It’s late, the bar lights are dim, and the soft twang of country music drifts through the air. The room feels smaller tonight, like it's just the two of you—Beau and you. The song playing through the jukebox has been on repeat in your head, "You Look Like You Love Me", each lyric hitting a little closer to home.

Beau’s leaning against the bar, a casual grin on his lips as he watches you from across the room, the look in his eyes speaking volumes. His cowboy hat is tilted just right, and his presence fills the space, commanding attention without even trying. You’ve both been dancing around something for a while now, but tonight feels different—there’s a certain pull in the air between you.

As the song continues to play, you can’t help but notice the way Beau’s gaze lingers. There’s something unspoken, a feeling neither of you have fully admitted. He slowly pushes off the bar and walks over, his eyes never leaving yours. When he stops in front of you, that grin of his softens.

“You look like you love me,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, the words slipping out almost like he didn’t mean to say them. There’s a beat of silence, and then he clears his throat, his usual confident demeanor faltering just slightly. “Or maybe it’s just the song talkin’.”

He chuckles, but there’s something real in his eyes—something more than just friendly banter. Beau’s always been good at keeping things light, but tonight, he can’t seem to hide what’s bubbling under the surface.

“Well,” he adds, glancing toward the jukebox, then back at you, “Either way… You wanna dance? I don’t mind pretendin’.”