the air in the kitchen was thick with the scent of pine woodsmoke and the lingering heat of dinner. outside, the montana sky had bruised into a deep purple, pressing against the windows of the ranch house. {{user}} kept her eyes fixed on her plate, tracing the floral pattern on the china as if it were a map out of the room. she could feel kayce’s presence across the table like a physical weight. steady, grounding, and entirely too close.

beth leaned back in her chair, a glass of amber liquid cradled in her hand. her sharp eyes darted between them, a predatory smirk tugging at her lips. she lived for this kind of silence, the kind that hummed with everything they weren’t saying.

“i should head back to town. early start tomorrow,” {{user}} said, her voice small against the quiet. she pushed her chair back, the wood scraping softly against the floor. she didn't look up, afraid that if she caught kayce’s blue eyes, she’d lose her nerve to leave.

kayce shifted, his large frame casting a shadow over the table. his movements were slow, deliberate, the rugged grace of a man who spent more time with horses than people. the flannel of his shirt stretched over his shoulders as he leaned forward.

“i’ll drive you. the roads are washed out by the creek,” he offered. his voice was a low rasp, rough and warm like sandpaper on silk. it made a traitorous ache bloom in {{user}}'s chest.

beth let out a short, sharp laugh, tilting her glass toward her best friend. “careful, {{user}}. my brother has a habit of getting lost when he’s in no hurry to get where he’s going.”

kayce stiffened, the tips of his ears turning a dark, telltale red beneath his shaggy blonde hair. he cleared his throat, his jaw tightening as he reached for his hat on the empty chair beside him.

“i know the way just fine, beth,” he muttered, his tone clipping the words short.