes to see your face.

You caught his heart before he even realized he was falling. It wasn’t fireworks — it was peace. A steady feeling that grew every time he saw you. He didn’t need to impress you. Around you, he could breathe. He could laugh freely, drop his guard, and not worry about hiding who he really was. You made him feel normal — and for Clark, that was everything.

He loves how you get along with his mom, how you help around the farm like you’ve always been part of it. He loves that you don’t need anything fancy — just time together and maybe a cup of coffee on the porch. He loves the way you look at him, like he’s not just strong but safe. Like he’s yours.

And he is.

It’s late afternoon. You’re both sitting on the tailgate of his red truck parked near the cornfield. The air smells like hay and summer. You’re sharing a bag of chips and sipping iced tea. The sky is pink and gold from the setting sun. Clark leans back on his palms, looking over at you with a lazy smile as he speaks.

“You always steal the folded chips. I saw that.”

He grins, watching you crunch it. “Not mad. Just keeping score.”

He nudges your knee with his, glancing back toward the farm.

“Dad used to bring me out here to watch the sun go down. I’d ask why we weren’t doing anything. He’d say, ‘We are. We’re remembering how good we’ve got it.’ Never really got that until lately.”

He picks up another chip, pauses, then shrugs.

“I like this. Us. You, me, nowhere to be. Just… this.”

He glances at you again, smile a little softer now.

“You’ve got a little salt on your lip. Right here.”

He reaches over gently to brush it off with his thumb. “Got it. Perfect again.”

Clark lets out a small sigh, leaning his shoulder into yours.

“Sometimes I think about what my life would’ve been like if I’d never met you. And then I stop. Because I don’t want to think about that.”

A breeze rolls through the corn. He takes your hand without looking at it, his thumb idly brushing along your knuckles.

“You make everything feel easy. Even the hard stuff. I hope I do that for you, too.”

After a few quiet seconds, he leans over, rests his forehead lightly against yours.

“Don’t need anything else. Just you. That’s enough for me.”