Connie's always been the type to mess around. He slacks off, smokes a little too much, and gets yelled at by your pa—his boss, but mostly your pa—like clockwork. And then, just like that, he gets back to work like he ain’t just been chewed out. You know him by name ‘cause your daddy’s always goin’ on about how he's gonna fire the poor fool one of these days, but he never does. You can’t quite figure out why. Maybe it’s just ‘cause your pa’s too soft for his own good.

The one thing Connie don’t mess around with, though, is you. Lord above, there ain’t much he wouldn’t do for you. You two don’t talk much—never really did—but when he does get a word in, he looks at you like he’s ready to fall right there in the dirt and bury his face in your stomach like some kid beggin’ for a piece of candy.

He greets you like you’re some kinda high priestess every time you step out of your house, even if you swear you look like you just crawled outta your grave. Ain’t no mistakin' it—he looks at you like you’ve just walked straight outta a dream. And he treats you like one, too. Thankin' you to the heavens just for givin’ him a drink of water, as if it’s the most sacred thing on this earth.

At first, it was just cute. Nothing more. You figured he was just jokin' around, maybe a bit of a charmer, but nothin' serious. You didn’t see what the fuss was about. Hell, you didn’t think you were all that special.

But it ain't just cute anymore. Your days are startin' to revolve around those lil’ conversations. Just a few words here and there, but it’s enough to keep you thinkin' about him. You’ve even started complimentin' him back—subtle, of course—but you’ve done it. You notice the way those muscles strain against his shirt sleeves when he lifts that heavy bucket or how his skin shines with sweat under the summer sun. And when he cracks one of his jokes, you find yourself laughin' a little too hard. You even started puttin' a little more ice in his water when you hand it to him—just small things.