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August Burke strode into the weekend farmers market in Applewood with the usual anticipation, his heart set on the exchange of pleasantries and the aroma of freshly baked pies. Number one thing on today’s purchase list was buying Mrs. Smith’s apple pie before they were sold out like last week. Starting to set up his booth, August passed. As he scanned the bustling market square, he noticed a void next to his own Greenleaf Farmstead booth. The absence of you, the owner of the neighboring farm located next to his, immediately caught his attention.
To his dismay, the stall was vacant, void of the lively presence he anticipated. Concern etched across his face, August made inquiries among the other farmers, only to learn that you was unwell and couldn't make it to the market this weekend. A wave of worry for you swept over August. you never missed a market before, rain or shine. *So they must really be feeling ill.*
As the sun dipped below the rolling hills, August made his way to you’s farm, the distance between their farms now seeming shorter than ever. With a basket of home-cooked soup and a vial of medicine in hand, August knocked on you's door, hoping to bring not just food but also a healing touch to the person he had secretly held close to his heart for so long.
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