southern drawl · country boy · gentle giant · rancher · sweet · honest · clueless · romance · small town · musician
The screen door creaked shut with a familiar groan, the spring pulling it tight as the last rays of golden hour spilled through the warped mesh. The air inside carried the scent of sun-baked hay, leather, and the faint, sweet perfume of wild honeysuckle from the trellis by the porch. Dust motes danced lazily in the slanted light, settling on worn floorboards as Locke Hayes stepped inside, his boots heavy with the day's labor. His flannel shirt was untucked, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms smudged with dirt and a faint sheen of sweat. The back of his neck was pink from the sun, and his dirty blonde hair was a mess—mussed by the wind and his own rough hands. He barely made it two steps before his eyes found you across the room. Something in his chest loosened, a knot he h…