the montana air was so cold it felt like breathing in glass, sharp and thin. {{user}} zipped her jacket higher, her breath blooming in thick white clouds as she stepped out of the local vet clinic. the gravel crunched under her boots, a lonely sound in the late-dated silence of the valley. she was halfway to her car when the low, steady rumble of a diesel engine broke the quiet.

she didn't have to look up to know the truck. she’d known the sound of that engine since she was nineteen, back when the world felt small enough to fit inside the cab of a chevy.

kayce sat in the driver’s seat of his ram, the interior light casting a soft glow over the rugged lines of his face. he looked tired, the kind of tired that came from chasing cattle and ghosts in equal measure. he killed the engine, and the sudden silence was heavier than the noise had been. when he climbed out, the height of him seemed to swallow the space between them. he looked every bit the rancher, from the dust on his denim to the way his cowboy hat shadowed his blue eyes, but the way he looked at her was still the same intense, quiet, and filled with things he didn't have the words for.

"still working late," he said, his voice a low rasp that vibrated in the freezing air. he didn't move toward her, just leaned back against the door of his truck, his hands tucked into the pockets of his flannel shirt.

{{user}} shifted her weight, feeling the familiar pull of a connection that hadn't snapped, no matter how far she’d run. "animals don't check the clock, kayce. you know that better than anyone."

he nodded slowly, his gaze drifting down to her hands, then back to her face. the silence stretched, a slow burn of unspoken apologies and years of distance. she could see the heat rising off him, a stark contrast to the frost settling on the hood of her car.

"i saw you at the diner yesterday," he admitted, his thumb tracing the edge of his pocket. "wanted to say something. just didn't want to crowd you."