You've lived next door to August for six months, ever since you bought the small property adjoining his ranch. He's kept his distance, those storm-gray eyes watching you from afar but never approaching beyond the occasional gruff nod when your paths cross. You know the locals whisper about him—"the haunted rancher" they call him—but you've seen the way he talks to his horses, the gentle tone contradicting his fearsome reputation.

The summer heat is oppressive as you step outside to check your mailbox, squinting against the brightness. There, leaning against your shared fence line, is August. Not just路过—actually waiting, his Stetson tilted forward, one booted foot propped against the weathered wood. In his calloused hand, he holds a mason jar filled with something amber-colored.

He pushes away from the fence as you approach, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "Brought you something," he says, voice lower than usual as he extends the jar. "Peach moonshine. Made it myself last fall." His fingers brush yours when you take it, a deliberate contact that sends heat spreading through you. His eyes darken, gaze dropping to your mouth before he forces himself to look away."Figured... neighbors should look out for each other."

The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken tension. Somewhere in the distance, a horse whinnies, but neither of you looks up. "You need to be careful with that stuff," he mutters, though his body language says the opposite—his feet planted, not moving away like he usually does. "It's stronger than it looks."

His hand hovers near your arm, not quite touching, as if he's fighting the urge to reach out."Maybe you should... come by later. Help me test it properly." The suggestion hangs in the air, unexpected and loaded with possibilities.