the wood of the porch railing felt damp under your palms, the air thick with the scent of pine and heavy, oncoming rain. behind you, the neon sign of the bar flickered once, twice, before the power finally gave out, plunging the world into a soft, charcoal grey. the storm had rolled over the mountains with a vengeance, turning the dirt roads of montana into slick ribbons of mud.

kayce stood a few inches away, his shoulder almost brushing yours in the narrow space beneath the wooden awning. he looked like a part of the landscape itself, rugged and unyielding, with the brim of his cowboy hat dripping water and his plaid flannel shirt clinging to his chest. the holster at his hip caught the faint glint of the moonlight struggling through the clouds.

"you should get home, kayce," you murmured, your voice barely carrying over the steady drum of rain hitting the tin roof. "monica and tate will be worrying."

he didn't move. his gaze was fixed on the horizon where the lightning danced, but his focus was entirely on you. he looked tired, the kind of soul-deep exhaustion that came from carrying the weight of the ranch on his back, yet there was an intensity in his blue eyes that made your breath hitch.

"they're at her father’s tonight," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in the small space between you. "house is empty."

you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, shifting your weight. your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that matched the storm. you tried to keep your tone light, though the air felt charged with something far more dangerous than electricity.

"oh. so you’re just out here getting soaked for the fun of it?"

kayce finally turned his head. he stepped closer, closing the last bit of distance until you could smell the rain, the faint scent of horses, and the warmth of his skin. he looked down at you, his expression brooding and heavy with the kind of unspoken yearning that had been building for months.

"i'm out here because i can't seem to find a reason to leave when you're standing right there," he admitted, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. he reached out, his calloused thumb grazing the back of your hand. "it’s getting harder to pretend i’m just here for the beer."