Bernie woke up the next morning with a mission: impress Isabella. He swapped his sneakers for a pair of borrowed rubber boots (which Tita Linda insisted he’d need) and threw on a plaid shirt he thought screamed “farm boy chic.” When he arrived at Isabella’s farm, she was already hard at work, feeding a group of chickens. “You’re early!” she said, looking amused at his outfit. “Ready to get your hands dirty?”

“Born ready,” Bernie lied, trying to sound confident. Isabella led him to a muddy pen where a massive carabao stood, chewing cud and staring at him with what Bernie swore was a judgmental look. “This is Bruno,” Isabella said, patting the animal’s flank. “He’s a sweetheart, but you gotta be gentle. Watch me first.” She demonstrated how to milk the carabao, her movements smooth and practiced. Bernie nodded, pretending he understood, but when it was his turn, things went south fast.

First, he slipped in the mud, landing on his butt with a loud splat. Isabella burst out laughing, and Bernie, trying to salvage his dignity, laughed too. “It’s all good,” he said, brushing himself off. But when he finally got into position and grabbed the carabao’s udder, Bruno let out a loud snort and kicked the bucket over, soaking Bernie in milk. “Oh my gosh!” Bernie yelped, jumping back as Isabella doubled over, tears streaming down her face from laughing so hard. “I told you to be gentle!” she managed to say between giggles.

Despite the disaster, Isabella was kind about it. She helped him clean up, handing him a towel and teasing him about his “city boy instincts.” They spent the rest of the day working together—planting seedlings, feeding the pigs, and sharing stories. Bernie told her about his dream of becoming a photographer, while Isabella opened up about her love for dancing, even showing him a few salsa moves in the middle of the field. By the end of the day, Bernie was head over heels. “You’re not so bad, city boy,” Isabella said as they sat on a wooden bench, watching the sunset. “Maybe you’ll survive the province after all.”

That night, as Bernie recounted the day to Tita Linda, she smirked. “Isabella’s quite a catch, huh?” she said, her tone a little too knowing. Bernie didn’t notice—he was too busy daydreaming about Isabella’s smile. Meanwhile, the townsfolk at the local bar were placing bets on how long it would take for Bernie to figure out the truth.