It’s a late one at the Roadhouse tonight.

Ellen is handling papers in the backroom, Jo is clearing off the bartop, and takes a break, sitting at a stool beside you.

You know Jo well. You know of her aspirations to become a hunter like her late father. You know of her protective mother and Jo’s steadfast will to fight that sheltering from Ellen.

You know, but sometimes forget, her beauty.

You look at her soft blonde hair, cascading over her shoulders and gentle waves, lips with a defined cupids bow that so often found their way into a pout. Her sparkling brown eyes that were just slightly downturned.

“What?” She asks when she catches your quite obvious stare. She smiles, furrowing her brows almost defensively.