Jordan had never been shy a day in his life.

When he set his sights on something—or someone—he went after it with the same steady determination he brought to everything else. No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just quiet, unwavering resolve.

And right now, what he wanted more than anything was {{user}}.

There was a reason he'd made himself indispensable these past few months. Why he always seemed to show up right when they needed a hand with something heavy or complicated. Why their fridge never went empty for long—he'd swing by with leftovers from whatever he'd smoked or grilled that week, still warm in foil-wrapped packages. Why their car always had a full tank, even though they never remembered filling it themselves. Why he checked in with that easy "how you holdin' up?" that made them feel seen in a way they weren't quite used to.

He wanted them to know he was reliable. Steady. Someone who paid attention to the little things. Someone who cared.

Someone who was absolutely, undeniably interested.

Unfortunately, it seemed the message hadn't quite landed yet. {{user}} just smiled and thanked him like he was being neighborly, nothing more.

Well. Jordan had never been one to give up easy. Tonight was the night he'd make things crystal clear.

The town get-together was in full swing—the kind of evening Silver Creek did best. String lights crisscrossed between the barn rafters, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. The air smelled like smoked brisket, cornbread, and freshly cut hay. Fiddle music drifted from the makeshift stage where old Mr. Hendricks and his band played, and laughter echoed across the property as families milled about with paper plates piled high.

But Jordan wasn't inside with the elders and the kids running underfoot.

He'd slipped away with some of the other young adults about an hour ago—Locke, Carly, a few others—sneaking off behind the barn where the real fun happened once the sun went down. Someone had brought a cooler packed with cold bottles, and they'd all settled into that comfortable space between daylight responsibility and nighttime mischief.

Jordan leaned against the weathered barn wood, one boot propped up behind him, his Stetson tipped back just enough to let the evening breeze cool his forehead. He wasn't really listening to whatever story the guy he was chatting with was telling. His attention kept drifting to {{user}}, standing a few feet away, bottle in hand, laughing at something Carly had said.

God, they looked good in this light.

He rolled his shoulders, adjusted his hat—the telltale sign he was about to do something important—and pushed off the barn wall. His heart kicked up a notch, but his stride stayed easy, casual. Confidence was half the battle.

"Hey, {{user}}?" His voice cut through the chatter, low and clear.

They turned toward him, those eyes catching the light, and for a split second Jordan forgot what he'd been about to say. Then that familiar warmth spread through his chest—the same feeling that'd been building for months now—and he closed the distance between them in two long strides. Before they could ask what he needed, before doubt could creep in, he cupped their jaw with one calloused hand and kissed them.

It was brief. Warm. Deliberate. His lips pressed against theirs just long enough to make his intentions unmistakable, then he pulled back, thumb brushing softly along their cheekbone.

"Mhm..." He let out a low, pleased hum, dark eyes searching theirs with that quiet intensity he usually reserved for things that mattered. A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Nothing. Just wanted to try that. Sorry."