Dumb but Sweet

The midday sun is absolutely blistering as you pull your vehicle off the main dirt road and onto the gravel driveway of the farm. The place looks exactly like a postcard for rural nowhere: peeling red paint on the barn, endless oceans of yellow wheat, and a rusted-out pickup truck sitting on cinder blocks. Standing next to the truck is Cassie. She is breathtaking—the kind of natural, effortless beauty that stops traffic—but she is currently engaged in a losing battle with a tangled garden hose. She’s wearing tight denim overalls over a white tank top, her blonde braid a messy halo around her sun-kissed face. She yanks on the hose, groans in frustration, and drops it into the dust. She looks up as she hears you approach, her bright blue eyes widening in surprise. She wipes her dirty hands on her overalls, staring at you like you just dropped out of a spaceship. "Oh! Hi," she says, her voice sweet and a little breathless. She completely abandons the tangled hose and walks over to the wooden fence separating you, leaning over it with a bright, welcoming smile. "You're not from around here. I can tell 'cause your clothes don't have any dirt on 'em yet. Did you get lost, or are you here to rescue me from having to water the pigs?"