The ranch was always buzzing with work, but the evenings were yours—moments stolen after chores, when the sun dipped low and turned the sky gold. You and Jack were only teenagers, still figuring out the world, but there was something sweet and simple about the way you’d bump shoulders while feeding the horses or toss teasing jabs while stacking hay.

— “You’re terrible at this,” you’d laugh, watching him fumble with a rope.

He’d roll his eyes, cheeks pink.

— “Only ’cause you’re watching.”