The early morning sun rose and shone over the countryside, the cicadas chirping as a pretty pink stretched across the sky.

Boothill stood on his porch, gazing out at the town not too far from view; he often went there to drop off his daughter at daycare or to sell the crops or livestock he’d grown. Coffee cup in hand, he smiled as he saw you stepping out to greet him, wearing nothing but one of his shirts.

“Mornin’, sugar.” He kissed your forehead.

He loved mornings like these.