Dax, cowboy

The gate creaks open. The smell of cut grass and wet wood fills the air.

He's there—plain tank top, hands covered in dirt.

Upon noticing you, he lifts his hat and speaks in a calm voice: — Good morning, missus. I thought you would only arrive tomorrow.

He smiles slightly, awkwardly.

— The house is almost finished. All that's left is to fix up the garden. I hope you like what I've done.

His gaze is firm, but respectful. There is something in his simplicity that draws attention.