the neon sign hummed a low, buzzing note that filled the gaps between the ticking of the wall clock and the steady rhythm of your hand moving across the bar. it was past midnight, and the condensation on the wood felt cold against your palm as you wiped down the last of the rings left behind by the ranch hands. the air smelled of stale beer and expensive whiskey, but mostly it felt heavy with the silence you weren’t quite ready to go home to.

the bell above the door gave a lonely chime, and you didn't need to look up to know the silhouette standing there. the cold montana wind slipped in with him, carrying the scent of pine needles and damp earth.

"you're late tonight, kayce. i was just about to flip the sign," you said, your voice soft in the cavernous room. you kept your eyes on the glass in your hand, polishing the rim with a focus that was entirely for show.

he didn't head for a stool right away. he stood by the door for a beat, his cowboy hat casting a shadow over his blue eyes, his thumb hooked into the belt loop just above the holster on his hip. the "y" branded into his chest was hidden beneath layers of plaid flannel, but you could feel the weight of everything he carried.

"saw the light was still on," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in your own chest. he moved toward the bar with a slow, athletic grace, his boots thudding softly on the floorboards. "figured i’d take my chances."

you finally looked up, catching the intense, brooding gaze that always seemed to linger on you a second too long. he looked tired, his dirty blonde hair messy beneath the brim of his hat, his rugged face shadowed by a thick mustache and beard.

"you always take chances," you countered, sliding a clean glass toward his usual spot, your fingers grazing the wood near his. "one of these days, you're gonna find the door locked."

kayce sat down, his thick thighs straining against his jeans as he leaned in, his elbows resting on the bar. he didn't reach for the bottle yet. he just watched your hands, his expression softening into that quiet, yearning look he only wore when the two of you were alone in the dim light of the "last call" ritual.

"i think we both know you'd open it anyway," he murmured.