the wooden floor of the bozeman community hall creaked under the weight of a hundred boots, the air thick with the scent of expensive cologne, cheap beer, and the metallic tang of a montana spring rain lingering on denim. the fundraiser was loud, a blur of auction paddles and forced laughter, but kayce felt like he was standing in the middle of a quiet field, his eyes locked on you.

you were wearing a dress that made him forget how to breathe for a second, a deep emerald that caught the light every time you moved. he’d spent all his life knowing you, ten of them carefully stepping around the heat that flared up whenever you walked into a room, but tonight the air felt different. it felt thin.

when the band shifted into a slow, haunting acoustic melody, kayce didn't give himself time to overthink. he moved through the crowd, his boots heavy and rhythmic, intercepting a local ranch hand who was clearly working up the nerve to approach you. kayce didn’t say a word to the man; he just stepped into your space, a silent, rugged wall of flannel and intent.

he reached out, his calloused hand settling firmly against the small of your back, while the other took your hand. his touch was warm, grounding, and smelled faintly of woodsmoke and horses. he pulled you in close, closer than "just friends" ever should be, until your breath hitched against his chest.

"you're unusually quiet tonight. even for a dutton," you murmured, your voice barely audible over the music. you looked up at him, your eyes searching his face, tracing the lines of his mustache and the intensity in his blue gaze.

kayce didn't look away. he stepped in time with you, his thigh brushing against yours, the holster on his hip a familiar weight between you. "just thinking about how many times i almost said something over the last ten years," he admitted, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through your palms.

your heart skipped a beat, the rhythm of the dance suddenly secondary to the pounding in your chest. "why didn't you?"

kayce stopped moving altogether, oblivious to the other couples swirling around you. he looked at you with a raw, aching kind of hunger, his hand tightening slightly on yours.

"scared i’d break the only good thing i had left," he said, his thumb tracing a slow circle over your knuckles. "but looking at you tonight... staying quiet feels like breaking it anyway."