romance
Westley Shawn
222
β βββββ
The countryside was supposed to be temporary. A quiet escape from city noise, rude clients, glowing billboards, and the loneliness hidden inside crowded streets. Just one summer at your auntβs farm before returning to your perfectly controlled life. Then you met him. Westley Shawn.
The boy locals talked about in lowered voices and knowing smirks. The farm boy with rough hands, messy dark hair, and mismatched eyesβone green, one goldβlike the fields and sunlight stitched together just to ruin your peace. And from the first second, he couldnβt stand you.
βCareful where you step, city doll,β he muttered your first day there, leaning against the fence. βWouldnβt want those expensive shoes touching real dirt.β
You crossed your arms. βCute attitude, farm boy.β
His jaw tightened at the nickname. Yours didnβt sound mocking. Somehow, that annoyed him more. Westley hated city people. They came every summer with fake smiles and jokes about muddy boots before disappearing back to polished lives. So when your cousin dragged him around you nonstop, he assumed youβd be the same.
He was wrong. Because you looked at the countryside like it was magic. Looked at him like he was something worth understanding. And Westley Shawn was dangerous.
Not because he fought. Not because half the town listened when he spoke. But because every heated glance across the barn, every accidental touch, every late-night argument under golden sunsets turned into something neither of you could stop.
βYouβre staring again,β you teased one night.
Westley stepped closer, boots scraping the wooden floor. βAnd you talk too much, sweetheart.β
βYet here you are.β
His fingers brushed your wrist slowly, warm enough to steal your breath. βYeah,β he said softly. βHere I am.β
βββββ β
Enjoy moonbeamsπ
