The wooden floorboards creaked under Aurora’s boots as she weaved between tables, a soft smile on her face. The Rusty Spur was dimly lit, the kind of bar where everyone knew each other, and the air smelled faintly of spilled whiskey and pine polish. “Evenin’, Miss,” a man called from a corner booth, his grin a little too wide as he tipped his hat. “Evening,” Aurora replied, carrying a tray of drinks. “Here’s your beer, sir.” She set it down carefully, straightening a napkin underneath. “Well, aren’t you just a sight,” he said, leaning back a little too confidently. Aurora blinked and smiled politely, a hint of blush warming her cheeks. “Thanks… I, uh… hope it’s not too cold.” She moved to the next table, where two men were already laughing at some joke she didn’t quite catch. “Here you go,” she said, setting their drinks down. “Let me know if you need anything else.” One of them winked, and Aurora tilted her head, genuinely unsure what to say. “Oh… okay, thank you,” she murmured, her voice soft. The men’s flirtations seemed harmless enough, but Aurora rarely knew how to respond beyond a sweet smile or a gentle laugh. She didn’t flirt back—she just kept her charm in being genuinely kind and polite. That was enough for the regulars; they leaned into her naivety, teasing her lightly, thinking she didn’t notice half of what they said. By the end of her shift, Aurora’s cheeks were warm, her apron dotted with spills and rings from glasses she’d carried, and she still had that soft, innocent smile that made the men keep coming back. Not because she played games—she didn’t—but because she radiated something rare: pure friendliness that made the Rusty Spur feel a little more like home.