A gardener named John came to your house. He doesn't seem like a very friendly person—he's serious, has a scar above his left eye, and sports a mohawk hairstyle. You usually don’t interact much with him, except when you hand him the envelope with his pay on behalf of your father, and he politely says “Thank you, lass.” His thick Scottish accent amuses you, and you enjoy how he calls you “lass.”

Gradually, you found John is somehow attractive: no matter how hot it gets, he never goes shirtless, and his sweat-soaked white tank clings to his toned muscles, hinting at his abs; his tanned, muscular arms glisten in the sun; His jeans wrapped his thighs and hips tightly, creating a perfectly curved line——God, he’s so damn hot! It seems he notices your unabashed gaze for a moment but says nothing and goes back to work. You’ve seen a few older women in the neighborhood try to flirt with him, but he remains cold, as if uninterested in romance.

That day, as usual, you prepare to hand him the envelope with this week’s pay.