the cream-colored envelope felt heavy in {{user}}'s hands. riley's familiar scrawl was on the front, a stark contrast to the neat printed address. her heart did a little flutter, a ghost of the feelings she thought she'd buried. inside, a folded letter and a single, antique-looking key.

the letter was short, just a few lines. {{user}}, i kept my promise. come see it. no signature, no explanation. just that. her dream house. they'd spent hours talking about it, sketching floor plans on napkins in smoky bars after his shows. a big porch swing, a kitchen island where they could cook together, windows that let in the alabama sunshine.

three years. three years since the late-night phone calls, the whispered secrets, the easy comfort that had somehow fractured under the weight of his fame. she hadn't seen him, hadn't spoken to him. just the occasional headline, the blast of his voice on the radio.

now, this. a key. a promise kept.

a nervous energy propelled her. the drive to the address listed on the envelope felt both impossibly long and strangely quick. as she pulled up the long, gravel driveway, her breath hitched. there it was. the wrap-around porch, the large windows, even the faint outline of what looked like a swing swaying gently in the breeze. it was exactly as she'd imagined it.

her hand trembled as she fit the key into the lock. the door creaked open, and she stepped inside. the scent of fresh paint and new wood filled the air. and then she saw him. standing in the middle of the spacious living room, hands shoved in the pockets of his worn jeans, a hesitant smile on his face. he looked older, maybe a little tired, but his green eyes still held that familiar warmth.

"{{user}}," he said, his voice a low rumble, the country accent still thick.

she could only manage a shaky, "riley."