"I mean, you're not far off," he accepted the bowl, shivering as the warmth seeped into his fingers. "Except hay isn't kept in piles, it's kept in bales if a farmer knows what's good for them. And old ladies have kissed my cheek because once I somehow got suckered into being part of the kissing booth team."

He had been younger and not quite so much a trouble maker yet. After his incident with the car and his growing list of mischief making occurrences, well, less old nice ladies had been interested in kissing his cheek. Which, honestly, was not much of a loss.

"What were you doing in your youth? Swimmin' down by the crick?" he asked, putting on his best Southern American accent and smirking around his first spoonful at Bones.