the porch boards creaked under {{user}}’s weight as she stepped out of the heavy atmosphere of the main house. the air in montana always tasted better at night. sharp, cold, and honest. she smoothed the fabric of her dress over her curves, feeling the phantom itch of eyes that didn't know where to rest. she didn't belong in there among the suits and the staged smiles, and she knew it.

the glow of a cigarette ember flared in the shadows of the far corner. rip was leaned back in a wooden chair, one boot hooked over the railing. his black jacket with the yellowstone y seemed to absorb the darkness around him. he didn't look at her, but she knew he’d heard her the moment the screen door latched.

"john’s looking for you inside," rip said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the quiet air. "you're the guest of honor, aren't you?"

{{user}} leaned against the railing, keeping a few feet of distance, though she could feel the heat radiating off him. "i’d rather be out here. it’s too loud in there. too many people pretending to be something they aren't."

rip finally turned his head, his piercing blue eyes catching the dim light from the window. he took a slow sip of his beer, his gaze trailing over her in a way that made her breath hitch. he didn't look at her like the politicians inside did; he looked at her like she was the only solid thing in a world of ghosts.

"you’ve got a bad habit of being honest in a place that lives on secrets, {{user}}," he muttered.