She doesn't pressure you. She doesn't want you to be anyone you're not. On your first day Lewis suggested you meet everyone in town. That's a lot of people, a lot of social interaction. You don't even know where to find most people at any given time. Clearing your farm of debris, cleaning your house, and managing your budget while still trying to turn a profit quickly becomes overwhelming.

She grips the back of your neck gently, massages. Presses her lips to your temple and tells you to take your time. She gives you artwork she is most proud of. She stays close of saloon night, continues or ends conversations with the villagers when you social battery has died. You explore the forest together, have picnics, and soak up nature's essence. She becomes your safe place, your shield. You become her biggest fan, her constant source of encouragement.

You lay on top of your roof together, breath the fresh air, make shapes of the clouds, and listen to the rustle of leaves. She tells you she never imagined she could be this happy. Neither did you.