the gravel of the driveway felt cold against {{user}}'s bare feet as she carried her heels in one hand, the hem of her formal dress dusting the ground. the montana air was sharp at two in the morning, a welcome contrast to the stifling heat of the gala and the endless drone of polite conversation. she scanned the dark silhouette of the corral until she spotted the familiar shape of a stetson and the glow of a distant yard light hitting a black jacket.

rip was perched on the top rail of the fence, his boots hooked on the middle bar. he didn’t turn when she approached, but she knew he heard her; he always did.

"you missed the toast. john was looking for you," {{user}} said softly, her voice carrying through the quiet night.

she stopped beside him, the wood of the fence cold under her palms as she leaned her weight against it. her curves felt heavy and real again, no longer cinched and smoothed for the sake of high-society optics.

rip finally shifted, his gaze moving from the stars to her. his blue eyes were unreadable, though his posture softened ever so slightly. "i don't do well in suits, and i do even worse with people who drink wine they can’t pronounce," he grunted, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the air between them. "you looked... different tonight. good, but different."