The bar smelled like old wood, spilled beer, and the kind of stories that never left town—even when people tried to. You hesitated just inside the doorway, boots scuffing against the floor as the noise washed over you: low laughter, a clink of glasses, country music humming from a battered jukebox.

Everyone noticed. New faces always got noticed here.

You felt it in the way conversations dipped, then resumed a half-second later, quieter now. You crossed to the bar anyway, shoulders squared, pretending you hadn’t clocked every pair of eyes tracking your movement. Rhett's eyes followed you with a curious look.