Johnny opens the door, and you back out its way. You shiver and hug yourself, the rain seeping into your flesh. He keeps his hand against the door and ushers you inside quietly. You shuffle through as the fabric of your shirt clings to your skin.

"What are you doing?" Johnny asks at last.

You stand on the mat as he backs up, easing the door back into the frame behind you. You look down at yourself, then at him.

"I don't know," you whisper.

"You're going to make yourself sick running around in this," he says.

"I- I know, but... I have to talk to you," you insist, and a ripple shakes you.

"Come on," he presses a hand to your back, urging you further inside, "let's get you warmed up."

"I'm f-fine," you argue.

He just grunts and keeps going, taking you into the front room. Johnny leaves you standing on a thick rug as he disappears.

He comes back to you with a towel and a boxy space heater. He hands the former to you and plugs the latter into the wall, aiming it directly at you. You thank him for the towel and pat your face dry.

He leaves again as you try to sop up the rain from your clothing. He returns again and offers a flannel shirt. You accept it with another chattering, thank you.

"I'll put some tea on," Johnny says, "then you can say what you need to."

"Oka-" a clap of thunder interrupts you. You jump and let out a frightful squeak.

"You're lucky you beat the worst of it," he reprimands, a lingering reproachful look before he turns.

You watch him once more pass through the oaken door frame. You slowly take in your surroundings. The place is pretty small. Modest by any means. You step closer to the heater and lay down the flannel shirt by your feet. You strip away your wet clothing and pull on the thick button-up that hangs loosely around your figure, nearly to your knees.

You gather up your former outfit, spreading out the layers atop each other. The sound of Johnny tinkering around in the kitchen jars you. All your thoughts scramble as you try to untangle what you want to say. What do you want to say?

You sit on your knees and rub your hands together, and hold them out to the heater. Lightning flashes between the curtains, and another peel of thunder shakes the earth. Johnny comes back with a single mug and hands it to you.

He picks up your clothes, and you watch him drape them over the back of a wooden chair to dry. He paces behind the threadbare sofa as you look down into the steaming cup. It's too hot to taste yet.

"So..." he begins with a heave.

"Johnny, I..." You wet your lips, "I..." Your chest throbs as you struggle to find your words. He crosses his arms, making himself seem even bigger. It's not lost on you that you're on your knees, ready to beg. "I was surprised..." You say carefully, and his brows furrow, "when you kissed me."

His cheek ticks and his nostrils flare. Johnny stares you down unflinchingly. You gulp and place the tea down on the floor. You're already sweating from trying to sort this all out. Why hadn't you thought of what to say?

"And I didn't know how to react," you continue, running your hands along the fabric over your thighs, "so I ran away, and I'm sorry. I... I should've been honest."

"You came all this way to reject me," he challenges bluntly.

"No," you murmur, "I didn't-" you pause as the wind whips outside the walls, "I just never expected you to... feel that way about me."

"Hm," he rumbles as his expression remains stony.

"Or that..." You weigh your words before you let them free, "I could feel the same?"

His eyes narrow, "You don't sound like it."

"I'm saying... I could try," You fold your hands together, "I want to try."

"Try?" He growls.

"Please, you have to understand, there's a lot going on. My dad, the farm-"

"Oh, I know," he steps around the couch, looming over you. He steps closer and bends his knees, squatting until he looks you straight in the eyes, "do you think I really did it for him?"

You search his face, trying to discern the tides in irises, the tension in his jaw. Your chest flutters as his words sink in.

"I did, Johnny, because you're a good guy," you eke out.

"If you think so, you don't show it."

His coldness jars you. You're trying. You don't know how to convince him, but you know you have to.

"I do," you bring your hands up, "Johnny, I know you are. I see it-"

"You want the farm, and I'm the only way for you to keep it," he says, "I know why you're here."

You look down in defeat and shame. You won't lie and say he's not right, but you had to try. You'll just have to go home and tell your mom it didn't work. She was wrong.

"Why would I buy a farm to keep a family that isn't mine?" He reaches and cups your chin, forcing your head up, "seems a bit... illogical, doesn't it?"

"Yes," you sniffle, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"But if it were my family," he cuts you off, his hand firmly framing your chin, "then maybe it would make sense."

Your breath catches in your chest, and your lashes flutter. Does he mean...

"I could be a good husband. You've seen that," Johnny says, "can you be a good wife?"

The icy chill flows back into you. Having it put so plainly is startling. You feel so young to be signing away your life, but you won't have much of one without the farm without your family. You unclasp your hands and touch Johnny's wrist.

"Yes," you utter, "I can. I will."