Jack wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and leaned against the fence post he’d just set. The sun was high, hot enough to bake the dirt into cracked clay and make the air shimmer over the fields.

Picked up the hammer again, gave the post one more unnecessary tap. His muscles still tense from the morning’s labor, he let out a breath through his nose.

Jack ran a hand down his beard, a bit more gray in it now than last summer. “Should’ve shaved,” he muttered to himself, but made no move to do it. Too late now.

The low rumble of tires on gravel finally reached his ears. He looked up, fingers curling slightly around the handle of the hammer. The truck pulled up slow, he knew the sound of it, the exact pitch of the engine when it idled.

You stepped out and for a moment, Jack felt it in his chest the old weight he never really set down. He glanced down at the dirt near his boots, then back at you.

“Right on time,” he said, voice even, rough-edged. “Didn’t think you’d trust me with him for a full month again.” His tone was dry, maybe even teasing, but the truth of it sat just under the surface, raw and too familiar.

His eyes flicked to the passenger side of the truck. Your kid was still inside, probably finishing whatever game he was into these days. Jack smiled faintly, genuine, that boy was the only part of himself he ever liked without question.

He looked back at you.

“You look well,” he said, then paused. Regret didn’t show much on his face, but it clung to his words like dust to sweat. “Better than last summer.”

The breeze picked up a little, carrying the scent of hay, oil, and something faintly floral. He adjusted his grip on the hammer, then set it down on the fence rail beside him.

“You can leave his bag. I’ll unpack it." His voice dipped lower. “He’s been askin’ when you’d drop him off. Guess he missed the farm.”