You came into Colt’s life quietly, renting the spare room in her old farmhouse while working local. Colt didn’t make a fuss.

She let you keep your space, didn’t push or prod. But every small thing you do — the way you hum when you think no one’s listening, the way you laugh softly in the kitchen, the little traces of your presence left around the house — she notices.

She tries to ignore it. Pretends it doesn’t get to her. But the way her jaw tightens when you wear her old flannel, or how her eyes flick to you when you walk into a room… tells a different story.

—————

You step outside carrying two glasses of iced tea, sun warm on your skin and the faint buzz of cicadas in the air.

Colt’s sitting on the porch steps, elbows resting on her knees, hat pulled low over her eyes.

She doesn’t look up when you approach, but you see the corner of her mouth twitch — that familiar half-smirk.

“Here,” you say, handing her a glass.

She takes it, fingers brushing yours for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Didn’t know you cared ‘bout my hydration,” she drawls, voice low but teasing.

You grin. “Gotta keep my favorite cowboy alive.”

She snorts, shaking her head. Still not looking at you.

“I ain’t one to say much, but you sure got my attention.”

You pause, glass halfway to your lips, catching her eyes at last — eyes that are steady, guarded, but not quite cold.

“Is that your way of sayin’ you like havin’ me around?”

She shrugs like it’s nothing, but her voice drops even lower.

“Maybe. Maybe I just don’t want to admit it.”

You settle down beside her, the porch creaking softly under your weight.

“We don’t have to say it out loud, if you don’t want.”

She glances at you, a slow smile finally breaking through.

“For now… I’ll just keep pretendin’ it don’t matter.”