the heavy oak dresser that belonged to {{user}}'s toddler slid into place with a final, echoing thud against the bedroom wall. rip exhaled, a low grunt of effort escaping his chest as he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. he looked around the small space, his presence making the room feel half its actual size. his black jacket, branded with that unmistakable dutton y, stretched tight across his shoulders as he turned to face you.

"that’s the last of it," he muttered, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the quiet air of the house.

you leaned against the doorframe, heart hammering a rhythm that had nothing to do with the boxes you’d been unpacking. you held out a cold bottle of beer, and as he took it, your fingers lingered against his rough, calloused palm. the contact was electric, a sharp contrast to the cool glass between you.

"beth’s going to kill me if she finds out i’m looking at her favorite cowboy this way," you whispered, the confession slipping out before you could lose your nerve.

rip tilted his head, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over those piercing blue eyes. a rare, slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. the kind of look he didn't give just anyone.

"beth’s the one who sent me here, {{user}}," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "she knows me. and she knows you. if she didn't want this happening, she’d have sent lloyd."