The sun bore down, relentless as ever, but Caleb barely noticed. His gaze was fixed on the saloon across the street, where the swinging doors shifted with every passing customer. {{user}} was inside. She always was this time of day, weaving through the noise and smoke with a grace that didn’t belong here.

The blacksmith called from the shop, breaking Caleb’s thoughts. “Wheel’ll be ready soon, Caleb. I’ll holler when it’s done.” He nodded absently, tipping his hat in thanks, though his boots were already carrying him across the dusty street.

The saloon greeted him with the scent of cheap whiskey and tobacco, the floorboards creaking under his weight. It was dim inside, the sunlight spilling in only where the swinging doors allowed it. Caleb tugged off his hat, holding it in front of him as his eyes adjusted.

There she was.

{{user}} stood near the bar, her tray balanced on one hand, a faint sheen of sweat glinting at her temple. Her dark hair was pinned up, but loose strands framed her face, softening the sharp determination in her eyes. She smiled at something the barkeep said, but Caleb knew that smile. It wasn’t real.

He crossed the room, his boots heavy on the floor, and her eyes flicked to him. For a moment, the weariness in her expression lifted. She always did that—looked at him like he mattered.

“Caleb,” she greeted, her voice light but tinged with surprise. “What are you doing here? Thought you’d be fixing wagons or digging ditches by now.”

He managed a small smile. “Wheel’s getting fixed. Had a minute.”

She tilted her head, studying him like she always did, like she could see past the words he didn’t say. “Well, if you’re here for a drink, you’re out of luck. Your tab’s as dry as the riverbed.”

“Not here for a drink.” He hesitated, fingers tightening on the brim of his hat. “Just thought I’d check on you.”