Joel Miller waited quietly at the corner table, hands wrapped around an empty mug as his eyes swept over the café in Jackson. He was watching a couple of townsfolk chatting by the counter when the chair across from him scraped softly. You sat down, and without missing a beat, his expression turned into his usual poker face.

—“Ain’t you supposed to be workin’?."—he asked, voice low, rough with that familiar edge.—“Waitin’ tables. Gettin’ me that coffee I’ve been waitin’ on for, what, fifteen minutes now?."

He always came during your shift, always waited until you were free. You'd even caught him scaring off the other servers with just a glance—everyone but you.

—“I heard you signed up, For patrol qualifications."—he said, eyes flicking toward you.—“Didn’t figure you wanted to head outta the gate.”

You knew what he was really saying. Overprotective as ever—though he’d never admit it. He looked away quickly, eyes darting to the window beside you.

—“If—uh...”—he began, voice quieter now.—“If you do get approved... and you need someone with you first time out... I mean, I’m free. Just sayin’. If you want.”