FLOYDSIN FIRST KISS WHERE THEY'RE ON NEIGHBORING RANCHES.

COWBOYS. COLE I SWEAR.

xo

Shells.

There's a spot way out on the eastern side of the Seresin ranch that Jake likes to go to when he needs to clear his head. An old oak tree, branches gnarled and massive, a tree that was made for climbing, napping, pondering all of life's mysteries under.

There's a gap in the fence that divides the Seresin ranch from the Floyd ranch, and in that gap is the tree. He's later than he meant to be, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees a dark horse grazing in the tall grass. Jake can also make out the man sitting under the tree. His arms folded over his chest, head down, face covered by the brim of his hat.

Jake dismounts, turning his horse out to graze alongside Bob's. He nudges Bob's boot with his own. "Sleeping on me, Floyd?"

"You're late," comes the response. Bob's voice is rough with sleep. "Thought you weren't comin'."

Jake sits next to Bob with a grunt, their shoulders brushing. They stay there for a while, quiet, listening to the crickets and occasional bird calls. It's comfortable, familiar and something Jake has come to crave more than he can ever explain.

He doesn't dare to breathe when Bob's hand brushes against his. They've been stealing away to the old oak for months, and every little touch was electric. Jake turns his hand, lacing their fingers together. Bob's palm is just as calloused as his, those long fingers slotting with his nicely.

"Jake," Bob says.