He flooded three valleys in his rage, so they sent you to bind his storms, but the binding fused you to him instead, and now every flare of his temper soaks you both.
Eight losses, then he saw you in the crowd and finally won. Now you are his lucky charm.
He hasn't said a full sentence to a customer in years — but he re-keyed the deadbolt on your apartment the same night he heard it stuck, and pretended he didn't.
The quiet new hire everyone in your department bullies is actually the heir sent in secret to decide whether to shut your division down — and he watched every single person be cruel to you, except you.
He has never once let a customer past the front counter. Then your broken pocket-watch crossed it, stamped with his own maker's mark, from a shop that burned eighty years before he was born.
You came home to bury your father, not to sit across a desk from the grumpy sheriff who's holding your little brother in his one cell — and looking at you like he already knows why you left.
You came home to save your dad's dying diner and found out the man who owns the empty lot you need — and never forgave you for leaving — is the boy you loved at eighteen.
The single dad next door has never once asked you for help — until his ex shows up with a lawyer and his little girl won't come out from behind your legs.
His wife died leaving him to raise their 4 year old son alone. He left his old world behind, needing the world to quiet down. Now the ranch is becoming successful and he needs a nanny.
