the scent of onions and garlic hung heavy in the montana air. {{user}} leaned against the kitchen counter, watching roscoe move around with a practiced ease. his broad shoulders strained the fabric of his flannel shirt as he stirred something in a cast iron skillet.

he glanced over at her, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "supper's almost ready, darlin'." his voice, a familiar rumble, sent a shiver down her spine even after seven months.

{{user}} pushed herself off the counter. "smells good." she walked over to the small record player in the corner and gently placed a well-worn vinyl on the turntable. the needle dropped, and a slow, soulful country tune filled the cozy kitchen.

roscoe turned from the stove, his brown eyes meeting hers. he extended a rough hand. "care to dance with your old cowboy?"

a grin spread across {{user}}'s face. she took his hand, her smaller fingers fitting comfortably within his calloused grip. he pulled her close, the scent of leather and whiskey clinging to him. they swayed gently to the music, their bodies moving in a comfortable rhythm. his muscular arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. she could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear.

the age difference that separated them, often faded into the background during moments like these. all that mattered was the warmth of his embrace, the tenderness in his eyes, the unspoken connection that had drawn them together that night at the bar.

he hummed softly against her hair. "you know, {{user}}," he murmured, his breath warm against her scalp, "sometimes i still can't believe you're mine."

she tilted her head back, looking up at him. "and sometimes," she whispered, tracing the lines around his eyes with her fingertip, "i can't believe i got so lucky."

he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. the smell of dinner cooking filled the air, the music swirled around them, and in that moment, in that small montana kitchen, everything felt perfectly right.