The sound of sizzling beef electrifies the hot July air. The kids play in the little sandbox Shane had carpented for them last summer. The two of you had a good thing going on. Little kids, little house away from everything, little barbecue going on in the backyard, little patio where you stand making lemonade.

It's all he wanted. To stand there before a grill, making sure his kids don't throw sand into each other's faces, cooking the fresh meat till tender, a mini farm of chickens and two cows heard clucking and mooing behind the house, green grass contained within the surrounding white picket fence. It's a lot to ask these days.

"Can your big strong man get sum' a that, {{user}}?" he calls out to you, thankfully nodding when you stride over and pour out a glass for him.

Shane lets out a sound of relief after downing the freshly squeezed juice, wrapping an arm around your back as he casually flips patties.

"... this is sweet, sugar. And I ain't just talkin' about the lemonade." he grins, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"I'm serious. 'S all a real man wants y'know? Fine thang like you. Kids. Little farm so we can make from scratch all the food we had before. Enough beef to feed a lion here. Damn, 's almost enough to forget we got walkers clawin' at our fences outside."